kamikaze romance – tma

It’s a kamikaze romance
With our hearts strapped in the seats
And we wage a war called Love
And we’ll not concede defeat
Even if it means flying
In the face of certain doom
We both know the end is coming,
And the end is coming soon…

It’s a kamikaze romance
How sweet the flight, though, while it lasts
Hurtling through the air
Watching heart-shaped clouds zooming past…
Let’s try, love, not to think
Of how this must come to an end
We know it will not last forever
But at least we can pretend…

It’s a kamikaze romance
And when our course starts turning downwards
All the memories of what we had
Will forever be ours
When comes the end; with tears,
With a scream, and with a screech,
Perhaps they’ll find pieces of our broken hearts
Strewn across some glassy beach…

romance with the rain – arfa iris

Touch of rain drops makes me giggle.

like a lover, it tickle.

and makes me laugh and wiggle

rain touches me with a bliss.

like a sweet and lovely kiss.

when in rain i get drench.

like lover my clothes clench.

its like someone dear
.
who cuddle close and near.

the cold tender breeze.

makes me shiver and freeze.

still its better than a hot mug.

or a tight warm hug
.
rain makes me romantic.

and i feel naively idyllic.

romance – heaven and earth

We talk forever day and night
Embrace in the insipid moonlight
It’s impossible to deny fate
Our passion for each other is on a roll
Our feelings are so hard to control
It’s impossible to deny fate
You and me we have our struggles
But what couples don’t have troubles?
It’s impossible to deny fate
When I express my feelings everything I say is true
True love isn’t just kissing all over you
It’s impossible to deny fate
Like paper always sticks to glue
I will always be there for you
It’s impossible to deny fate
I love you because of your heart
My love for you is off the charts
It’s impossible to deny fate
Being with you is a blessing
Laughing together, singing songs, caressing
It’s impossible to deny fate
I want to stay with you for years
I’ve sworn that I will never drink beer
After the wedding we pull the car in and lock the gate
It’s impossible to deny fate

romance – amberlee carter

the moon who wrote by candle light,
he whispered low his love, to whom he adored-
in a romantic game of follow the leader
he chased the sun in chance, he might catch her.
in a purple dawn, for once they shared the same sky-
then he, the moon, into her shadow receded from the twilight

depression – carla pizano

Depression is my life without you,
Depression is the darkness taking over the light,
Depression is the thoughts of suiside
Depression is islolation from the outside world
Depression is where no one loves me
Depression is where i have no friends
Depression is where every looks at me and rools there eyes
Depression is…….

depression – claire page

Depression depression,
Gets to us all,
We don’t know why?
But it’s always there,
At some point in our lives,
All we want is for our depression to go away,
The types we have are all different,
But we all wish that the depression would fly away just like angels would!

money – chizom okpara

These days the world runs on money
People can’t live without it’s as sweet as honey
Money is a reason for stealing
Suddenly it makes money sound unappealing.

Some sports stars are way overpaid
We could use that money to come to poor people’s aid
Children in Africa are way underpaid
Making cotton and wool for minimum wage

For money some people would do crazy things
Like kill a poor chicken, fry and sell its wings
There are some people I call extreme thugs
Throwing away their lives making quick money selling drugs

Life in this generation is just about becoming rich and famous
When they go to school and act like an ignoramus
Some kids don’t go to school they prostitute themselves
To those people before them their life dissolves

For money some people even kill
This happens everywhere but a good example is Brazil
Remember money doesn’t make the world go round
It’s doing the right thing and knowing your safe and sound

money matters – indira renganathan

Professed striving, thriving in kitchen life
Woman of yesterday was a home maid
Call her not a homemaker or housewife
A home maid unpaid and future benighted
Illiterate slave literate in home science
Deprived of finance for days ahead
Suppressed in fearful negligence
Dear and near, not to be truly so supposed
Necessity out of such a pity
Woman of olden time
Saved in her kitty
Annas, paise to chime.
Unreally smiling out of disguised injustice
Done to her by a domestic law
To herself collected coins, fortune to splice
Woman of moral law

Begotten parental assets begotten
Life raised husband and his folks
Counting her collection the woman forlorn
From mercy somebody the beseeched alms
Her pouch of coins didn’t change
Unchanged the least quantum amount too
No depositing, no investing to challange
No interest, no dividend to woo
Passed on from husband to son
Hopes on despair built
Survival of a grand-ma’s funeral now to shun.
Stealthily on money matters spoken about.
On her couch of death
Ready to depart her pouch.
Struggling through her last breath
Her savings presented to her funeral march

earn money – otteri selvakumar

Gran father money

Father money

Mother money

Brother money

Sister money

Friends money

All moneyees are

Others only others…

Don’t loves other moneys

On the way of life

Love your money…

Enjoy your money

Earn your won money…

Each every day you and others…!

money – herbert nehrlich

Ten years ago, in Tennessee
I grew myself a money tree.
The money came in all-green leaves
my shepherd kept away the thieves.
My dog supplied his droppings, too
I added, also, chicken poo.
The tree grew big and even bigger
it was a huge imposing figure.
And from the top you could make out
Jack Daniel’s place, on Hilltop Route.
I cared for, watered my big tree
it did allow me to be free.
And in the year thereafter it
had little ones, I said ‘oh shit’.
Today I have a whole plantation
by far the largest in the nation.
I am the richest in the land
my life is great and never bland.
This shows what honest work can do
I wouldn’t think it is for you.

money – howard simon

Money
Money
Money
Important
Useful
Necessary

Money
Money
Money
Wealthy
Middle
Poverty

Money
Money
Money
Save
Give
Spend

Money
Money
Borrow
Lend
Money
Money
Foe
Friend

Money
Money
Master
Slave
Money
Money
Satisfied
Crave

Money
Money
Laugh
Cry
MoneyMonet

Live
Die

Money
Money
Sick
Well
Money
Money
Heaven
Hell 

poem – the poor house

Hope went by and Peace went by
And would not enter in;
Youth went by and Health wnt by
And Love that is their kin.

Those within the house shed tears
On their bitter bread;
Some were old and some were mad,
And some were sick a-bed.

Gray Death saw the wretched house
And even he passed by–
“They have never lived,” he said,
“They can wait to die.”

poem – the giver

You bound strong sandals on my feet,
You gave me bread and wine,
And sent me under sun and stars,
For all the world was mine.

Oh, take the sandals off my feet,
You know not what you do;
For all my world is in your arms,
My sun and stars are you.

poem – the cloud

am a cloud in the heaven’s height,
The stars are lit for my delight,
Tireless and changeful, swift and free,
I cast my shadow on hill and sea–
But why do the pines on the mountain’s crest
Call to me always, “Rest, rest”?

I throw my mantle over the moon
And I blind the sun on his throne at noon,
Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind,
I am a child of the heartless wind–
But oh the pines on the mountain’s crest
Whispering always, “Rest, rest.”

poem – dream song

I plucked a snow-drop in the spring,
And in my hand too closely pressed;
The warmth had hurt the tender thing,
I grieved to see it withering.
I gave my love a poppy red,
And laid it on her snow-cold breast;
But poppies need a warmer bed,
We wept to find the flower was dead.

poem – the tree

OH to be free of myself,
With nothing left to remember,
To have my heart as bare
As a tree in December;
Resting, as a tree rests
After its leaves are gone,
Waiting no more for a rain at night
Nor for the red at dawn;
But still, oh so still
While the winds come and go,
With no more fear of the hard frost
Or the bright burden of snow;
Page 136
And heedless, heedless
If anyone pass and see
On the white page of the sky
Its thin black tracery.

poem – after death

OH to be free of myself,
With nothing left to remember,
To have my heart as bare
As a tree in December;
Resting, as a tree rests
After its leaves are gone,
Waiting no more for a rain at night
Nor for the red at dawn;
But still, oh so still
While the winds come and go,
With no more fear of the hard frost
Or the bright burden of snow;
Page 136
And heedless, heedless
If anyone pass and see
On the white page of the sky
Its thin black tracery.

poem – to rose

Rose, when I remember you,
Little lady, scarcely two,
I am suddenly aware
Of the angels in the air.
All your softly gracious ways
Make an island in my days
Where my thoughts fly back to be
Sheltered from too strong a sea.
All your luminous delight
Shines before me in the night
When I grope for sleep and find
Only shadows in my mind.

Rose, when I remember you,
White and glowing, pink and new,
With so swift a sense of fun
Altho’ life has just begun;
With so sure a pride of place
In your very infant face,
I should like to make a prayer
To the angels in the air:
“If an angel ever brings
Me a baby in her wings,
Please be certain that it grows
Very, very much like Rose.”

poem – alone

I am alone, in spite of love,
In spite of all I take and give—
In spite of all your tenderness,
Sometimes I am not glad to live.

I am alone, as though I stood
On the highest peak of the tired gray world,
About me only swirling snow,
Above me, endless space unfurled;

With earth hidden and heaven hidden,
And only my own spirit’s pride
To keep me from the peace of those
Who are not lonely, having died.

poem – after love

There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea –
There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm
And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
For all its peace.

poem – the wine

I CANNOT die, who drank delight
From the cup of the crescent moon,
And hungrily as men eat bread,
Loved the scented nights of June.
The rest may die—but is there not
Some shining strange escape for me
Who sought in Beauty the bright wine
Of immortality?

Fohor – Bhupin Byakul

के प्राण बाँकी हुन्छ र ती घरहरुमा
जहाँ कुनु फोहोर हुँदैन !

जीवन केवल
नमेटिने तृष्णा हो सौन्दर्यको
फोहोरको नदी किनारमा
फोहोर त त्यहाँ पनि हुन्छ
जहाँ पुग्छन सपनै सपनामा
उचाइ टेकेरफर्किरहेका जाँगरिला खुट्टाहरु
जहाँ छिर्छन रहरको बन्द ढोकाबाट
गहिराइ छोएर उत्रिएका सुन्दर आँखाहरु
फोहोर त्यहीं हुन्छ
जहाँ फुल्छन अदृश्य सम्भावनाहरु

असमर्थ छन् फोहोर गर्न
मुखियाको लौरिलाई झैं
समयको जी-हजुरी गरिरहेका अमुक गाउँहरु
श्रमिकका आवाजहरु निल्ने हृदयविहीन सहरहरु
कोठाभित्र अचेत पल्टिएका रोगि हावा
र मानिसको स्पर्श पर्खिरहेका किताबहरु !

गरिबीलाई झैं
चरम असफलतालाई झैं
र मेरा अभावका अनन्त परतहरुलाई झैं
फोहोरलाइ घृणा गर्ने मेरो सभ्य मित्रहरु
म कसरी सम्झाउँ तिमीहरुलाई
कि फोहोरको क्षितिजबाट उदाउँछ
कानुन र राज्यसत्ताको नयाँ घाम
फोहोरकै आकाशमा टिम्टिमाउँछन
कला र समस्त सौन्दर्यका जुनतारहरु
कसरी सम्झाउँ
कि फोहोरकै कडा आवरण फुटालेर
चल्लाझैं निस्कन्छ स्वयम् सफा पनि !

फोहोर रुमालले अनुहार पुछने पृथ्वीमा
फोहोर गरेरै जन्मिन्छ मानिस पनि !

निरपेक्ष कहाँ हुन्छ र स्वच्छता
बाँच्नको लागि फोहोर गर्नु जरूरी हुन्छ … … !

Samundra Heri – Bhupin Byakul

बग्दै गरेको
कुनै समुद्रझैं देखिन्छ मानिस
जब ऊ समुद्रअघि उभिन्छ !

हिमपहिरोबाट बग्दैबग्दै
पग्लदै आएको बरफको ढिक्काजस्तो
मानिस जब समुद्रमा हामफाल्छ
बिलाउँछ ऊ
असिनाहरु बिलाएझैं माटोमा
यात्रीहरु बिलाएझैँ बाटोमा

फुट्न तयार
हजारौं ज्वालामुखीहरु छन् समुद्रसँग
खलपात्र सन्तानको पेट बोकेकी आमाको गर्भझैं
लाखौंको ज्यान लिने
सुनामीहरु छन् समुद्रको गर्भमा
मान्छे निल्ने साइक्लोनहरु छन्
ढुंगा काट्ने छालहरु छन्
र पृथ्वी नै हल्लाउने
भयङ्कर हलचल छ समुद्रसंग

समुद्रअघि उभिएको मानिससंग पनी
यी सबै छन्
सीमाहीन सीमाहरू छन्
जहाँ कोह कोलम्बस पुगेको छैन अझसम्म
जीवनभरी हिंडेर नसकिने
अन्नत बाटाहरु छन्
दुर्घटित
इतिहासका किम्बदन्तीहरु छन्
अभेद्य प्रश्नहरु छन्

समुद्र बोकेर पिठ्युँमा
प्रकाश छिरेझें झ्यालबाट चोटामा
मानिस घरभित्र छिर्छ
अफिस जान्छ
बैठकको निर्णयमा हस्ताक्षर गर्छ
पहाड चढ्छ र ओर्लन्छ
उसको मुटुले छाती बझाएझैँ
मन्दिर गएर घन्ट बजाउँछ
मौन बस्छ
कविता लेख्छ
र समुद्रझैँ
जीवन र मृत्युका सीमनाहरुमा बगिरहन्छ !

समुद्रअघि उभिएको मानिस
समुद्रमा मिसिएको पानीजस्तो देखिन्छ !

poem – sad love story

Two lovers in a parlor
Who have just sat down to eat
But they’re being watched
From across the street

Her jealous ex-husband
With a photographic lens
Quickly snapping pictures
As she’s kissing him

His blood is now boiling
As they sit there and eat
Thinking how he could carve them up
Like a butcher does his meat

He wander just how long
This affair’s been going on
He can tell by their actions
It’s took awhile for this much bond

They get up to leave
And start heading for the door
He reaches for his gun
He can’t take this anymore

As they step outside
He takes aim on her chest
He slowly squeezes the trigger
And she falls to her final rest

He takes aim on the man
And shoots him twice, just as fast
He falls there beside her
Then he drives away fast

He ends up on some back road
Where no one is around
He puts the gun to his head
But no one heard the sound

They once had it all
A nice house and two kids
But that ended quickly
when he found out what she did

Some say it was her fault
For not giving him enough attention
And flirting with other guys
Who’s names we won’t mention

So take heed from my story
This is not how love should end
But rather more on a happy note
Always be happy in love my friend

poem – happy & sad

Happy and Sad – never come together
They are very different in nature,

Happy is very cute, always smiling
Sad is just opposite, very depressing….

Sad is very jealous of Happy
The moment sad is in, Happy feels unsteady…

When Happy is with me, I am also very happy
But the moment Sad is in, I feel scared and shaky…

I just want to be alone, when I am with sad,
Though I know that he is very bad….

I know I can’t escape from sad
If I try to run away, I will go mad…

So, I try to react normal, irrespective of each other
I know that one is going to come after another…

Sapana Ra Shiva – Sarubhakta

यातना घर
इरेजरले मेटिएका अनुहारहरू
स्वयम्भू माफियादेवहरूको अर्चना गर्छन्
यो युग नरभक्षी बाघहरूको युग होइन
नरभक्षी नरहरूको युग हो !
वेवारिसे लासहरू
गाउँ छोड्ने सपनाका लस्कर चलेका छन्
भोकाएका अजिङ्गरहरू
छुचुन्द्राहरूका जुलुसमा सामेल छन्
ए ! यो देशबाट देवताहरू विस्थापित भइसके ?
त्यसो भए मन्दिरहरूको होइन
भ्रष्टाचारहरूको जीर्णोद्धार गरौँ
लोपोन्मुख गिद्धहरू
आमाहरूलाई सोध, प्रत्येक गर्भ घाइते छ !
मृगमरिचिका
देशका लागि सर्वत्र देश विस्फोटित छ
दोर्जेलाक्पा हिमालको कसम
यो देशमा अब खतराहरू मात्र सुरक्षित छन् !
ˆयाउराहरूको आत्मकथा
ध्रुवीय भालुहरूको डरयुक्त भर छ
कस्ले कस्को स्थिति सार्वजनिक गर्ने ?
जीवन सधैँ भुइँचालो र्फकने प्रतीक्षामा व्यतीत छ !
अलिनो भान्सा
दरबारमार्गका झडपहरू
एम्बुस जडान जिन्दगीका जिजीविषाहरूसँगै
सपना भुलाई गएका शिव अधिकारीहरू कता लागे ?
बन्दका हल्लाले बन्द देश
सावधान, तोडा चलेको छ
डबलीमा कात्तिक नाचहरू हेर्दै
ऊ लास परेका जुलुसहरू जीवनको अभिनय गर्दैछन् !
आङमा लुगा छैन ?
त्यसो भए निःशुल्क केटि्रमोक्साजोल खाऔं
कठ्याङ्गि्रने जाडो याम
मनहरूको अकुपन्चर चलेको छ !
अन्धोयुग
के ब्रेल छाम्ने औँंलाहरू पनि लोप भई सके ?

 

Tamagai Deshko Manchitra – Bhupin Byakul

शहरले अपहरण गरेको छ, तिम्रो आत्मा
र अचानो माथि राखेको छ, तिम्रो ढुकढुकी
देश, म त्यही आस्था र ढुकढुकी खोज्दै
यस्तो गाउंमा आईपुगेको छुं
जहां मान्छेहरु भन्दा बढी घरहरु छन्
जहां सुरक्षाहरु भन्दा बढी डरहरु छन्

मेरो अनुहारनै
एउटा प्रश्न भएर अगाडि उभिए पछि
गाउंका बृद्ध मुखिया ओतेले भने –
“युवतीहरु सपना खोज्न शहर पसेका छन्
युवाहरु जिवन खोज्न बिदेश पसेका छन्
र प्राण थामि रहेका बुढा बुढीहरु
आंगनमा काल पर्खेर बसेका छन्
यो गाउंको तातो पसिना
बिदेशको माटोमा बगेको छ
यो गाउंको तातो रगत
बिदेशको पानीमा बगेको छ ।”

मैले सोधें –
“कसले रोपेर गए
लाहुरे फुलका यि उदास बोटहरु ?
कसले गोडेर गए
फुलबारी, करेसाबारी र खेतबारीहरु ?
खोई बिहान जगाउन
भालेहरु बासेको यो गाउंमा ?
खोई गाउं ब्युंझाउन
हिमालहरु हांसेको यो गाउंमा ?”

गाउंको जम्मै उज्यालो बिदेश लैजाने
छोरा छोरीहरु सम्झदै
बृद्ध मुखिया आतेले रुंदै भने –
“लाहुरे फुलहरु नओईलाउंदै
र बिहान ब्युंझाउन भालेहरु नबास्दै
उनीहरु आएनन् भने
मृत्यु आउने छ हाम्रा ओछ्यानहरुमा
हामीहरु सबै यसरी मर्नेछौंकी
मलामी जान पनि कोही बांकी रहने छैनन् !”

मैले देखि रहेको थिएं –
शहरमा एक रात पनि बास नपाएर
संवेदनामा संस्कृतिहरु गाउं पस्दै थिए
र यहि क्रममा
तामागी
देशको मानचित्रबाट मेटिदैं थियो !

Aparajita Parijat – Khagendra Sangraula

उदास जीवनको उजाड बगरमा
मुना टुसायो एक दुबोको
पारिजात अपराजिता पारिजात

जीवनको त्यो जीवन शक्ति
कालरात्रीको जुनकीरी
जनजीवनको दिपशिखा त्यो
श्रमको त्यो महिमा गीत
पारिजात अपराजिता पारिजात

हुरी उठ्दा त्यो हारेन
बज्र बन्यो निस्तेज
मृत्यु मुखेन्जी लत्रेन त्यो
मृत्युन्जयी त्यो अमर गीत
पारिजात अपराजिता पारिजात

उदास जीवनको उजाड बगरमा
हरियाली त्यो जीवनको
पारिजात अपराजिता पारिजात

poem – fountain’s abbey

NEVER more, when the day is o’er,
Will the lonely vespers sound;
No bells are ringing—no monks are singing,
When the moonlight falls around.

A few pale flowers, which in other hours
May have cheered the dreary mood;
When the votary turned to the world he had spurned,
And repined at the solitude.

Still do they blow ‘mid the ruins below,
For fallen are fane and shrine,
And the moss has grown o’er the sculptured stone
Of an altar no more divine.

Still on the walls where the sunshine falls,
The ancient fruit-tree grows;
And o’er tablet and tomb, extends the bloom
Of many a wilding rose.

Fair though they be, yet they seemed to me
To mock the wreck below;
For mighty the tower, where the fragile flower
May now as in triumph blow.

Oh, foolish the thought, that my fancy brought;
More true and more wise to say,
That still thus doth spring, some gentle thing,
With its beauty to cheer decay.

poem – kate kearney

WHY doth the maiden turn away
From voice so sweet, and words so dear?
Why doth the maiden turn away
When love and flattery woo her ear?
And rarely that enchanted twain
Whisper in woman’s ear in vain.
Why doth the maiden leave the hall?
No face is fair as hers is fair,
No step has such a fairy fall,
No azure eyes like hers are there.

The maiden seeks her lonely bower,
Although her father’s guests are met;
She knows it is the midnight hour,
She knows the first pale star is set,
And now the silver moon-beams wake
The spirits of the haunted Lake.
The waves take rainbow hues, and now
The shining train are gliding by,
Their chieftain lifts his glorious brow,
The maiden meets his lingering eye.

The glittering shapes melt into night;
Another look, their chief is gone,
And chill and gray comes morning’s light,
And clear and cold the Lake flows on;
Close, close the casement, not for sleep,
Over such visions eyes but weep.

How many share such destiny,
How many, lured by fancy’s beam,
Ask the impossible to be,
And pine, the victims of a dream.

poem – hannibal’s oath

AND the night was dark and calm,
There was not a breath of air,
The leaves of the grove were still,
As the presence of death were there;

Only a moaning sound
Came from the distant sea,
It was as if, like life,
It had no tranquillity.

A warrior and a child
Pass’d through the sacred wood,
Which, like a mystery,
Around the temple stood.

The warrior’s brow was worn
With the weight of casque and plume,
And sun-burnt was his cheek,
And his eye and brow were gloom.

The child was young and fair,
But the forehead large and high,
And the dark eyes’ flashing light
Seem’d to feel their destiny.

They enter’d in the temple,
And stood before the shrine,
It stream’d with the victim’s blood,
With incense and with wine.

The ground rock’d beneath their feet,
The thunder shook the dome,
But the boy stood firm, and swore
Eternal hate to Rome.

There’s a page in history
O’er which tears of blood were wept,
And that page is the record
How that oath of hate was kept.

poem – the sheperd boy

LIKE some vision olden
Of far other time,
When the age was golden,
In the young world’s prime
Is thy soft pipe ringing,
O lonely shepherd boy,
What song art thou singing,
In thy youth and joy?

Or art thou complaining
Of thy lowly lot,
And thine own disdaining
Dost ask what thou hast not?
Of the future dreaming,
Weary of the past,
For the present scheming,
All but what thou hast.

No, thou art delighting
In thy summer home;
Where the flowers inviting
Tempt the bee to roam;
Where the cowslip bending,
With its golden bells,
Of each glad hour’s ending
With a sweet chime tells.

All wild creatures love him
When he is alone,
Every bird above him
Sings its softest tone.
Thankful to high Heaven,
Humble in thy joy,
Much to thee is given,
Lowly shepherd boy.

OH lone and lovely solitude,
Washed by the sounding sea;
Nature was in a poet’s mood,
When she created thee.

How pleasant in the hour of noon
To wander through the shade;
The soft and golden shade which June
Flings o’er thy inland glade:

The wild rose like a wreath above,
The ash-tree’s fairy keys,
The aspen trembling, as if love
Were whispered by the breeze;

These, or the beech’s darker bough,
For canopy o’er head,
While moss and fragile flowers below
An elfin pillow spread.

Here one might dream the hours away,
As if the world had not
Or grief, or care, or disarray,
To darken human lot.

Yet ’tis not here that I would dwell,
Though fair the place may be,
The summer’s favourite citadel:—
A busier scene for me!

I love to see the human face
Reflect the human mind,
To watch in every crowded place
Their opposites combined.

There’s more for thought in one brief hour
In yonder busy street,
Than all that ever leaf or flower
Taught in their green retreat.

Industry, intellect, and skill
Appear in all their pride,
The glorious force of human will
Triumphs on every side.

Yet touched with meekness, for on all
Is set the sign and seal
Of sorrow, suffering, and thrall,
Which none but own and feel;
The hearse that passes with its dead,
The homeless beggar’s prayer,
Speak words of warning, and of dread,
To every passer there.

Aye beautiful the dreaming brought
By valleys and green fields;
But deeper feeling, higher thought,
Is what the city yields.

poem – the sea shore

I SHOULD like to dwell where the deep blue sea
Rock’d to and fro as tranquilly,
As if it were willing the halcyon’s nest
Should shelter through summer its beautiful guest.
When a plaining murmur like that of a song,
And a silvery line come the waves along:
Now bathing—now leaving the gentle shore,
Where shining sea-shells lay scattered o’er.

And children wandering along the strand,
With the eager eye and the busy hand,
Heaping the pebbles and green sea-weed,
Like treasures laid up for a time of need.
Or tempting the waves with their daring feet,
To launch, perhaps, some tiny fleet:
Mimicking those which bear afar
The wealth of trade—and the strength of war.

I should love, when the sun-set reddened the foam,
To watch the fisherman’s boat come home,
With his well-filled net and glittering spoil:
Well has the noon-tide repaid its toil.
While the ships that lie in the distance away
Catch on their canvass the crimsoning ray;
Like fairy ships in the tales of old,
When the sails they spread were purple and gold.

Then the deep delight of the starry night,
With its shadowy depths and dreamy light:
When far away spreads the boundless sea,
As if it imaged infinity.
Let me hear the winds go singing by,
Lulling the waves with their melody:
While the moon like a mother watches their sleep,
And I ask no home but beside the deep.

poem – the funeral

MARK you not yon sad procession;
‘Mid the ruin’d abbey’s gloom,
Hastening to the worm’s possession,
To the dark and silent tomb!

See the velvet pall hangs over
Poor mortality’s remains;
We should shudder to discover
What that coffin’s space contains.

Death itself is lovely—wearing
But the colder shape of sleep;
Or the solemn statue bearing
Beauty that forbids to weep.

But decay—the pulses tremble
When its livid signs appear;
When the once-loved lips resemble
All we loathe, and all we fear.

Is it not a ghastly ending
For the body’s godlike form,
Thus to the damp earth descending,
Food and triumph to the worm?

Better far the red pile blazing
With the spicy Indian wood,
Incense unto heaven raising
From the sandal oil’s sweet flood.

In the bright pyre’s kindling flashes,
Let my yielded soul ascend;
Fling to the wild winds my ashes
‘Till with mother-earth they blend.

Not so,—let the pale urn keep them;
Touch’d with spices, oil, and wine;
Let there be some one to weep them;
Wilt thou keep that urn? Love mine!

poem – i have changed the numbers

I have changed the numbers on my watch,
And now perhaps something else will change.
Now perhaps
At precisely 2a.m.
You will not get up
And gathering your things together
Go forever.
Perhaps now you will find it is
Far too early to go,
Or far too late,
And stay forever

poem – doubt shall not make

Doubt shall not make an end of you
nor closing eyes lose your shape
when the retina’s light fades;
what dawns inside me will light you.
In our public lives we may confine ourselves to darkness,
our nowhere mouths explain away our dreams,
but alone we are incorruptible creatures,
our light sunk too deep to be of any social use
we wander free and perfect without moving
or love on hard carpets
where couples revolving round the room
end found at its centre.
Our love like a whale from its deepest ocean rises –
I offer this and a multitude of images
from party rooms to oceans,
the single star and all its reflections;
being completed we include all
and nothing wishes to escape us.
Beneath my hand your hardening breast agrees
to sing of its own nature,
then from a place without names our origin comes shivering.
Feel nothing separate then,
we have translated each other into light
and into love go streaming.

poem – there is a boat down

There is a boat down on the quay come home at last.
The paint’s chipped, the sails stained as if
Time’s pissed up against them.
I imagine the sea routes it’s followed,
Sailing through the world’s sunken veins
With its cargo of longings;
A little boat that’s nuzzled its way
Into the armpits of forests,
That’s sliced through the moon’s reflection,
Through the phosphate that clings to the lips of waves.
I knew its crew once,
Those boys manacled to freedom
Who set sail over half a century ago,
And were like giants to me.
A solitary child in awe of oceans
I saw them peel their shadows from the land
And watched as they departed.
What did they think when they peered
Over the rim of the world,
Where Time roared and bubbled
And angels swooped like swallows?
Reading an ancient Morse code of starlight,
Stranded by the longing to be elsewhere,
What secrets did they learn to forget?
I longed to be among them,
A passenger curled up in fate’s pocket,
I longed to be a part of them –
Those ghosts who set sail in my childhood,
Those phantoms who shaped me,
That marvellous crew for whom
I have stretched a simple goodbye
Out over a lifetime.

poem – gust becos

Gust becos I cud not spel
It did not mean I was daft
When the boys in school red my riting
Some of them laffed

But now I am the dictater
They have to rite like me
Utherwise they cannot pas
Ther GCSE

Some of the girls were ok
But those who laffed a lot
Have al bean rownded up
And hav recintly bean shot

The teecher who corrected my speling
As not been shot at al
But four the last fifteen howers
As bean standing up against a wal

He has to stand ther until he can spel
Figgymisgrugifooniyn the rite way
I think he will stand ther for ever
I just inventid it today

poem – the day i got my finger

When I got my finger stuck up my nose
I went to a doctor, who said,
“Nothing like this has happened before,
We will have to chop off your head.”

“It’s only my finger stuck up my nose,
It’s only my finger!” I said.
“I see what it is,” the doctor replied,
“But we’ll still have to chop off your head.”

He went to the cabinet and took out an axe.
I watched with considerable dread.
“But it’s only my finger stuck up my nose.
It’s only a finger!” I said.

“Perhaps we can yank it out with a hook
Tied to some surgical thread.
Maybe we can try that,” he replied
“Rather than chop off your head.”

“I’m never going to pick it again.
I’ve now learned my lesson,” I said.
“I won’t stick my finger up my nose –
I’ll stick it in my ear instead.”

poem – mr ifonly

Mr Ifonly sat down and he sighed,
I could have done more if only I had tried
If only I had followed my true intent
If only I had done the things that I meant
If only I had done the things that I could
And not simply done the things that I should
If only a day had lasted a year
And I had not lived in constant fear
Mr Ifonly sat down and he cried:
I could really have lived if only I had tried!
Now life has past me by and its such a crime,
Said Mr Ifonly who had run out of time

poem – one another’s light

I do not know what brought me here
Away from where I’ve hardly ever been and now
Am never likely to go again.

Faces are lost, and places passed
At which I could have stopped,
And stopping, been glad enough.

Some faces left a mark,
And I on them might have wrought
Some kind of charm or spell
To make their futures work,

But it’s hard to guess
How one person on another
Works an influence.
We pass, and lit briefly by one another’s light
Hope the way we go is right.

poem – remembering snow

I did not sleep last night.
The falling snow was beautiful and white.
I dressed, sneaked down the stairs
And opened wide the door.
I had not seen such snow before.
Our grubby little street had gone;
The world was brand-new, and everywhere
There was a pureness in the air.
I felt such peace. Watching every flake
I felt more and more awake.
I thought I’d learned all there was to know
About the trillion million different kinds
Of swirling frosty falling flakes of snow.
But that was not so.
I had not known how vividly it lit
The world with such a peaceful glow.
Upstairs my mother slept.
I could not drag myself away from that sight
To call her down and have her share
That mute miracle of snow.
It seemed to fall for me alone.
How beautiful our grubby little street had grown!

poem – a golden day

I Found you and I lost you,
All on a gleaming day.
The day was filled with sunshine,
And the land was full of May.

A golden bird was singing
Its melody divine,
I found you and I loved you,
And all the world was mine.

I found you and I lost you,
All on a golden day,
But when I dream of you, dear,
It is always brimming May.

dreamgirl – carl sandburg

You will come one day in a waver of love,
Tender as dew, impetuous as rain,
The tan of the sun will be on your skin,
The purr of the breeze in your murmuring speech,
You will pose with a hill-flower grace.

You will come, with your slim, expressive arms,
A poise of the head no sculptor has caught
And nuances spoken with shoulder and neck,
Your face in a pass-and-repass of moods
As many as skies in delicate change
Of cloud and blue and flimmering sun.

Yet,
You may not come, O girl of a dream,
We may but pass as the world goes by
And take from a look of eyes into eyes,
A film of hope and a memoried day.

bagpipe music – louis macneice

It’s no go the merrygoround, it’s no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison.

John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumbbells to use when he was fifty.

It’s no go the Yogi-man, it’s no go Blavatsky,
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.

Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
It’s no go your maidenheads, it’s no go your culture,
All we want is a Dunlop tire and the devil mend the puncture.

The Laird o’ Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over.
Mrs. Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion,
Said to the midwife “Take it away; I’m through with overproduction.”

It’s no go the gossip column, it’s no go the Ceilidh,
All we want is a mother’s help and a sugar-stick for the baby.

Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn’t count the damage,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish,
Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish.

It’s no go the Herring Board, it’s no go the Bible,
All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle.

It’s no go the picture palace, it’s no go the stadium,
It’s no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums,
It’s no go the Government grants, it’s no go the elections,
Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.

It’s no go my honey love, it’s no go my poppet;
Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.
The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall forever,
But if you break the bloody glass you won’t hold up the weather.

secret music – segfried sassoon

I keep such music in my brain
No din this side of death can quell;
Glory exulting over pain,
And beauty, garlanded in hell.

My dreaming spirit will not heed
The roar of guns that would destroy
My life that on the gloom can read
Proud-surging melodies of joy.

To the world’s end I went, and found
Death in his carnival of glare;
But in my torment I was crowned,
And music dawned above despair.

ancient music – ezra pound

Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm.
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.

Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.

Goddamm, Goddamm, ’tis why I am, Goddamm,
So ‘gainst the winter’s balm.

Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm.
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.

sad eyes – mariana zita

These eyes of mine cry
This heart of mine bleeds
This soul of mine breaks
As i slowly die, the colours
of my face fade and my once
happy life is know like the walls
of a dungeon, black, dark and
empty with no one there to comfort
me and the one person i thought
would be there is the farthest one away
from me.Come back i call come back
but the more i shout and scream her name
the more she walks not even looking at my
sad eyes that shimmer with unshed tears.
I call her to please come back, but she keeps
on walking as if not hearing my pleas, and as
she keeps on walking into the light of there
scorn and hate, i cry with every step she takes.
As my body crumbles to the ground a heap of
broken bones, she turns back for one last glance
and see’s my fallen body, running back to me she
calls my name with a desperate tone in her voice.
Its to late though for I am gone out of the prison
that once held me for so long, never will i return
even if she wants me back.

sad – cristina geanta

sad for all the time my embrace was empty of you
sad for being stubborn to be sad
sad for touching objects baring your presence
sad for not touching you…

sad for re adi ng your name everywhere i turn
sad for all the blue jackets other men should not have worn
sad for all my weak spots left to be weak
sad to open my eyes in the morning

sad for a cruel truth not even dreams can survive
sad without dreaming
sad of nothing to hope for
sad for still seing beautiful things worth for you to know

sad…
just what she is not

a sad child – margaret atwood

You’re sad because you’re sad.
It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you’re trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

kabita – baadal

कहिले बन्ने हात्ती घोडा, कहिले बन्ने रूख
लहराउँछौ जताततै कति ठुलो मुख

गर्जिन्छौ मेघ बनी, बनी दिन्छौ वर्षा
उफ्रिन्छौं बालकहरू, हामी हुन्छौ हर्ष

जताजता हावा चल्छ, त्यतै बहि दिन्छौ
चम्किदिन्छौ बिजुली भै हाम्रो सातो लिन्छौ

कहिले बन्छौ सेतो हात्ती, कहिले बन्छौ कालो
लुकमारी खेल खेल्ने, अब हाम्रो पालो

गर्मीमा शीतल दिन्छौ, छेकी घामलाई
अन्नवाली स्वाहा पार्छौ असिना पो भई

my laughter – vera sidhwa

My laughter resounded through the trees,
Then bent around the stream.
This laughter had turned to tears,
When disturbed by a bad dream.

My laughter scanned the blue above,
Then arced all around.
This laughter flew through the blue,
Then landed on the ground.

If it weren’t for my laughter,
Where would I be?
I’m now in a pretty position, you see,
With so much laughter around and around me.

laughter – sophia borger

What would I do without laughter?
A sad place indeed, it would be.
The funnies..the sillies..whatever it takes
for the sound of laughter.
Never laughing at someone else..
Only sharing together the humor of the moment..
Makes a lighter load to carry
Of the burdens we face..
If there is also a little laughter.

laughter – indira renganathan

Then the Lord smiles
Flowers florescence
Tickled heart shines
In twinkling eyes
Befriending laughing tears..
Laughter is heavenly

Savvy happy, for it links
Body, mind, soul so intense
Beatitude for it enchains
Being to being contagious
Harmony for it thereon begets
Laughter is heavenly..

Hell with laughing devils
Their laughter of cacophonic peals
Laughs to laugh at tears
Not so, not so with heavenwards
Imbibed of seventh heaven redolence
Laughter is heavenly

i burst into laughter – kabir

I burst into laughter
whenever I hear
that the fish is thirsty in water.

Without the knowledge of Self
people just wander to Mathura or to Kashi
like the musk-deer unaware
of the scent in his navel,
goes on running forest to forest.

In water is the lotus plant
and the plant bears flowers
and on the flowers are the bees buzzing.
Likewise all yogis and mendicants
and all those who have renounced comforts,
are on here and hereafter and the nether world –
contemplating.

Friend, the Supreme Indestructible Being,
on whom thousands of sages meditate
and even Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh,
really resides within one’s self.

Though He is near, He appears far away –
and that is what makes one disturbed;
says Kabir, listen, O wise one,
by Guru alone is the confusion curbed.

the laughter of women – lisel mueller

The laughter of women sets fire
to the Halls of Injustice
and the false evidence burns
to a beautiful white lightness

It rattles the Chambers of Congress
and forces the windows wide open
so the fatuous speeches can fly out

The laughter of women wipes the mist
from the spectacles of the old;
it infects them with a happy flu
and they laugh as if they were young again

Prisoners held in underground cells
imagine that they see daylight
when they remember the laughter of women

It runs across water that divides,
and reconciles two unfriendly shores
like flares that signal the news to each other

What a language it is, the laughter of women,
high-flying and subversive.
Long before law and scripture
we heard the laughter, we understood freedom.

beautiful accessories – david darbyshire

I suppose we start with Lipstick
Red, Cherrie, spread on nice and Thick
Then a hair piece, or a Wig
The best that they can Rig
Now we come to lots of Jewelry
Fake diamonds, rubies are Tom-Foolery
Or things hanging from there Ears
That look like Chandeliers
Also nail polish, perfume, fancy Soap
With all this stuff I don’t know how they Cope
I really know that women are beautiful on any given Day
But no make-up, no fake-up, would be the best Way

beautiful – grace tan

Don’t cover your face with your long bangs;
Try to hide your figure with your hands.
Look away when eyes lock into yours
Because you feel
They’ll cringe at the sight.

Don’t converse with the floor when you walk;
Avoid all the people that pass.
Slouch down, hunchbacked, in a crowd
Desperately, trying hard
To merge with the ground.

Don’t tell yourself you won’t pass;
Talk in a whisper.
Contract your open hand, fist it,
Drawing in,
Clutched tightly with your heart.

Don’t frown at your image on the tainted glassframe;
Look at me- I mean what I say.
Stand tall. Chest up. Look straight.
I twirled you around.
Tucked a stray hair gently behind your ear,
Wiped off the tears with my hands
And stared.

You’re beautiful.

So many have yet to see, my friend.
When our world and views are so blemished;
Superficial reigning like an implorable mountain,
Where minds cannot compass through the mists
To find the unsullied hearts below.

But even if this unwinding path continues
Let time not wait, and pass,
But mine voice to you
Past your teary eyes,
Gaze upon you, and whisper:

beautiful blue eyes – grace hays

Blue eyes so full of life
A wonder all of their own
So beautiful and precious
Oh to see those eyes smile
Such a beautiful sight
How I love to look into those eyes
When I look into them
A kind of peace comes over me
Beautiful blue eyes
Always haunting me
…teasing me
Reminding me of what I want…can’t have
Why do they haunt me so
When will I be free of them
Constantly held captive by those blue eyes
Beautiful blue eyes
Always there
A reminder of what I want…can’t have
Such beautiful blue eyes
Beautiful blue eyes…

love after love – derek walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

colorfully beautiful – paul moosberg

Pink’s pretty passion, Red’s re-revelries
Blue’s babbling brook, Green’s gracefully glee
Purple’s past presence, Orange’s overseas
Yellow’s young yearning, your Love sets me free

Beautiful ranting, of rain color sill
Colors a picture, as image stands still
Full of all fullness, my heart’s past its fill
Loving you darling, with all of my will

beautiful rose – henry clay work

Off on the prairie, where the balmy air
Kisses the waving corn,
There lives a farmer, with a daughter fair–
Fair as a summer’s morn!
She has a nature gentle as a dove,
Pure as the mountain snows;
Say! is it strange that everyone should love–
Love such a girl as Rose?

Beautiful Rose! lovely Rose!
Pride of the prairie bower!
Everybody loves her–everybody knows
She is the fairest flower.

Rose is a lady yet from early dawn,
Labors her skillful hand;
She is the housewife, now her mother’s gone–
Gone to the better land.
Rose has the beauty–father has the gold–
Both will be hers one day;
For she is young, while he is growing old–
Old people pass away.

Clerks from the city, plowmen from the field,
Lords from a foreign land;
Each in their turn have very humbly kneeled–
Kneeled for her heart and hand.
But to them all she made the same reply–
Kindly but firmly, “No!”
And none but I can tell the reason why–
Why she should treat them so.

you are beautiful – fidelis patronus

You are beautiful
Your love shines right through me
Every time I hear your name
It makes my cheeks red with shame

You are beautiful
And I love you
Like I love music
But you much more boldly

How about you and I go down to the park?
It makes this love more mysterious and dark

You are beautiful
Your red lips make my cheeks red
Your flowing hair makes mine stand on end
Jealousy, envy, love, and lust
You cannot be more robust

You are beautiful
Now I have described it as best I can

I should be done talking to myself now
And I think I should talk to the beautiful stranger before me
Or maybe the beautiful you is not man but is this-
Poetry

Yes I believe I will go down to the park
So it is mysterious and dark
And write about you Poetry
For I realize that Poetry is far more beautiful than thee

a beautiful day – charles m moore

I walked to the cliff top to watch the sunset
thinking of you and the time that we met
I watched as the sun drifted down from the sky
a reminding reflection of light in your eyes

A myriad birds flocked from over the hill
returning to roost as the world stood still
their fawning and waving high up in the air
brought memories to me how you unfurl your hair

The sea seemed to amble as if in a trance
when reaching the rocks leaping into a dance
its light sparking rainbows in fine misty haze
a lasting encounter of how we embrace

The sun kissed the horizon like I kiss your lips
it was saying goodnight with its light fingertips
caressing the ocean and stretching my way
a beautiful end to a beautiful day.

alone – deborah ager

Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey. Nine o’clock.
You are alone for the first time
today. Boys asleep. Husband out.

A beer bottle sweats in your hand,
and sea lavender clogs the air
with perfume. Think of yourself.
Your arms rest with nothing to do

after weeks spent attending to others.
Your thoughts turn to whether
butter will last the week, how much
longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.

the images alone – les murray

Scarlet as the cloth draped over a sword,
white as steaming rice, blue as leschenaultia,
old curried towns, the frog in its green human skin;
a ploughman walking his furrow as if in irons, but
as at a whoop of young men running loose
in brick passages, there occurred the thought
like instant stitches all through crumpled silk:

as if he’d had to leap to catch the bullet.

A stench like hands out of the ground.
The willows had like beads in their hair, and
Peenemünde, grunted the dentist’s drill, Peenemünde!
Fowls went on typing on every corn key, green
kept crowding the pinks of the peach trees into the sky
but used speech balloons were tacky in the river
and waterbirds had liftoff as at a repeal of gravity.

man alone – louise bogan

It is yourself you seek
In a long rage,
Scanning through light and darkness
Mirrors, the page,

Where should reflected be
Those eyes and that thick hair,
That passionate look, that laughter.
You should appear

Within the book, or doubled,
Freed, in the silvered glass;
Into all other bodies
Yourself should pass.

The glass does not dissolve;
Like walls the mirrors stand;
The printed page gives back
Words by another hand.

And your infatuate eye
Meets not itself below;
Strangers lie in your arms
As I lie now.

the loss of love – countee cullen

All through an empty place I go,
And find her not in any room;
The candles and the lamps I light
Go down before a wind of gloom.
Thick-spraddled lies the dust about,
A fit, sad place to write her name
Or draw her face the way she looked
That legendary night she came.

The old house crumbles bit by bit;
Each day I hear the ominous thud
That says another rent is there
For winds to pierce and storms to flood.

My orchards groan and sag with fruit;
Where, Indian-wise, the bees go round;
I let it rot upon the bough;
I eat what falls upon the ground.

The heavy cows go laboring
In agony with clotted teats;
My hands are slack; my blood is cold;
I marvel that my heart still beats.

I have no will to weep or sing,
No least desire to pray or curse;
The loss of love is a terrible thing;
They lie who say that death is worse.

freedom – christal carpenter

All I want is freedom
Is that too much to ask
All I want is freedom
To forget everything in my past
All I want is freedom
To take away all the tears and the pain
All I want is freedom
To never feel that way again
All I want is freedom
To love you my own way
All I want is freedom
To make all my fears go away
All I want is freedom
To say “I love you”
All I want is freedom
To hear you say “I love you too”

poem – morning

The mist has left the greening plain,
The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,
The coquette rose awakes again
Her lovely self adorning.

The Wind is hiding in the trees,
A sighing, soothing, laughing tease,
Until the rose says “Kiss me, please,”
‘Tis morning, ’tis morning.

With staff in hand and careless-free,
The wanderer fares right jauntily,
For towns and houses are, thinks he,
For scorning, for scorning.
My soul is swift upon the wing,
And in its deeps a song I bring;
Come, Love, and we together sing,
“‘Tis morning, ’tis morning.”

poem – once we were happy

Once we were happy, I
Loving and beloved,
You loved and loving, sweetly moved.
Then you became the enemy
Of love, and I to disdain
Found youthful passion change.
Disdain demands I speak,
Disdain, that in my breast
Keeps the shame of my neglected offering fresh:
And from your laurel
Tears the leaves, now dry, once beautiful.

poem – song

When thy beauty appears
In its graces and airs
All bright as an angel new dropp’d from the sky,
At distance I gaze and am awed by my fears:
So strangely you dazzle my eye!

But when without art
Your kind thoughts you impart,
When your love runs in blushes through every vein;
When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart,
Then I know you’re a woman again.

There ‘s a passion and pride
In our sex (she replied),
And thus, might I gratify both, I would do:
Still an angel appear to each lover beside,
But still be a woman to you.

poem – to death

Death! where is thy victory?
To triumph whilst I die,
To triumph whilst thine ebon wing
Enfolds my shuddering soul?
O Death! where is thy sting?
Not when the tides of murder roll,
When nations groan, that kings may bask in bliss,
Death! canst thou boast a victory such as this–
When in his hour of pomp and power
His blow the mightiest murderer gave,
Mid Nature’s cries the sacrifice
Of millions to glut the grave;
When sunk the Tyrant Desolation’s slave;
Or Freedom’s life-blood streamed upon thy shrine;
Stern Tyrant, couldst thou boast a victory such as mine?

To know in dissolution’s void
That mortals’ baubles sunk decay;
That everything, but Love, destroyed
Must perish with its kindred clay,–
Perish Ambition’s crown,
Perish her sceptred sway:
From Death’s pale front fades Pride’s fastidious frown.
In Death’s damp vault the lurid fires decay,
That Envy lights at heaven-born Virtue’s beam–
That all the cares subside,
Which lurk beneath the tide
Of life’s unquiet stream;–
Yes! this is victory!
And on yon rock, whose dark form glooms the sky,
To stretch these pale limbs, when the soul is fled;
To baffle the lean passions of their prey,
To sleep within the palace of the dead!
Oh! not the King, around whose dazzling throne
His countless courtiers mock the words they say,
Triumphs amid the bud of glory blown,
As I in this cold bed, and faint expiring groan!

Tremble, ye proud, whose grandeur mocks the woe
Which props the column of unnatural state!
You the plainings, faint and low,
From Misery’s tortured soul that flow,
Shall usher to your fate.

Tremble, ye conquerors, at whose fell command
The war-fiend riots o’er a peaceful land!
You Desolation’s gory throng
Shall bear from Victory along
To that mysterious strand.

poem – good night

Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.

How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood —
Then it will be — good night.

To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,
They never say good-night.

poem – what makes a friend ?

A friend
What makes a friend?
A friend
Is someone that everyone needs
A friend
Is that special one
A friend
Is someone you tell EVERYTHING
A friend
Is someone you never lie to
A friend
Can be a boy or a girl
A friend
Is someone that is always their
A friend
Will always listen to you
A friend
Always has input to give
A friend
Will never leave you in the dust
A friend
Will help you through the thick and the thin
A friend
Will always stand by your side
A friend
Will never let you down
A friend
Is someone everyone needs
What would you do if you didnt have a friend?

poem – new year’s night

Now you are mine, to-night at last I say it;
You’re a dove I have bought for sacrifice,
And to-night I slay it.

Here in my arms my naked sacrifice!
Death, do you hear, in my arms I am bringing
My offering, bought at great price.

She’s a silvery dove worth more than all I’ve got.
Now I offer her up to the ancient, inexorable God,
Who knows me not.

Look, she’s a wonderful dove, without blemish or spot!
I sacrifice all in her, my last of the world,
Pride, strength, all the lot.

All, all on the altar! And death swooping down
Like a falcon. ‘Tis God has taken the victim;
I have won my renown.

poem – study

Somewhere the long mellow note of the blackbird
Quickens the unclasping hands of hazel,
Somewhere the wind-flowers fling their heads back,
Stirred by an impetuous wind. Some ways’ll
All be sweet with white and blue violet.
(Hush now, hush. Where am I?—Biuret—)

On the green wood’s edge a shy girl hovers
From out of the hazel-screen on to the grass,
Where wheeling and screaming the petulant plovers
Wave frighted. Who comes? A labourer, alas!
Oh the sunset swims in her eyes’ swift pool.
(Work, work, you fool——!)

Somewhere the lamp hanging low from the ceiling
Lights the soft hair of a girl as she reads,
And the red firelight steadily wheeling
Weaves the hard hands of my friend in sleep.
And the white dog snuffs the warmth, appealing
For the man to heed lest the girl shall weep.
(Tears and dreams for them; for me
Bitter science—the exams are near.
I wish I bore it more patiently.
I wish you did not wait, my dear,
For me to come: since work I must:
Though it’s all the same when we are dead.—
I wish I was only a bust,
All head.)

poem – trust

Oh we’ve got to trust
one another again
in some essentials.

Not the narrow little
bargaining trust
that says: I’m for you
if you’ll be for me. –

But a bigger trust,
a trust of the sun
that does not bother
about moth and rust,
and we see it shining
in one another.

Oh don’t you trust me,
don’t burden me
with your life and affairs; don’t
thrust me
into your cares.

But I think you may trust
the sun in me
that glows with just
as much glow as you see
in me, and no more.

But if it warms
your heart’s quick core
why then trust it, it forms
one faithfulness more.

And be, oh be
a sun to me,
not a weary, insistent
personality

but a sun that shines
and goes dark, but shines
again and entwines
with the sunshine in me

till we both of us
are more glorious
and more sunny.

poem – butterfly

Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!

Already it is October, and the wind
blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have
fallen, the wind is polished with
snow.
Here in the garden, with red
geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
white butterfly, content on my shoe!

Will you go, will you go from my warm
house?
Will you climb on your big soft wings,
black-dotted,
as up an invisible rainbow, an arch
till the wind slides you sheer from the
arch-crest
and in a strange level fluttering you go
out to sea-ward, white speck!

poem – humming bird

I can imagine, in some other world
Primeval-dumb, far back
In that most awful stillness, that only gasped and hummed,
Humming-birds raced down the avenues.

Before anything had a soul,
While life was a heave of Matter, half inanimate,
This little bit chipped off in brilliance
And went whizzing through the slow, vast, succulent stems.

I believe there were no flowers, then
In the world where the humming-bird flashed ahead of creation.
I believe he pierced the slow vegetable veins with his long beak.

Probably he was big
As mosses, and little lizards, they say were once big.
Probably he was a jabbing, terrifying monster.

We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time,
Luckily for us.

poem – the minister

DIM thro’ the sculptured aisles the sunbeam falls
More like a dream
Of some imagined beam,
Than actual daylight over mortal walls.

A strain of music like the rushing wind,
But deep and sweet
As when the waters meet
In one mysterious harmony combined.

So swells the mighty organ, rich and full,
As if it were the soul
Which raised the glorious whole
Of that fair building, vast and wonderful.

Doth not the spirit feel its influence,
All vain and feverish care,
All thoughts that worldly are,
Strife, tumult, mirth, and fear are vanished hence.

The world is put aside, within the heart
Those hopes arise
Thrice sacred mysteries,
In which our earthly nature has no part.

Oh, Christian Fane, the soul expands in thee,
Thine altar and thy tomb
Speak of the hope and doom
Which leads and cheers man to eternity.

poem – the african prince

IT was a king in Africa,
He had an only son;
And none of Europe’s crowned kings
Could have a dearer one.

With good cane arrows five feet long,
And with a shining bow,
When but a boy, to the palm woods
Would that young hunter go.

And home he brought white ivory,
And many a spotted hide:
When leopards fierce and beautiful
Beneath his arrows died.

Around his arms, around his brow,
A shining bar was rolled;
It was to mark his royal blood,
He wore that bar of gold.

And often at his father’s feet,
The evening he would pass;
When, weary of the hunt, he lay
Upon the scented grass.

Alas! it was an evil day,
When such a thing could be:
When strangers, pale and terrible,
Came o’er the distant sea.

They found the young prince mid the woods,
The palm woods deep and dark:
That day his lion-hunt was done,
They bore him to their bark.

They bound him in a narrow hold,
With others of his kind;
For weeks did that accursed ship
Sail on before the wind.
Now shame upon the cruel wind,
And on the cruel sea,
That did not with some mighty storm,
Set those poor captives free:

Or, shame to those weak thoughts, so fain
To have their wilful way:
God knoweth what is best for all—
The winds and seas obey.

At length a lovely island rose
From out the ocean wave;
They took him to the market-place,
And sold him for a slave.

Some built them homes, and in the shade
Of flowered and fragrant trees,
They half forgot the palm-hid huts
They left far o’er the seas.

But he was born of nobler blood,
And was of nobler kind;
And even unto death, his heart
For its own kindred pined.

There came to him a seraph child
With eyes of gentlest blue:
If there are angels in high heaven,
Earth has its angels too.

She cheered him with her holy words,
She soothed him with her tears;
And pityingly she spoke with him
Of home and early years.

And when his heart was all subdued
By kindness into love,
She taught him from this weary earth
To look in faith above.

She told him how the Saviour died
For man upon the tree;
‘He suffered,’ said the holy child,
‘For you as well as me.’

Sorrow and death have need of faith—
The African believed;
As rain falls fertile on the earth
Those words his soul received.

He died in hope as only those
Who die in Christ depart—
One blessed name within his lips,
One hope within his heart.

poem – the crusader

He is come from the land of the sword and shrine,
From the sainted battles of Palestine;
The snow plumes wave o’er his victor crest,
Like a glory, the red cross hangs at his breast;
His courser is black, as black can be,
Save the brow star, white as the foam of the sea,
And he wears a scarf of broidery rare,
The last love gift of his lady fair;
It bore for device a cross and a dove,
And the words – ‘I am vowed to my God and my love.’

He comes not back the same that he went;
For his sword has been tried, and his strength has been spent,
His golden hair has a deeper brown,
And his brow has caught a darker frown;
And his lip has lost its youthful red,
And the shade of the South o’er his cheek is spread,
But stately his step, and his bearing high,
And wild the light of his fiery eye;
And proud in the lists were the maiden bright,
Who might claim the Knight of the Cross for her knight.

He rides for the home he had pined to see,
In the court, in the camp, in captivity!
He reached the castle – his own step was all
That echoed within the deserted hall;
He stood on the roof of the ancient tower;
And, for banner, there waved one pale wall flower,
And, for sound of the trumpet and peal of the horn,
Came the scream of the owl, on the night wind borne.
The turrets were falling, the vassals were flown,
And the bat ruled the halls, he had called his own;
His heart throbbed high – Oh! never again
Might he soothe with sweet thoughts his spirit’s pain;
He never might think of his boyish years,
Till his eyes grew dim with those sweet warm tears,
Which hope and memory shed when they meet –
The grave of his kindred was at his feet –
He stood alone, the last of his race,
With the cold wide world for his dwelling place;
The home of his fathers gone to decay,
All but their memory had passed away –
No one to welcome, no one to share
The laurel, he no more was proud to wear.
He came, in the pride of his war-success,
But to weep over very desolateness.

They pointed him to a barren plain,
Where his father, his brothers, his kinsmen were slain;
They shewed him the lowly grave, where slept
The maiden, whose scarf he so truly had kept;
But they could not shew him one living thing,
To which his withered heart could cling –

Amid the warriors of Palestine
Is one, the first in the battle line.
It is not for glory he seeks the field,
For a blasted tree is upon his shield,
And the motto it bears is, ‘I fight for a grave.’
He found it – That warrior has died with the brave.

poem – hebe

YOUTH! thou art a lovely time,
With thy wild and dreaming eyes;
Looking onwards to their prime,
Coloured by their April skies,
Yet I do not wish for thee,
Pass, oh! quickly pass from me.

Thou hast all too much unrest,
Haunted by vain hopes and fears;
Though thy cheeks with smiles be drest,
Yet that cheek is wet with tears.
Bitter are the frequent showers,
Falling in thy sunny hours.

Let my heart grow calm and cold,
Calm to sorrow, cold to love;
Let affections loose their hold,
Let my spirit look above.
I am weary—youth pass on.
All thy dearest gifts are gone.

She in whose sweet form the Greek
Bade his loveliest vision dwell;
She of yon bright cup and cheek,
From her native heaven fell:
Type of what may never last,
Soon the heaven of youth is past.

Oh! farewell—for never more
Can thy dreams again be mine;
Hope and truth and faith are o’er,
And the heart which was their shrine
Has no boon of thee to seek,
Asking but to rest or break.

poem – a suttee

GATHER her raven hair in one rich cluster,
Let the white champac light it, as a star
Gives to the dusky night a sudden lustre,
Shining afar.

Shed fragrant oils upon her fragrant bosom,
Until the breathing air around grows sweet;
Scatter the languid jasmine’s yellow blossom
Beneath her feet.

Those small white feet are bare—too soft are they
To tread on aught but flowers; and there is roll’d
Round the slight ankle, meet for such display,
The band of gold.

Chains and bright stones are on her arms and neck;
What pleasant vanities are linked with them,
Of happy hours, which youth delights to deck
With gold and gem.

She comes! So comes the Moon, when she has found
A silvery path wherein thro’ heaven to glide.
Fling the white veil—a summer cloud—around;
She is a bride!

And yet the crowd that gather at her side
Are pale, and every gazer holds his breath.
Eyes fill with tears unbidden, for the bride—
The bride of Death!

She gives away the garland from her hair,
She gives the gems that she will wear no more;
All the affections, whose love-signs they were,
Are gone before.

The red pile blazes—let the bride ascend,
And lay her head upon her husband’s heart,
Now in a perfect unison to blend—
No more to part.

poem – a girl will kiss me

Deserted by love
In the summertime,
I walk by the river
And speak to seagulls
And feed them my sandwich.

I used to worship the dawn,
But now, I awake alone
In a dreamless home.

I fantasize a departure
To an exotic place
Where I’ll have a new
And lovelier face.

A girl will kiss me
Who doesn’t intend
To make me cry.

poem – a kiss

Sweetness is on your lips
like honey flavoured early morning dew.
And your eyes have a depth of blue
that even deepest oceans cannot match
with a twinkling like the stars that flash
across the space between
in which our sight it seems is seen.
And your hair as in a gentle breeze
It takes each fine strand and wisps it
on the air as if a string that music makes
deep within, a heartfelt ring.
And your smile a glowing
and in its glowing knowing
that this is true love that’s surely flowing.
Our eyes melt into one
and lips they coalesce
arms embrace entwined.
Love flows and joins
and what seemed a seeming two
are known as one, no longer me and you.
And all the Angels stop and stare
the stars in their travels pause
the sands of time suspend their race
the universe so vast in space
becomes a very tiny place.
Because love flows and joins
this is Love’s gift to all
to know you are so vast, not small
joined in abundant bliss
that’s truly universal
and found in just one loving kiss.

poem – a kiss of love

Should I dare to kiss her?
For if I do
I will be damned for the rest of my life.

But if I do not kiss her
I will not be able to breathe.
And my soul will die.

I know her skin is fairer than mine.
And her ocean blue eyes that I swim in forever
Are supposed to be forbidden for me to gaze upon.
But I cannot stop staring into them.

For when I gaze upon her eyes I see her heart.
And my heart cannot help but to fall in love with her.

When we are together I see not a European woman.
And she sees not an African American man.
We only see the person we love.

Now because of our love some may say our souls are damned.
But we both care not. For we love one another and will
Damn ourselves if we deny it.

So we shall seal our love with
a kiss of love.

poem – she

When the night
creeps and intrudes.
When the day
retires to his cosy nest.
When the sun
recedes on the wall of
distant horizon.
When the alley
of concrete forest,
reverberates with echo of
calm and deadlock.
When the stars bloom,
up above the firmament.
When the entire world
is in a heavy slumber.
Then, she walks
into my dream,
with soundless steps,
and adorns my heart,
with flowery touch.

poem – snake

A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before
me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of
the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second comer, waiting.

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.

And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?

Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him? Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him? Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.

And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him!

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid, But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.

He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste.
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the albatross
And I wished he would come back, my snake.

For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.

poem – lies about love

We are a liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.
The love I feel for my friend, this year,
is different from the love I felt last year.
If it were not so, it would be a lie.
Yet we reiterate love! love! love!
as if it were a coin with a fixed value
instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.

poem – beautiful old age

t ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.

The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.

Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.

And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich and still she is! –

And a young man should think: By Jove
my father has faced all weathers, but it’s been a life!

poem – mating

Round clouds roll in the arms of the wind,
The round earth rolls in a clasp of blue sky,
And see, where the budding hazels are thinned,
The wild anemones lie
In undulating shivers beneath the wind.

Over the blue of the waters ply
White ducks, a living flotilla of cloud;
And, look you, floating just thereby,
The blue-gleamed drake stems proud
Like Abraham, whose seed should multiply.

In the lustrous gleam of the water, there
Scramble seven toads across the silk, obscure leaves,
Seven toads that meet in the dusk to share
The darkness that interweaves
The sky and earth and water and live things everywhere.

Look now, through the woods where the beech-green spurts
Like a storm of emerald snow, look, see
A great bay stallion dances, skirts
The bushes sumptuously,
Going outward now in the spring to his brief deserts.

Ah love, with your rich, warm face aglow,
What sudden expectation opens you
So wide as you watch the catkins blow
Their dust from the birch on the blue
Lift of the pulsing wind—ah, tell me you know!

Ah, surely! Ah, sure from the golden sun
A quickening, masculine gleam floats in to all
Us creatures, people and flowers undone,
Lying open under his thrall,
As he begets the year in us. What, then, would you shun?

Why, I should think that from the earth there fly
Fine thrills to the neighbour stars, fine yellow beams
Thrown lustily off from our full-blown, high
Bursting globe of dreams,
To quicken the spheres that are virgin still in the sky.

Do you not hear each morsel thrill
With joy at travelling to plant itself within
The expectant one, therein to instil
New rapture, new shape to win,
From the thick of life wake up another will?

Surely, and if that I would spill
The vivid, ah, the fiery surplus of life,
From off my brimming measure, to fill
You, and flush you rife
With increase, do you call it evil, and always evil?

poem – the mosquito

When did you start your tricks
Monsieur?

What do you stand on such high legs for?
Why this length of shredded shank
You exaltation?

Is it so that you shall lift your centre of gravity upwards
And weigh no more than air as you alight upon me,
Stand upon me weightless, you phantom?

I heard a woman call you the Winged Victory
In sluggish Venice.
You turn your head towards your tail, and smile.

How can you put so much devilry
Into that translucent phantom shred
Of a frail corpus?

Queer, with your thin wings and your streaming legs
How you sail like a heron, or a dull clot of air,
A nothingness.

Yet what an aura surrounds you;
Your evil little aura, prowling, and casting a numbness on my mind.

That is your trick, your bit of filthy magic:
Invisibility, and the anæsthetic power
To deaden my attention in your direction.

But I know your game now, streaky sorcerer.

Queer, how you stalk and prowl the air
In circles and evasions, enveloping me,
Ghoul on wings
Winged Victory.

Settle, and stand on long thin shanks
Eyeing me sideways, and cunningly conscious that I am aware,
You speck.

I hate the way you lurch off sideways into air
Having read my thoughts against you.

Come then, let us play at unawares,
And see who wins in this sly game of bluff.
Man or mosquito.

You don’t know that I exist, and I don’t know that you exist.
Now then!

It is your trump
It is your hateful little trump
You pointed fiend,
Which shakes my sudden blood to hatred of you:
It is your small, high, hateful bugle in my ear.

Why do you do it?
Surely it is bad policy.

They say you can’t help it.

If that is so, then I believe a little in Providence protecting the innocent.
But it sounds so amazingly like a slogan
A yell of triumph as you snatch my scalp.

Blood, red blood
Super-magical
Forbidden liquor.

I behold you stand
For a second enspasmed in oblivion,
Obscenely ecstasied
Sucking live blood
My blood.

Such silence, such suspended transport,
Such gorging,
Such obscenity of trespass.

You stagger
As well as you may.
Only your accursed hairy frailty
Your own imponderable weightlessness
Saves you, wafts you away on the very draught my anger makes in its snatching.

Away with a pæan of derision
You winged blood-drop.
Can I not overtake you?
Are you one too many for me
Winged Victory?
Am I not mosquito enough to out-mosquito you?

Queer, what a big stain my sucked blood makes
Beside the infinitesimal faint smear of you!
Queer, what a dim dark smudge you have disappeared into!

poem – sickness

WAVING slowly before me, pushed into the dark,
Unseen my hands explore the silence, drawing the bark
Of my body slowly behind.

Nothing to meet my fingers but the fleece of night
Invisible blinding my face and my eyes! What if in their flight
My hands should touch the door!

What if I suddenly stumble, and push the door
Open, and a great grey dawn swirls over my feet, before
I can draw back!

What if unwitting I set the door of eternity wide
And am swept away in the horrible dawn, am gone down the tide
Of eternal hereafter!

Catch my hands, my darling, between your breasts.
Take them away from their venture, before fate wrests
The meaning out of them.

poem – a baby asleep after pain

As a drenched, drowned bee
Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower,
So clings to me
My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears
And laid against her cheek;
Her soft white legs hanging heavily over my arm
Swinging heavily to my movements as I walk.
My sleeping baby hangs upon my life,
Like a burden she hangs on me.
She has always seemed so light,
But now she is wet with tears and numb with pain
Even her floating hair sinks heavily,
Reaching downwards;
As the wings of a drenched, drowned bee

poem – a baby running barefoot

When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass
Is like a little robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of one flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of wings.

I long for the baby to wander hither to me
Like a wind-shadow wandering over the water,
So that she can stand on my knee
With her little bare feet in my hands,
Cool like syringa buds,
Firm and silken like pink young peony flowers.

poem – a love song

Reject me not if I should say to you
I do forget the sounding of your voice,
I do forget your eyes that searching through
The mists perceive our marriage, and rejoice.

Yet, when the apple-blossom opens wide
Under the pallid moonlight’s fingering,
I see your blanched face at my breast, and hide
My eyes from diligent work, malingering.

Ah, then, upon my bedroom I do draw
The blind to hide the garden, where the moon
Enjoys the open blossoms as they straw
Their beauty for his taking, boon for boon.

And I do lift my aching arms to you,
And I do lift my anguished, avid breast,
And I do weep for very pain of you,
And fling myself at the doors of sleep, for rest.

And I do toss through the troubled night for you,
Dreaming your yielded mouth is given to mine,
Feeling your strong breast carry me on into
The peace where sleep is stronger even than wine.

कविता – सम्बोधन

ए खहरे
बेफुर्सदी मान्छे तँ
मौसमी राग त उराल्नै पर्‍यो
आफू भित्र हेर्नु छैन
अरूलाई टेर्नु छैन
बाटो किन चिन्नु पर्‍यो
जता जता सोंर्‍याक पर्‍यो
उतैउतै दौडे भैगो
किन आँखा खोल्नु पर्‍यो
अन्धो को हात्ती भए पुगिहाल्छ
नूनमा ढुंगा मिलाए नि
चामलमा बियाँ मिसाए पनि
बाघसँग बाख्रा हिँडाए पनि
धेरै त हुन्छ पक्कै
राता र सेता वाहियात पो त
भेल त हुनै पर्‍योे
के काले के गोरे
अगाडि उभिए भैगो
के घूसखोरी
के हत्यारा
के दरबारिया
क्या मजा
सबै सारथी महान यात्राको
लिएर हिंड्न पाए भैगो।
ए खहरे
तेरा हुलका सारथीहरू,
जिउँदो लास पो त
चिसोले सुन्याएको रोगी पो त !
निमोनियाले गलाएको बालक पो त !
तँलाई के थाहा?
अँध्यारो भित्र
उज्यालो खोज्नेहरूको कथा
बेमौसमी यात्राको कथा
हूलसँग नझुक्नेहरूको कथा
क्षितिज उघार्नेहरू कथा