Age Of Truth – Charles M Moore

video younger times, A boy was I
I loved the earth and loved the sky
an innocent of times gone by
an infant to the world

I grew up strong and grew up fast
and soon a youth with little past
but felt that all was in my grasp
the world could do no wrong

Developing my social skill
became a favorite of the girls
I plunged in deeply to the thrills
the world was mine alone

I sought stability at last
and settled down from hectic past
with marriage vows and bankers draft
a new world would be born

The time was spent before I knew
the marriage has gone the children grew
aquaintances now just a few
the world had surely changed

In older times, A man am I
I love the earth and love the sky
an innocent from times gone by
to face the world alone.

Mist – Henry David Thoreau

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountainhead and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the desired banks and violets,
And in the whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of the lake and seas and rivers,
Bear only perfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men’s fields!

The Moon – Henry David Thoreau

The full-orbed moon with unchanged ray
Mounts up the eastern sky,
Not doomed to these short nights for aye,
But shining steadily.

She does not wane, but my fortune,
Which her rays do not bless,
My wayward path declineth soon,
But she shines not the less.

And if she faintly glimmers here,
And paled is her light,
Yet alway in her proper sphere
She’s mistress of the night.

Friendship – Henry David Thoreau

I think awhile of Love, and while I think,
Love is to be a world,
Sole meat and sweetest drink,
And close connecting link
Tween heaven and earth.

I only know it is, not how or why,
My greatest happiness;
However hard I try,
Not if I were to die,
Can I explain?

I fain would ask my friend how it can be,
But when the time arrives,
Then Love is more lovely
Than anything to me,
And so I’m dumb.

For if the truth were known, Love cannot speak,
But only thinks and does;
Though surely out ’twill leak
Without the help of Greek,
Or any tongue.

A man may love the truth and practice it,
The beauty he may admire,
And goodness not omit,
As much as may befit
To reverence.

But only when these three together meet,
As they always incline,
And make one soul the seat,
And favorite retreat,
Of loveliness;

When under kindred shape, like loves and hates
And a kindred nature,
Proclaim us to be mates,
Exposed to equal fates
Eternally;

And each may other help, and service do,
Drawing Love’s bands tighter,
Service he ne’er shall rue
While one and one make two,
And two are one;

In such case only doth man fully prove
Fully as a man can do,
What power there is in Love
His inmost soul to move
Resistlessly.

Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side,
Withstand the winter’s storm,
And spite of wind and tide,
Grow up the meadow’s pride,
For both are strong

Above they barely touch  but undermined
Down to their deepest source,
Admiring you shall find
Their roots are intertwined
Insep’rably.

Smoke – Henry David Thoreau

Light-winged Smoke, Icarian bird,
Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight,
Lark without song, and messenger of dawn
Circling above the hamlets as they nest;
Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form
Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts;
By night star-veiling, and by day
Darkening the light and blotting out the sun;
Go thou my incense upward from this hearth,
And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame.

My Youth – Amir Khusro

My youth is budding, is full of passion;
How can I spend this time without my beloved?
Would someone please coax Nizamuddin Aulia,
The more I appease him, the more annoyed he gets;
My youth is budding……
Want to break these bangles against the cot,
And throw up my blouse into fire,
The empty bed scares me,
The fire of separation keeps burning me.
Oh, beloved. My youth is budding.

Vegetables – Shel Silverstein

Eat a tomato and you’ll turn red
(I don’t think that’s really so);
Eat a carrot and you’ll turn orange
(Still and all, you never know);
Eat some spinach and you’ll turn green
(I’m not saying that it’s true
But that’s what I heard, and so
I thought I’d pass it on to you).

The Monkey – Shel Silverstein

1 little monkey
was goin’ 2 the store
when he saw a banana 3
he’d never climbed be4.
By 5 o’clock that evenin’
he was 6 with a stomach ache
’cause 7 green bananas
was what that monkey 8.

By 9 o’clock that evening’
that monkey was quite ill,
so 10 we called the doctor
who was 11 on the hill.
The doctor said, ‘You’re almost dead.
Don’t eat green bananas no more.’
The sick little monkey groaned and said,
‘But that’s what I 1-2 the 3-4.’

Remember – Christina Georgina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Tears Of Pain – Seema Chowdhury

Tears of pain
Tears of gain
Tears of loss
Tears of toss
Tears of smiles
All for a while
Comes to bring
In life’s ring
Some joys some pains
So enjoy it all
Before it falls
And ends a phase
Of life’s days
For life is a gift
And it is sent for uplift
Of our souls and hearts
That’ll one day impart
And then we’ll all die
Ending our stories high.

Life – Janyth Marie Banfield

Life’ it’s not easy, it comes with its bumps and it grinds.
Picking us up at times in our lives then kicking us straight from behind.
But one thing I’ve noticed as time goes by the humor that you behold
God has bestowed a magnificent gift that never makes people grow old. 

A Family Divided – Mary Nagy

Once more we talk about it.
How sad it’s all become.
No matter how we look at it
this family is not one.

They say it shouldn’t matter.
Who needs them after all? 
But, please explain the pain I feel
even though I’ve got it all.

I see my pain and emptiness
like a hollowed out old tree…
It may seem to be standing tall
but, it’s empty just like me.

There’s such a contradiction
to my entire life.
I’m happy and fulfilled 
being a mother and a wife.

What about ‘a sister’
and ‘a daughter’…how about that? 
These are roles I was born to play.
Why can’t I? Tell me that.

A family divided
that’s what we’ve grown to be.
I’ve got mine and you’ve got yours
but we have no family tree. 

The Family Monkey – Russell Edson

We bought an electric monkey, experimenting rather 
recklessly with funds carefully gathered since 
grandfather’s time for the purchase of a steam monkey. 

We had either, by this time, the choice of an electric 
or gas monkey. 

The steam monkey is no longer being made, said the monkey 
merchant. 

But the family always planned on a steam monkey. 

Well, said the monkey merchant, just as the wind-up monkey 
gave way to the steam monkey, the steam monkey has given way 
to the gas and electric monkeys. 

Is that like the grandfather clock being replaced by the 
grandchild clock? 

Sort of, said the monkey merchant. 

So we bought the electric monkey, and plugged its umbilical 
cord into the wall. 

The smoke coming out of its fur told us something was wrong. 

We had electrocuted the family monkey. 

The Family Tree – Olive Walters

We’ve got a family album
Like a family tree
A thrill to turn the pages
The pictures we can see

Starting off with grands and greats
Then slowly down the line
Like a book of history
A journey through the time

Fashions start to alter
Mustaches come and go
Ladies skirts skip up and down
A proper fashion show

Top hats change to boaters
To caps then none at all
Ladies bonnets disappear
And so does grannies shawl

Picture’s change to colour
Black and white has gone
A different place, a different time
So much to look upon

But what is so amazing
Is the likeness we can see
Showing up the genes
Right through our family tree 

The Curse Of Poverty – Ramesh Rai

Poverty
Poverty is a curse for human society
Poverty prevails there where the injustice is
Poverty exclaims there where the illiteracy is
Poverty is purely man made
So it has to be eradicated from its root
The society afflicted with poverty
Is reprehension of entire human society
Corruption is the source of poverty
Only a fearless society can be said
Free from all poverty
Where the people are dumb and discounted
Poverty exists there
Poverty shows, how many immature person 
Rule the country
Poverty is the reason for all philosophical end. 

Lonesome Night – Hermann Hesse

You brothers, who are mine,
Poor people, near and far,
Longing for every star,
Dream of relief from pain,
You, stumbling dumb
At night, as pale stars break,
Lift your thin hands for some
Hope, and suffer, and wake,
Poor muddling commonplace,
You sailors who must live
Unstarred by hopelessness,
We share a single face.
Give me my welcome back.

Weaving At Night – Ho Xuan Huong

Lampwick turned up, the room glows white.
The looms moves easily all night long

as feet work and push below.
Nimbly the shuttle flies in and out,

wide or narrow, big or small, sliding in snug.
Long or short, it glides out smoothly.

Girls who do it right, let it soak.

Here is another translation of the same poem:

Light turned on, it is found such a white,
The stalk moves slightly and repeatedly all night.

Pushing with the feet, but lightly release,
Shuttle passing through brings joy and ease.

Large or narrow, small or big they all fit,
Long and short, size and form so be it.

To make it best, girl needs to soak it with care .
The cloth color won’t fade before three whole years. 

Baby My Heart – Peter S. Quinn

Baby my heart is still with you
Every night and every day
Beyond the stars and deep sea blue
I’ll be there finding our way
Summer will come in colors shine
Into the dawn and the bright
Every true shading will be fine
Till there again comes the night

You and I and the blue skies
With everything outside to come
Flowery bouquets in their surprise
With what comes to us there from? 
Right or wrong whatever it is
Feelings we gave from the inside
All what’s here and we miss
Whenever our feelings would hide

Baby my heart feel the beat I give
Just as long as I can do so
There is this feeling worthy to live
Because its importance it’ll show
Everything is leaving forever stuck
Into the drafting’s of ways
If love hasn’t got it its out of luck
Forever in oblivion’s dim haze 

Baby – Dan Brown

You lie there
in all your glory.
Looking at me.
You smile at me.
Don’t you know
my heart screams
in anguish,
and confusion,
when I look at you?
I love you eternally.
But I hate you equally.
You’re everything I want.
You’re everything I can’t have.
You’re everything I won’t allow myself.
I want to drown myself in those big, blue eyes
that look up at me so dependently.
Instead, I must drown myself in the pain
that washes over me repeatedly.
You start to cry and
I kiss your forehead.
My single tear meets with your thousands,
and is lost forever as I put you to bed.

Beauty – Sam Price

Most people find beauty in looks,
But I find beauty from the written words in books.
I find beauty in the sun set and sun rise.
I find beauty in three small dog’s eyes.
I find beauty in the motion of the sea.
The green fingers of mother nature are very beautiful to me.
I find beauty in my friends laughter.
I find beauty in stories that end happily ever after.

Beauty – Edwina Matthews

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder
Beauty is in all things.
Beauty is in the sky.
Beauty is in the water ever so blue.
Beauty is the winter when trees are covered with snow.
Beauty is the summer when you smell and see the flowers grow.
Beauty is all things big and little.
Beauty is in all things,
Black and white.
Beauty is in all things, you and me.
Beauty is all around us…can’t you see?

Football – Walterrean Salley

Bands playing familiar songs.
The majorettes with their batons.
Cheerleaders wowing the crowds on.
And cheering fans—old and young.

Illumining the broad field,
The lights shine clear and bright;
And from the tall, slender poles—
They glisten through the night.

Teams pitted against each other,
Gearing up for the game:
An American favorite pastime—
Football is the name.

No Football – Ruth Walters

When we first met we didn’t,
it wasn’t on the menu.
Of course it had me curious
I gave it much attention.

In April we indulged,
we were so very proud,
bouncing on the sofa
we did it in the lounge!

Later, in July
there was a time, I think
when we hit all the high notes
a few times by the sink.

In Autumn he got lazy
all this just had him spent
so I baked him pastries
and he ate those instead.

New Year was so merry
we drunk all Daddy’s Sherry
I think perhaps we did it,
I wasn’t really with it.

Last time was the best
and lasted quite a while
it was in Central Park
We had a bloomin’ lark.

These days we just don’t,
he’s got so fat and heavy,
except for when we’re bored
and no football’s on the telly.

The Sky – Jennifer Rondeau

I look at the sky,
To daydream about us,
Your eyes looking at me from above,
The stars are bright like a light,
Your eyes are holding up the sky,
At night I think of you,
Sometimes I wonder where I want to go in life,
But I know that you love me,
I thought that I would be broken hearted forever,
But I know that you are the one that makes me smile,
As I glare and stare into the sky I wonder what are you thinking,
Sometimes I wonder how the sky is pretty and blue,
At night I make a wish,
Just one wish to be with you,
The sky might fall,
But I hope you are there to hold me,
When I fall I hope you’ll be there to catch me,
The sky is pretty when its at night when you just stare and hope to get a kiss under the stars.

The Night Sky – Christina Conseco

The night sky

So beautiful-
I look at the sky filled with
Stars and the moon

The night sky
Where I let my mind wonder
And dream good dreams

Someone once told me
‘Las estrellas
Me requerdan de ti y
La luna de tus ojos’

‘The stars remind me of you
And the moon remids me of your eyes’

The night sky
So beautiful
I let myself wonder off
Into the night

And dream away

The Night Sky

Hope – Krantol Northic

Hope is the sweet, sweet scent
of flowers in the morning
Hope is the cool gentle breeze
on a warm summer’s day
Hope is the knowledge of stability
from a son in mourning
Hope is the bright shining light
keeping darkness at bay

Hope is the calming warmth
during a cold winter
Hope is the determination
of an athelete on the track
Hope is the potential
of a newborn baby
Hope is the love
between you and me

Hope springs eternal

Funny Bone – Simon Gowen

I need to ask a question
While I’m sitting here alone
Why on earth did someone name
The elbow, Funny Bone?

Ev’ry time I bang it
The last thing on my mind
Is laughing out in ecstasy,
And shouting something kind

Instead I want to lash out
And jump and scream and curse
The pain runs through my body
Only toothache could be worse.

So if you are a specialist
Please do your best to serve
A clumsy man who’s sat in pain
I’ve banged my Ulnar nerve.

Funny Features – David Darbyshire

Barking dogs not a bone,
whining cats lots of rats.
Chirping birds comes a cyclone,
buzzing bee’s honey please.

This is our nature at it’s best,
do you realize that we are blessed?
Without these little creatures, and their funny features,
how would we learn? , who would be the teachers?

Mirror – Victor Osorio

Would you trade places?
To live my life
To be me
To feel my pain
Would you ignore a friend?
Move on in life
Pretend not to know
Would you not enjoy music?
Knowing that you love it
But, not wanting to listen
Would you talk to me?
Knowing that I’m a loser
Knowing that I’m ugly
Knowing that I’m a nice guy
Would you take your own life?
Would you finally do it?
Would you start over?
Not knowing how
Stop staring at me
I’ll go away from the mirror now.

Depression – Amy Louise Kerswell

Oh horid ways of emotions.
All actions tryed are of no use.
All actions acted are usless.
No matter the action its all in vain.

I cant go anywhere
Running is usless and of no point.
I cant go no where.
Even if the option were open.

Oh depression horrible depression
Hold me back ever more
Pin me down with the force of your grace.
Depression my one true friend.

A sad dark and lonely place.
Sit upon the walls.
Its so sad and vacant.
Vacant like my happy days.

Depression takes me
More and more each day.
Feeding on my sadness.

This is an everelasting scar
A scar not to heal
A scar not to mend.
It will bring me to my end

Red, Red Wine – Scarlett Treat

Remembering, I ponder my wine glass,
Envisioning blazing night embers,
Shadows dancing in my dreams,
And I consider……Love.

I am indecisive,
My memories are desolate,
And I question your love
Because you called Collect!

I wonder where your soul is
As these restless night shadows burn,
While memory’s red, red colors bleed
Like a clock’s relentless flight.

Red Dust – Philip Levine

This harpie with dry red curls
talked openly of her husband,
his impotence, his death, the death
of her lover, the birth and death
of her own beauty. She stared
into the mirror next to
our table littered with the wreck
of her appetite and groaned:
Look what you’ve done to me!
as though only that moment
she’d discovered her own face.
Look, and she shoved the burden
of her ruin on the waiter.

I do not believe in sorrow;
it is not American.
At 8,000 feet the towns
of this blond valley smoke
like the thin pipes of the Chinese,
and I go higher where the air
is clean, thin, and the underside
of light is clearer than the light.
Above the tree line the pines
crowd below like moments of the past
and on above the snow line
the cold underside of my arm,
the half in shadow, sweats with fear
as though it lay along the edge
of revelation.

And so my mind closes around
a square oil can crushed on the road
one morning, startled it was not
the usual cat. If a crow
had come out of the air to choose
its entrails could I have laughed?
If eagles formed now in the
shocked vegetation of my sight
would they be friendly? I can hear
their wings lifting them down, the feathers
tipped with red dust, that dust which
even here I taste, having eaten it
all these years.

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.

Drinking Alone – Li Po

I take my wine jug out among the flowers
to drink alone, without friends.

I raise my cup to entice the moon.
That, and my shadow, makes us three.

But the moon doesn’t drink,
and my shadow silently follows.

I will travel with moon and shadow,
happy to the end of spring.

When I sing, the moon dances.
When I dance, my shadow dances, too.

We share life’s joys when sober.
Drunk, each goes a separate way.

Constant friends, although we wander,
we’ll meet again in the Milky Way.

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.

Sweet Baby – Linda Ori

Baby, sweet baby, with tears in your eyes
Rest your head gently, there’s no need to cry,
Come let me sing you a soft lullaby
The sandman is coming and dreamland is nigh;

Baby, sweet baby, with skin soft and fair
And little pink ribbons done up in your hair,
In your tiny world there should not be a care
May angels surround you and send you a prayer;

Baby, sweet baby, your cute button nose
Your soft tiny fingers and sweet baby toes
Have truly bewitched me and nobody knows
How the depth of my love for you just grows and grows;

So precious and tender your love is to me,
Until I first held you, I never could see
How wonderfully magical my life could be –
You’ve opened my heart and my spirit is free!

Baby – Derrick Parsee

Baby let me tell u how I feel
Baby let me love u till the end
Baby my heart is urs
Baby let me touch u all over
Baby can I kiss ur lips
Baby can I rub ur feet
Baby look me in my eyes and don’t blink
Baby when the sun goes down will u be around
Baby let’s walk the hall of love
Baby when I look at u I see another world in ur eyes
Baby I’m tha man that can take u where u need and want to go
Baby please let’s go and don’t say no
Baby this is my last cry
Baby make love to me till the end of time

War And Peace – Nate Snowball

War is Peace
Peace is War

War unites against
One common enemy
Peace tears apart
A dream-like society

The fear during War
Gives control to the government
The calmness of Peace
Lets your guard down with sentiment

War causes death
Physically, Statistically

Peace ends life
Emotionally, Personally

War is Peace
Peace is War

Peace Or Poverty – Sonali Shah

Their skin soaks up the heat
Leaving it as black as the midnight sky,
Their eyes wide, white, pleading
Begging to the passersby.
They litter the street
Half naked bodies,
Red and colouring their feet
Searching for a entrance
A door out of the circle of poverty.

Poverty means destruction
Destruction means fear
Behind locked doors we sit in early evening
Too scared to see a black face
Terrified of black feet crossing the threshold.
But why be fearful of your slaves,
Those you whip and beat
Treating like the dirt from the doormat
Where you wipe your feet.

Role diversity causes poverty
Poverty destroys peace
But peace minus poverty
Means Equality should increase.

Peace – Patrick Kavanagh

And sometimes I am sorry when the grass
Is growing over the stones in quiet hollows
And the cocksfoot leans across the rutted cart-pass
That I am not the voice of country fellows
Who now are standing by some headland talking
Of turnips and potatoes or young corn
Of turf banks stripped for victory.
Here Peace is still hawking
His coloured combs and scarves and beads of horn.

Upon a headland by a whinny hedge
A hare sits looking down a leaf-lapped furrow
There’s an old plough upside-down on a weedy ridge
And someone is shouldering home a saddle-harrow.
Out of that childhood country what fools climb
To fight with tyrants Love and Life and Time?

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!

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…

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 – 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 – 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 – the bright blessed day

The bright blessed day with joy we see
Rise out of the sea at dawning;
It lightens the sky unceasingly,
Our gain and delight adorning!
As children of light we sense that soon
Dark night will give way to morning!

Our Lord chose the blessed midnight hour
To come down without our knowing,
Then clear in the east in dawn’s pale bower
The sun’s hues in strength were growing:
Then light filled the sky, in which the earth
Shall shimmer with inner glowing!

Were each forest tree to come alive,
And each leaf a voice be granted,
The law of God’s mercy they’d contrive
In vain in words to have chanted;
Since Life’s Light now shines for ever more,
In old and young firmly planted!

Yea, though every blade of grass could speak,
In meadow or field or clearing,
A thanksgiving hymn they could not seek
To sing for our human hearing,
Befitting the day, for light and life,
While eons their course are steering.

In vain would the weak man try who chose
To conquer the mountain summit,
The eagle is wily, though, and knows
The wind will not let it plummet,
And even the small blithe lark can brave
The sky and yet overcome it.

The river so brash with thund’rous noise
From crag-face comes downwards crashing
The streams down below have no such voice,
Though murmur with gentle plashing,
So gently they wind through grassy lea
Up under the lime trees splashing!

So thank we our God, our father good,
As larks in their dawn-time chorus,
For each day he gave, as so we should
For life he from death won for us,
For all that has nurtured human souls
For thousands of years before us!

As long as we see the golden day,
And woods are the Danes’ own bowers,
We’ll deck every pew with sprigs of may
And forefathers’ graves with flowers
A wonderful feast of life and joy,
A Whitsuntide gift that’s ours!

And then from our eyes will start to flow
Mild tears like a stream now thriving,
And streams join and to a river grow
That fain for Life’s Source is striving
It secretly gains, like some deep sigh,
So early yet late arriving!

And no day can have so long a growth
That evening cannot be sighted,
Its light and its setting sun are both
What God in his church has lighted;
But ever again it dawns anew
For hearts who in morn delighted!

Let day gently glide this Whitsuntide,
With haloing rays full-flashing!
The hours pleasing God as past they slide,
As meadowland stream soft-plashing,
So joyously now the last one winds,
Up under the lime trees splashing!

Like gold is the dawn just moments old,
When day from its death is rising,
Yet we too are kissed with lips of gold
By sunset so sweet-enticing,
Then every dull gaze will glint afresh,
Pale cheeks with new blush surprising!

We’ll journey then to our fatherland,
Where no day lies still thereafter,
Where stands a strong castle, proud and grand,
Whose halls all resound with laughter,
And there we will talk till time is done
In light with our friends hereafter!

poem – a simple

A simple, cheerful, active life on earth,
A cup I’d not exchange for monarch’s chalice,
In noble forebears’ tracks a path since birth,
With equal dignity in hut and palace,
With eye as when created heav’nward turned,
All beauty here and grandness keenly knowing,
Familiar though with those things deeply yearned,
Stilled only by eternity’s bright glowing.

I wished for all my line just such a life,
And zealously I planned for its fruition,
And when my soul grew tired from toil and strife,
The ‘Lord’s Prayer’ was its rest and its nutrition.
Then from truth’s spirit I great comfort gained,
And felt joy hover o’er each garden border,
When dust is placed in its creator’s hand
And all is waited for in nature’s order:

Just fresh, green buds that sprout in early spring,
And in the summer heat the flowers’ profusion;
And when the plants mature and long to bring
Their harvest fruit to autumn’s full conclusion!
The human span assigned is short or long,
It is for common weal, its yield is growing;
The day that started well will end as strong,
And just as sweet will be its afterglowing.

poem – some one my own

My footprints are found on snow and sand.
I was always seeking ‘some on My Own’
everwhere, every season,
and in every country.
I wanted some one whose nearness
could let me feel that
I also deserve the right to live.

If I am alive today, it is not
without some cogent reason.
After a whole life time.

I’ve come to realize
that the person who seemed
an utter stranger, earlier,
is actually My Own.

The fellow is neither a blood relation,
nor equal in age and yet,
has proved sincere to me
like a lotus flower in water-
a person who offer nothing but love,
a person who gets nothing but love.
(Jan. 1990)

A Birthday Poem – Ted Kooser

Just past dawn, the sun stands
with its heavy red head

in a black stanchion of trees,

waiting for someone to come

with his bucket

for the foamy white light,

and then a long day in the pasture.

I too spend my days grazing,

feasting on every green moment

till darkness calls,

and with the others

I walk away into the night,

swinging the little tin bell

of my name. 

Birth-Day Wishes – Frank Gutsche

Windy beach, summer jests, 

little girl dipping her toes in cold sand, 

in shivered moments of water she froze.

Apple trees, bright leafy days, 

gentle breeze, cat chased bird, 

magic backyard witches’ shed, 

mother’s angry words.
Ancient pirate’s treasure, 

locked coins in a crumbling chest.

A little girl’s Barbie doll’s hair cut, 

she severed its blonde-maned crest.
Birth-day: 

the wheel of life spins, 

Mother’s lullabies, 

the sound of cherished comfort yearns, 

years carve their spirals. 
I wish you happiness, 

and its endless returns 

Cherry Blossoms  – Frank Gutsche

The trees: White as wedding gowns.

Shedding their blossoms, branches, crowns? 

Like tears embarrassed, blow away free. 

We sit. There is a path; under a tree. 
People pass us by; time is slowed, 

on a camera they’d fade into a blurred line; 

we speak, words bound, betrothed.

Your voice: comforting as I drink your wine. 
Were it not you, 

what would be: 

love? 

Were it not for you, 

What would I ask, 

what would I ask to be? 
Then I would float, 

Float on those embarrassed petals, 

white; 

I would float standing, watching.

Watching you and me; 

as you lean against me, 

you see me on a swirling petal: 

I float.

I look at you, 

and in one moment I would say: 

love’s eye is beyond one could ever see.
I am near you; 

yet so endlessly far away, 

floating in a blue sky, 

I do not touch the ground; 

were it not for you, 

what would be: 

love? 

Mirror – Nikita Yurievich Lubennikov 

In morn you are looking in the mirror and you see 

Reflection of the past years, gloom-and-doom.

Behind is your life, it is quite definite, 

Beyond is emptiness and brume. 
It is well known that the mirror never lies, 

It is the truthful glass in frame of wood.

The only thought: what is the weather, 

Nothing to say about grief and solitude.
The work is over. Shop windows, bright and nice, 

Run after you in repetition.

All things are on big sale, with their own price, 

The city looks like painting exhibition. 
You shave in morn, you make a cut, you feel some pain.

Forgetting that the spring already came, 

You put your winter coat on again

And warm yourself with the forgotten flame. 
Years run: ten, twenty, thirty, forty…

They are not worth a count anymore.

Now the mirror is a little scared

That it will fail to recognize as it did before. 

I Wish – Nikita Yurievich Lubennikov 

I wish that the mutual love would command all the way, 
I wish with your kisses to start and to end every day.

I wish love to gift us with children and flowers, 

I wish the fulfillment of all dreams of ours.

I wish that the world would be saved by the beauty, 

That to feed all the poor would be my first duty.

I wish that my humble lines would stimulate

You to pray for all strays, to eradicate hate.

I wish that the good would prevail and that love

Would reign your home in peace from above. 

Haruki Murakami A Wild Sheep Chase – Nikita Yurievich Lubennikov 

Once at a November night, when I was fast asleep alone, 
The Man-Sheep made a visit to my room.

The snow covered a white blanket in gray loom, 

In my strange dream I heard a very low groan.
The air of Hokkaido cuts the thickets quietude, 

The soft earth melts like fresh butter under feet.

The Man-Sheep sits and smokes on the bridge of wood.

The solitude descends from mountains and waits for me.
Some time ago wife deserted suddenly, 

Than some anonymous girl (I called her Kiki, just to be polite) .

Now Time has pressed, with some melancholy

The emptiness supplants my happy patches of sunlight.
A mountain brook stumbles over boulders great, 

It babbles, tinkles and breaks the silence dead.

The life is flowing along the channels of the Fate

From its unknown source to its determined end. 

Good Bye My Love Good Bye – Nikita Lurievich Lubennikov 

The life will pass without you…
Cold autumn, fallen leaves and rain.

Time, the friend, cures all deep wounds, 

Dries up the streams of bitter tears.

The abysm of solitude looks like the hell, 

The funeral of love as if a sudden snow

On a blooming garden fell.

Cold autumn, storm of stresses, 

The first snow covered naked sloppy earth.

We can not come back, we only go forth.

The life will pass without you… 

Be Kind – Charles Bukowski 

we are always asked
to understand the other person’s

viewpoint

no matter how

out-dated

foolish or

obnoxious.
one is asked

to view

their total error

their life-waste

with

kindliness,

especially if they are

aged.
but age is the total of

our doing.

they have aged

badly

because they have

lived

out of focus,

they have refused to

see.
not their fault?
whose fault?

mine?
I am asked to hide

my viewpoint

from them

for fear of their

fear.
age is no crime
but the shame

of a deliberately

wasted

life
among so many

deliberately

wasted

lives
is. 

A Smile to Remember – Charles Bukowski 

we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes

covering the picture window and

my mother, always smiling, wanting us all

to be happy, told me, ‘be happy Henry!’

and she was right: it’s better to be happy if you

can

but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while

raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn’t

understand what was attacking him from within. 
my mother, poor fish,

wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a

week, telling me to be happy: ‘Henry, smile!

why don’t you ever smile?’ 
and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the

saddest smile I ever saw 
one day the goldfish died, all five of them,

they floated on the water, on their sides, their

eyes still open,

and when my father got home he threw them to the cat

there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother

smiled 

Alone with Everybody – Charles Bukowski 

the flesh covers the bone 
and they put a mind 

in there and 

sometimes a soul, 

and the women break 

vases against the walls 

and the men drink too 

much 

and nobody finds the 

one 

but keep 

looking 

crawling in and out 

of beds. 

flesh covers 

the bone and the 

flesh searches 

for more than 

flesh. 
there’s no chance 

at all: 

we are all trapped 

by a singular 

fate. 
nobody ever finds 

the one. 
the city dumps fill 

the junkyards fill 

the madhouses fill 

the hospitals fill 

the graveyards fill 
nothing else 

fills. 

An Almost Made Up Poem – Charles Bukowski 

I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny

they are small, and the fountain is in France

where you wrote me that last letter and

I answered and never heard from you again.

you used to write insane poems about

ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you

knew famous artists and most of them

were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,

go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous

because we’ never met. we got close once in

New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never

touched. so you went with the famous and wrote

about the famous, and, of course, what you found out

is that the famous are worried about

their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed

with them, who gives them that, and then awakens

in the morning to write upper case poems about

ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told

us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe

it was the upper case. you were one of the

best female poets and I told the publishers, 

editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’

magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you

like a man loves a woman he never touches, only

writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have

loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a

cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,

but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.

your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all

lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said

you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and

the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying

bench every night and wept for the lovers who had

hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never

heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide

3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you

I would probably have been unfair to you or you

to me. it was best like this. 

Halloween – Mac Hammond

The butcher knife goes in, first, at the top
And carves out the round stemmed lid,

The hole of which allows the hand to go 

In to pull the gooey mess inside, out –

The walls scooped clean with a spoon.

A grim design decided on, that afternoon,

The eyes are the first to go,

Isosceles or trapezoid, the square nose,

The down-turned mouth with three

Hideous teeth and, sometimes,

Round ears. At dusk it’s

Lighted, the room behind it dark.

Outside, looking in, it looks like a 

Pumpkin, it looks like ripeness

Is all. Kids come, beckoned by

Fingers of shadows on leaf-strewn lawns

To trick or treat. Standing at the open

Door, the sculptor, a warlock, drops

Penny candies into their bags, knowing

The message of winter: only the children,

Pretending to be ghosts, are real. 

Thanksgiving – Mac Hammond 

The man who stands above the bird, his knife
Sharp as a Turkish scimitar, first removes

A thigh and leg, half the support

On which the turkey used to stand. This

Leg and thigh he sets on an extra

Plate. All his weight now on 

One leg, he lunges for the wing, the wing

On the same side of the bird from which

He has just removed the leg and thigh.

He frees the wing enough to expose

The breast, the wing not severed but

Collapsed down to the platter. One hand

Holding the fork, piercing the turkey

Anywhere, he now beings to slice the breast,

Afflicted by small pains in his chest,

A kind of heartburn for which there is no 

Cure. He serves the hostess breast, her 

Own breast rising and falling. And so on,

Till all the guests are served, the turkey

Now a wreck, the carver exhausted, a

Mere carcass of his former self. Everyone

Says thanks to the turkey carver and begins

To eat, thankful for the cold turkey

And the Republic for which it stands. 

Haikus (The autumn)  – Naseer Ahmed Nasir

Dusk, chill, air of November
Wrapped in shawl of yellow leaves, 

Trees shiver with cold.


The sound of falling leaves, 

The solitude drenched in dew

Life is the autumn of the night.


In the fair of crazy weathers

Seeing the dance of pale leaves

Why does the air blow whistle? 


With a slight mischief of yours, 

You have stripped trees of leaves

O wind, how wanton you are! 


Stirring the air, 

The floating leaves

Go on and on clapping.

Epilogue – Naseer Ahmed Nasir

Having forsaken all paths open to me

I come to you

Always.

And when for a while I am with you

I go beyond myself for eons

In measuring the distance of a single word.

I exhaust the breath count

Of my vanquished life-span

In the midst of your victorious centuries.

The single moment with you

Which becomes the digit of my fate

Remains deprived of any count.
The seasons exhaust all their four guise-embodiments

And snows of uncounted millenia

Continue piling up in heaps

On the poles

From beginning to the end of time

While you sit near the fireplace

Soaking yourself in the warmth

Of a tete-a-tete.
The horizons of this room

Like your love

Are indeed vast

But my uprooted feet

Can’t find their footing in space

And I perforce

Seek reincarnation again and again

Each time I loose my life’s dream

In your eyes.
This time (however) 

I ‘ ve nothing to loose or gain

No great battles remain to be fought

All I wish is

To die the last time

Living the remainder of my life. 

Dreams Lost in Water – Naseer Ahmed Nasir 

No distance ever separates

Dreams and desires

No mirror ever dissolves

Reflection and water

In one’s eye

What graph would you make

Of lines of thought? 

The triangle of pain

Is without any angle
Countless races

Have dreams alike

But sleep and night-watch

Are never the same! 
Names are forgotten

Codes alone come to mind

In nuclear setups
Dreams of radiant generations

Are smitten

By atomic explosions

Cities sink

Nuclei dissipate

Orbits dwindle

What remains 

Are terra and sol

In the dance of death

God is a casualty.
A moment of brightness

In a light year

Breaking into smithereens

In a million eons

An accident – yes

But not an event 

History is continuity

Broken once 

Telescopic eyes, tired out, give up

Their distance watching

Lost planets

Bygone epoches

Have no interposition.
Who will look for

Flowers

In spring-fresh hands

Of tiny tots? 

Who will see

Dreams

In eyes-yours and mine

In centuries to be? 

No one is sure

Of things lost in water! 

Lucy – Poems

I. 

STRANGE fits of passion have I known: 

And I will dare to tell, 

But in the lover’s ear alone, 

What once to me befell. 
When she I loved look’d every day 

Fresh as a rose in June, 

I to her cottage bent my way, 

Beneath an evening moon. 
Upon the moon I fix’d my eye, 

All over the wide lea; 

With quickening pace my horse drew nigh 

Those paths so dear to me. 
And now we reach’d the orchard-plot; 

And, as we climb’d the hill, 

The sinking moon to Lucy’s cot 

Came near and nearer still. 
In one of those sweet dreams I slept, 

Kind Nature’s gentlest boon! 

And all the while my eyes I kept 

On the descending moon. 
My horse moved on; hoof after hoof 

He raised, and never stopp’d: 

When down behind the cottage roof, 

At once, the bright moon dropp’d. 
What fond and wayward thoughts will slide 

Into a lover’s head! 

‘O mercy! ‘ to myself I cried, 

‘If Lucy should be dead! ‘ 
II. 
HE dwelt among the untrodden ways 

Beside the springs of Dove, 

A Maid whom there were none to praise 

And very few to love: 
A violet by a mossy stone 

Half hidden from the eye! 

Fair as a star, when only one 

Is shining in the sky. 
She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy ceased to be; 

But she is in her grave, and oh, 

The difference to me! 
III. 
TRAVELL’D among unknown men, 

In lands beyond the sea; 

Nor, England! did I know till then 

What love I bore to thee. 
‘Tis past, that melancholy dream! 

Nor will I quit thy shore 

A second time; for still I seem 

To love thee more and more. 
Among the mountains did I feel 

The joy of my desire; 

And she I cherish’d turn’d her wheel 

Beside an English fire. 
Thy mornings show’d, thy nights conceal’d, 

The bowers where Lucy play’d; 

And thine too is the last green field 

That Lucy’s eyes survey’d. 
IV. 
HREE years she grew in sun and shower; 

Then Nature said, ‘A lovelier flower 

On earth was never sown; 

This child I to myself will take; 

She shall be mine, and I will make 

A lady of my own. 
‘Myself will to my darling be 

Both law and impulse; and with me 

The girl, in rock and plain, 

In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 

Shall feel an overseeing power 

To kindle or restrain. 
‘She shall be sportive as the fawn 

That wild with glee across the lawn 

Or up the mountain springs; 

And hers shall be the breathing balm, 

And hers the silence and the calm 

Of mute insensate things. 
‘The floating clouds their state shall lend 

To her; for her the willow bend; 

Nor shall she fail to see 

Even in the motions of the storm 

Grace that shall mould the maiden’s form 

By silent sympathy. 
‘The stars of midnight shall be dear 

To her; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place 

Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 

And beauty born of murmuring sound 

Shall pass into her face. 
‘And vital feelings of delight 

Shall rear her form to stately height, 

Her virgin bosom swell; 

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 

While she and I together live 

Here in this happy dell.’ 
Thus Nature spake – The work was done – 

How soon my Lucy’s race was run! 

She died, and left to me 

This heath, this calm and quiet scene; 

The memory of what has been, 

And never more will be. 
V. 
SLUMBER did my spirit seal; 

I had no human fears: 

She seem’d a thing that could not feel 

The touch of earthly years. 
No motion has she now, no force; 

She neither hears nor sees; 

Roll’d round in earth’s diurnal course, 

With rocks, and stones, and trees.

गाई  – शिवगोपाल रिसाल

गाई हाम्रो पशुधन, गोठको शोभा गाई

गाईजस्तो अरू छैन गाउँघरलाई

गाई पाल्ने देश हाम्रो गाईलाई मान्छ

वर्षैपिच्छे तिहारमा गाईको पूजा हुन्छ
घाँसपात, कुँडो, पराल, भुस्सा यसले खान्छ

अरूभन्दा तागतिलो दूध यसले दिन्छ

दूधबाट दही बन्छ, दहीबाट घिउ

दूध, दही, घिउ खाँदा राम्रो हुन्छ जीउ
घर लिप्न, चोख्याउन गोबर यसले दिन्छ

खेतबारीमा हाल्ने मल गोबरबाट बन्छ

मर्दा-पर्दा, धर्म गर्दा गौदान गाईकै हुन्छ

गुइँठो पारेपछि गोबर बाल्न पनि हुन्छ
गाईका काम धेरै हुन्छन्, कामधेनु गाई

गाई आमा पनि भन्छौँ हामी गाईलाई

हामी गाईको माया गर्छौँ गाईका धेरै गुन

यो राष्ट्रिय जनावर नेपालको धन

रमाइलो धर्ती – कृष्णप्रसाद पराजुली

हराभरा धर्ती राम्रो, नीलो आकाश राम्रो

घाम राम्रो, दिन राम्रो, जून पनि राम्रो

धर्तीभरि रमाइला कुरा धेरै हुन्छन्

पहाड, मैदान, खोलानाला, वनपाखा हुन्छन्
हिमालबाट तल झरी थरीथरी नदी

समुन्द्रमा मिल्न जान्छन् सललल बगी

ढुङ्गा हुन्छ, माटो हुन्छ, रूख यहीँ हुन्छ

जीवजन्तु सबको बास धर्तीमा नै हुन्छ
रमाइलो हिउँद-वर्षा घुमीफिरी आउँछ

फलफुल, अन्नपानी धर्ती उब्जाउँछ

धर्तीमा नै रहेका छन् सुन-तामाका खानी

राम्रो लाग्छ यही धर्ती, राम्रो घामपानी

बिहानीको गीत  – गणेश ‘विषम’

चिरबिर गर्छ गौँथली हाम्रै घर आँगनमा

फुरफुर गर्छ पुतली हाम्रै फुलबारीमा

हाम्रा राम्रा वनचरी बिहानी पो डाक है

आजभन्दा भोलि झन् अझ राम्रो पार है
के के भन्छौ पालुवा बोलेजस्तै गरेर

हाम्रै वन डाँडामा तिमीहरू झुलेर

हामी त बालक साना छौँ सबै राम्रो देख्दछौँ

बारीकै फुल टिपेर बिहानीलाई पुज्दछौँ
हिमालका चुलीमा सूर्यका ज्योति छरिए

पहेँलपुर भुइँमा हिमाली पाखा चम्किए

धोबिनी चरी बसेर फुलबारीमा गाउँछे

विकासको बिहानी सूर्यसँगै आउँछे

Anticipation – Yahya Said 

As we are lured by the morning dews 

Captivating our thoughts and build a smile 

As we are awaken by friendly rays 

We see love, 

Filling our world with smile 

Silly laughter that we cant explain 
A day that reminds about our own 

As joy and rejoice enslave us 

It show us our past 

We see the present that last 

In our hearts we hug a pet 

In warmth and cordial state 
In our dreams we take a flight 

Trailing the silent night 

As the world sleeps 

We befriend the lonely blinking minaret 

Smearing out the dark feelings 
We growl in lust for what we taste 

In long we drool therein 

Manoeuvering with the life beat 

Making us astray in this street

Comfort Them – Yahya Said 

Be their teddy bear when they are lonely 

make them feel your presence daily 

like a butterfly, make them have a silly smile 

be a reason…… 

when you are far away; they’ll have a story to tell 
spread your tender love, be kind 

to them be one of a kind 

a stream that erase their boredom 

flourishing their thoughts with a smooth smiling cream 
‘will you be available for a hike? ” 

ask them, its a lovely prick 

they’ll remember you, while their adoring eyes witness flowery tears 

longing if you could be near… 
Ere sun sets and darkness rule your soul 

Ere you become a past tense in this world 

scar their hearts with love and more love 

for they will have a moment to remember you like their lovely dove

The Mother – Happy Hannah

When life is harder than she thinks, 
she becomes stronger than she used to be. 
She struggles to survive all her life, 
dealing with obstacles as best she could. 

Not only for one life she owns 
but also for her own child’s. 
Everyone has own life to live as in own way. 
But the mother has own life to live 
as in her child way. 

Seven times she falls down 
Eight times she gets up. 
It is because she thinks of her child 
as her driving force even when 
the situation is tough to held her head up. 

As remain as the gravity law 
The mother’s love will stay last.

Power Will Start Falling – Tamara Robalo

Tears fell forever before 

Mirrors of death in thousands of wars 

Witnesses of life in our brightest moments 

Now, fall like simple drops of rain, 

Healing the rage, feeding the drain 

Of our buried life instead 

Tears turn to lies 

Our cries never came for life 

And our dreams fade out with time 

Our heroes are dead bodies or souls 

However we cannot feel more alive 

Heroes become ghosts 

We trade hope for certainty 

We shut our mouth to belong 

Let our silence be the riot 

Let it unfold what words were hiding 

Words come unnecessary 

We waited to come home till the runrise 

Now, we’re left behind 

We used to fear the blinding light 

Now, we’re coming out of the dark 

The dark was the refugy 

Humans? 

They’re beautiful dread souls 

Existing fo us 

Letting us join the masses club 

Giving us a shot to be someone 

Teaching us how to die (just) inside 

Souls get sillent 

They’re nothing new 

Conquering your dreams before you heard a thing 

Making us slaves of our own instinct 

They´re the men who rule our world 

You’re the unknown soldier

Society Rises – Tamara Robalo

What would a blind man do 

In a land of foreign views? 

Why would the rain fall down 

In an ocean of hot sand blue? 
I’ve been walking through a desert 

Full of people and white venom 

I have seen the children smoking 

Drowing slowly, singing hungry 
They found an escape 

On the exit mind gate 

The simple twist of fate 

The Running 

Round and Around 
Heaven is on the otherside, they say 

So don’t live, let yourself die instead 
Do they believe in afterlife? 

Have they seen the rich man cry? 
Their whispered voices 

Sing in the Winter’s evening of life 

Like Christian songs at the ears of the deaf 

In the darkness of the light

Hedda Gabler – Love Sheeran

On the other side, what will await? 

Surely, it must be better than this. 

Everyone here so easily takes the bait. 

My life is one huge abyss; 

Guarded by an inescapable gate. 
The money and reputation serve their purpose, 

But they only scratch the surface. 

I am lost in the sea of debt; 

And eventually I will have to face my debt. 
I run and run in this maze; 

My past is coming to hunt me. 

But I will not fall into the blank space; 

I will choice what my fate will be.

 Free – Anethra Shook 

Free me Lord, from the whips and chains that bind my soul. Free me Lord so that I may walk with you down the streets of Gold. Free me Lord so that I stand big and bold. Free me Lord, Free my soul. 

Free me Lord so that I can lead the lost to you. Free me Lord so that I may testify to the world about what you have brought me through. 

Free me Lord to allow me to be more like you. Free me Lord, Free my soul show me that you have all control. 

I thank you Lord for now I see that you indeed already freed me, with each lash of the whip, and every thorn to your brow, every nail that was hammered, and every harsh word that was spoken the binding of my soul you have already broken. 

You freed me Lord so I’ll thank you each day. You freed me Lord my debt you paid!

My Child – Anethra Shook 

My child, my child, you refuse to open your mind. My child, my child, your brilliance you must find. Lead you by the hand I can and have, now you must stand on your on behalf. My child, my child, does the love I have for you not show. 

My child, my child, I’ll be there every step to help you grow. I know that you hurt and that you have pain, but you must realize we all from time to time have to walk through the rain. My child, my child, don’t you dare give up now, my child, my child, be strong like the oxen pulling the plow. 

It’s not just me there by your side, for God is there a love that will not hide yet forever be there to be your guide. My child, my child, when things get hard get down on your knees and call on the Lord. My child, my child, he’s there you see not just for you, but also for me. Jesus, Jesus, I give you my child, keep him forever not just a little while!

 

Life Is For Giving – Eric Mutei

Cycle of life 

Conveyor belt 

Orchestrated behind scenes 

Grand plan 

Master plan 

Vibrations of the cosmos 

Thoughts 

Energy 

Synergy 

Hideous caves 

Life’s busy hives 

Fatigue of the haves 

Failure of the knights 

Hazy from the crave 

Days and lives to save 
Rot is inevitable 

The juggling of probabilities 

Impossibilities 

Seeking a balance 

Between the glamour of the roses 

And the rust of the chains 

Of fading lives 

Immortality- 

The changing form 

Locked 

Inertia, 

Potency 

SEEDS 

For life never ends- 

Just a change in form 

Death is an illusion- 

“Where art thou thy sting ooh death! ! ? ’ 

A transformation; 

Resurrection; 

Reincarnation; 

A subtle line of faith 

A lure into the unknown 

Embracing the darkness 

Illuminating the stale tales 

Holding unto a thought- 

That all these are passing glances 

Tons of clouds 

Unraveling the truest nature 

Marred in greed and conspiracy 

Dark secrets 

Smeared with blood 
A remembrance that life is divine 

The singularity of the moment 

Coming to an understanding 

Of divine 

Holistic 

Pure 

Sanctified mission, 
That 

Life is FOR-GIVING

Home – Cody Peck

Everyone Wants it, everyone yearns it, 

yet not everyone gets it, 

not everyone earns it. 

For you’re in the backyard, 

and there is also the shed, 

the place where you’re beat, 

the place where you’re whipped. 

But everyone wants home, 

everyone hates the shed, 

for the homeowner never wanted a shed, 

he only wanted a home, 

but the people in the backyard, 

they forced it, 

forced the shed, 

for they don’t like it, 

but it’s where they belong. 

the home, the perfect place, 

the shed, the misfits fate.

Loving You – Natalia Yordanova

It’s just a feeling, can’t you see? 

We both know it’s not meant to be. 

Loving you from distance is making me sick, 

baby would you stop and take the risk? 

Would you do it for me? 

Would you just try? 

Would you love me like the old times? 

I’ll be your muse, 

I’ll stand by you. 

Just show me that you are feeling the same as I do. 

You left me endlessly thinking of you, 

In a world thah everything seems like a flu. 

You are driving me crazy 

and you know it too. 

Oh, baby just touch me, cure my wounds 

and give me the hope that I will survive. 

Cause living without you is like burning place 

Oh, will I come out of this growing shades?

Being Mother – Rishita Rana

Being MotherStatue of love is called a mother, 

Her love can’t resemble another… 
When in pain she gives a birth, 

A priceless gift for her comes on earth, 

Its preciousness for her is without any worth, 

The love bond created is measureless girth! ! ! 

Statue of love….. 
The life to her child which she gave, 

When in problem & needs to be save, 

She become a mighty stop less wave, 

& lays down a road & make it pave! ! ! ! 

Statue of love….. 
She takes many form in her love, 

She becomes a bird & fly like dove, 

Beyond the limit & head above, 

Wherever she goes spread her love! ! ! 

Statue of love….. 
She has a heart as deep as ocean, 

Her widthless feelings are a common notion, 

In her words she carry a magical lotion, 

In her soul there is no hatred motion! ! ! ! ! 

Statue of love…..

 I Am Not So Alone – Shradanjali Rai

I am not So Alone 

I am not so alone 

The room’s empty now 

The wind has died 

The whispers it carried away 

There is just me and a tiny bit of hope 

To see me through today 

I am not so alone 

A tiny hint of your smile, a tearful goodbye… 

Time might take that away. 

But until these memories fade… 

And our lives get torn. 

I know I am not so alone.

Let Me Be – Shradanjali Rai

I am done with these lies and excuses 

Pretending all those grins and all those sins were mine 

Let me stand and scream.. 

Scream out the real me 

Let me stop pretending I care 

About those lies and laughs we shared 

These black prints inked with sorrow 

With opinions and mockery bleeding red 

Let me tear these pages apart for this wind 

Is this world not sad enough? 

With your tears and my fears 

So hear me scream in agony and ecstasy 

And let me live again

Beautiful Philosophy – Sanket Adhikari

One thing in the world never can be bought; 

This is the sacred one, keep that in your thoughts. 

And love is that thing I’m talking about 

And you must choose a single one in the crowd 

To love.It must be full of faith, 

No doubt, nothing bad, and hard to break. 

And my girl I’ve found that love in you, 

And don’t know any reason why I love you. 

But I love you, yes, I do, more than a lot. 

And you are the one whom I’ve found in the crowd 

And I can say ‘I Love You’ in the crowd, so loud. 
Your blink is like a spark, that shakes me; 

Your kiss is like a mint, that refreshes me. 

When I got the touch of your hand, it just blows my mind, 

Then I pull you closer and closer to me, leaving out all behind. 

You’re my life, my each and everything; 

I bid you all my life, all of me, leaving nothing. 

There is no ego in my love, it is not satanic; 

My love is true for you, and it is platonic.

Prison Of Love – Sanket Adhikari

I’m not a person who can tolerate your rejection

 everytime again and again, 

Calling the stress on your face you’ve blamed me again and again. 

I don’t wanna feel anything you’ve tried to make me feel, 

I don’t wanna hear anything when you’ve told me it’s real. 

There’s nothing left of me to be. 

There’s nothing left of you to see. 

Now, I’m so alone, I’m screaming. 

Now, I’m so unfit for running. 

But I just wanna runaway from your Prison of Love.

Down Behind The Dustbin – Michael Rosen

Down behind the dustbin 

I met a dog called Ted. 

‘Leave me alone,’ he says, 

‘I’m just going to bed.’ 

Down behind the dustbin 

I met a dog called Roger. 

‘Do you own this bin?’ I said. 

‘No. I’m only a lodger.’ 

Down behind the dustbin 

I met a dog called Sue. 

‘What are you doing here?’ I said. 

‘I’ve got nothing else to do.’

The Silent Old Man – Billy Loving

Body bent and twisted 

Gnarled fingers gripping his cane 

Face weathered with age 

An old man enters the bar 

Perching himself upon the barstool 

Ordering a drink from the bartender 

Silently he sips one after another 

As the time ticks away 

Glazed eyes staring into nowhere 

I watched expectantly 

If only, his mind I could read 

What magnificent stories would lie within? 

Too late, I’ll never know 

As he wobbles out the door 

Disappointedly, I take a gulp 

And think of what might have been

Especially When The October Wind – Dylan Thomas

Especially when the October wind 

With frosty fingers punishes my hair, 

Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire 

And cast a shadow crab upon the land, 

By the sea’s side, hearing the noise of birds, 

Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks, 

My busy heart who shudders as she talks 

Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words. 
Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark 

On the horizon walking like the trees 

The wordy shapes of women, and the rows 

Of the star-gestured children in the park. 

Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches, 

Some of the oaken voices, from the roots 

Of many a thorny shire tell you notes, 

Some let me make you of the water’s speeches. 
Behind a pot of ferns the wagging clock 

Tells me the hour’s word, the neural meaning 

Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning 

And tells the windy weather in the cock. 

Some let me make you of the meadow’s signs; 

The signal grass that tells me all I know 

Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye. 

Some let me tell you of the raven’s sins. 
Especially when the October wind 

(Some let me make you of autumnal spells, 

The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales) 

With fists of turnips punishes the land, 

Some let me make you of the heartless words. 

The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry 

Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury. 

By the sea’s side hear the dark-vowelled birds.

 न्याय उठ्यो – युद्धप्रसाद मिश्र

न्याय ढलेको ठाडो पार्न
उभियो बबण्डर चर्को

पतनशील अनुहार प्रष्ट भो

प्रतिगामीका धर्को
आजादीका सही दिशातिर

खुले सबैका आँखा

आक्रोशित भै बोल्न पुगे अब

ज्वालामुखीका भाखा
भाग्नु कहाँ अब बढ्दै आयो

जनजागृतिको भीषण ज्वार

उठिसक्यो शिरमाथि कसको

विजयमुखी न्यायिक तरवार
धरतीमाथि उभिनसम्म

यहाँ रगतको लाग्छ जमात

तर छन् त्यसका माथि उठेको

दरा बलिया ब्यापक हात

Mariana In The North – Victoria Sackville West

All her youth is gone, her beautiful youth outworn, 

Daughter of tarn and tor, the moors that were once her home 

No longer know her step on the upland tracks forlorn 

Where she was wont to roam. 
All her hounds are dead, her beautiful hounds are dead, 

That paced beside the hoofs of her high and nimble horse, 

Or streaked in lean pursuit of the tawny hare that fled 

Out of the yellow gorse. 
All her lovers have passed, her beautiful lovers have passed, 

The young and eager men that fought for her arrogant hand, 

And the only voice which endures to mourn for her at the last 

Is the voice of the lonely land.

Trio – Victoria Sackville West

So well she knew them both! yet as she came 

Into the room, and heard their speech 

Of tragic meshes knotted with her name, 

And saw them, foes, but meeting each with each 

Closer than friends, souls bared through enmity, 

Beneath their startled gaze she thought that she 

Broke as the stranger on their conference, 

And stole abashed from thence.

Beechwoods At Knole – Victoria Sackville West

How do I love you, beech-trees, in the autumn, 

Your stone-grey columns a cathedral nave 

Processional above the earth’s brown glory! 
I was a child, and I loved the knurly tangle 

Of roots that coiled above a scarp like serpents, 

Where I might hide my treasure with the squirrels. 
I was a child, and splashed my way in laughter 

Through drifts of leaves, where underfoot the beech-nuts 

Split with crisp crackle to my great rejoicing. 
Red are the beechen slopes below Shock Tavern, 

Red is the bracken on the sandy Furze-field, 

Red are the stags and hinds by Bo-Pit Meadows, 
The rutting stags that nightly through the beechwoods 

Bell out their challenge, carrying their antlers 

Proudly beneath the antlered autumn branches. 
I was a child, and heard the red deer’s challenge 

Prowling and belling underneath my window, 

Never a cry so haughty or so mournful.

Bee Master – Victoria Sackville West

I have known honey from the Syrian hills 

Stored in cool jars; the wild acacia there 

On the rough terrace where the locust shrills 

Tosses her spindrift on the ringing air. 

Narcissus bares his nectarous perianth 

In white and golden tabard to the sun, 

And while the workers rob the amaranth 

Or scarlet windflower low among the stone, 

Intent upon their crops, 

The Syrian queens mate in the high hot day 

Rapt visionaries of creative fray; 

Soaring from fecund ecstasy alone, 

And, through the blazing ether, drops 

Like a small thunderbolt the vindicated drone. 
But this is the bee-master’s reckoning 

In England. Walk among the hives and hear. 
Forget not bees in winter, though they sleep. 

For winter’s big with summer in her womb, 

And when you plant your rose-trees, plant them deep, 

Having regard to bushes all aflame, 

And see the dusky promise of their bloom 

In small red shoots, and let each redolent name- 

Tuscany, Crested Cabbage, Cottage Maid- 

Load with full June November’s dank repose, 

See the kind cattle drowsing in the shade, 

And hear the bee about his amorous trade 

Brown in the gipsy crimson of the rose. 
In February, if the days be clear, 

The waking bee, still drowsy on the wing, 

Will sense the opening of another year 

And blunder out to seek another spring. 

Crashing through winter sunlight’s pallid gold 

His clumsiness sets catkins on the willow 

Ashake like lambs’ tails in the early fold, 

Dusting with pollen all his brown and yellow, 

But when the rimy afternoon turns cold 

And undern squalls buffet the chilly fellow, 

He’ll seek the hive’s warm waxen welcoming 

And set about the chambers’ classic mould. 
And then, pell-mell, his harvest follows swift, 

Blossom and borage, lime and balm and clover, 

On Downs the thyme, on cliffs the scantling thrift, 

Everywhere bees go racing with the hours, 

For every bee becomes a drunken lover, 

Standing upon his head to sup the flowers, 

All over England, from Northumbrian coasts, 

To the wild sea-pink blown on Devon rocks. 

Over the merry southern gardens, over 

The grey-green bean-fields, round the Sussex oasts, 

Through the frilled spires of cottage hollyhocks, 

Go the big brown fat bees, and blunder in 

Where dusty spears of sunlight cleave the barn, 

And seek the sun again, and storm the whin, 

And in the warm meridian solitude 

Hum in the heather round the moorland tarn, 

Look, too, when summer hatches out the brood, 

In tardy May or early June, 

And the young queens are strong in the cocoon, 

Watch, if the days be warm, 

The flitting of the swarm. 

Follow, for if beyond your sight they stray 

Your bees are lost, and you must take your way 

Homeward disconsolate, but if you be at hand 

Then you may take your bees on strangers’ land. 

Have your skep ready, drowse them with, your smoke, 

Whether they cluster on the handy bough 

Or in the difficult hedge, be nimble now, 

For bees are captious folk 

And quick to turn against the lubber’s touch, 

But if you shake them to their wicker hutch 

Firmly, and turn towards the hive your skep, 

Into the hive the clustered thousands stream, 

Mounting the little slatted sloping step, 

A ready colony, queen, workers, drones, 

Patient to build again the waxen thrones 

For younger queens, and all the chambered cells 

For lesser brood, and all the immemorial scheme. 

And still they labour, though the hand of man 
Inscrutable and ravaging descend, 

Pillaging in their citadels, 

Defeating wantonly their provident plan, 

Making a havoc of their patient hoard; 

Still start afresh, not knowing to what end, 

Not knowing to what ultimate reward, 

Or what new ruin of the garnered hive 

The senseless god in man will send. 

Still their blind stupid industry will strive, 

Constructing for destruction pitiably, 

That still their unintelligible lord 

May reap his wealth from their calamity.

Tuscany – Victoria Sackville West

 
Cisterns and stones; the fig-tree in the wall 

Casts down her shadow, ashen as her boughs, 

Across the road, across the thick white dust. 

Down from the hill the slow white oxen crawl, 

Dragging the purple waggon heaped with must, 

With scarlet tassels on their milky brows, 

Gentle as evening moths. Beneath the yoke 

Lounging against the shaft they fitful strain 

To draw the waggon on its creaking spoke, 

And all the vineyard folk 

With staves and shouldered tools surround the wain. 

The wooden shovels take the purple stain, 

The dusk is heavy with the wine’s warm load; 

Here the long sense of classic measure cures 

The spirit weary of its difficult pain; 

Here the old Bacchic piety endures, 

Here the sweet legends of the world remain. 

Homeric waggons lumbering the road; 

Virgilian litanies among the bine; 

Pastoral sloth of flocks beneath the pine; 

The swineherd watching, propped upon his goad, 

Urder the chestnut trees the rootling swine 

Who could so stand, and see this evening fall, 

This calm of husbandry, this redolent tilth, 

This terracing of hills, this vintage wealth, 

Without the pagan sanity of blood 

Mounting his veins in young and tempered health? 

Whu could so stand, and watch processional 

The vintners, herds, and flocks in dusty train 

Wend through the golden evening to regain 

The terraced farm and trodden threshing-floor 

Where late the flail 

Tossed high the maize in scud of gritty ore, 

And lies half-buried in the heap of grain 

Who could so watch, and not forget the rack 

Of wills worn thin and thought become too frail, 

Nor roll the centuries back * 

And feel the sinews of his soul grow hale, 

And know himself for Rome’s inheritor?

Bitterness – Victoria Sackville West

Yes, they were kind exceedingly; most mild 

Even in indignation, taking by the hand 

One that obeyed them mutely, as a child 

Submissive to a law he does not understand. 
They would not blame the sins his passion wrought. 

No, they were tolerant and Christian, saying, ‘We 

Only deplore …’ saying they only sought 

To help him, strengthen him, to show him love; but he 
Following them with unrecalcitrant tread, 

Quiet, towards their town of kind captivities, 

Having slain rebellion, ever turned his head 

Over his shoulder, seeking still with his poor eyes 
Her motionless figure on the road. The song 

Rang still between them, vibrant bell to answering bell, 

Full of young glory as a bugle; strong; 

Still brave; now breaking like a sea-bird’s cry ‘Farewell!’
And they, they whispered kindly to him ‘Come! 

Now we have rescued you. Let your heart heal. Forget! 

She was your lawless dark familiar.’ Dumb, 

He listened, and they thought him acquiescent. Yet, 
(Knowing the while that they were very kind) 

Remembrance clamoured in him: ‘She was wild and free, 

Magnificent in giving; she was blind 

To gain or loss, and, loving, loved but me,–but me! 
‘Valiant she was, and comradely, and bold; 

High-mettled; all her thoughts a challenge, like gay ships 

Adventurous, with treasure in the hold. 

I met her with the lesson put into my lips, 
‘Spoke reason to her, and she bowed her head, 

Having no argument, and giving up the strife. 

She said I should be free. I think she said 

That, for the asking, she would give me all her life.’ 
And still they led him onwards, and he still 

Looked back towards her standing there; and they, content, 

Cheered him and praised him that he did their will. 

The gradual distance hid them, and she turned, and went.

How The Leaves Came Down – Sarah Chauncey Woolsey

‘I’ll tell you how the leaves came down,’ 

The great Tree to his children said: 

‘You’re getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, 

Yes, very sleepy, little Red. 

It is quite time to go to bed.’ 

‘Ah!’ begged each silly, pouting leaf, 

‘Let us a little longer stay; 

Dear Father Tree, behold our grief! 

‘Tis such a very pleasant day, 

We do not want to go away.’ 

So, for just one more merry day 

To the great Tree the leaflets clung, 

Frolicked and danced, and had their way, 

Upon the autumn breezes swung, 

Whispering all their sports among— 

‘Perhaps the great Tree will forget, 

And let us stay until the spring, 

If we all beg, and coax, and fret.’ 

But the great Tree did no such thing; 

He smiled to hear their whispering. 

‘Come, children, all to bed,’ he cried; 

And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, 

He shook his head, and far and wide, 

Fluttering and rustling everywhere, 

Down sped the leaflets through the air. 

I saw them; on the ground they lay, 

Golden and red, a huddled swarm, 

Waiting till one from far away, 

White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, 

Should come to wrap them safe and warm. 

The great bare Tree looked down and smiled. 

‘Good-night, dear little leaves,’ he said. 

And from below each sleepy child 

Replied, ‘Good-night,’ and murmured, 

‘It is so nice to go to bed!’

 To Rosa  – Abraham Lincoln

You are young, and I am older; 

You are hopeful, I am not – 

Enjoy life, ere it grow colder – 

Pluck the roses ere they rot. 
Teach your beau to heed the lay – 

That sunshine soon is lost in shade – 

That now’s as good as any day – 

To take thee, Rosa, ere she fade.

Poems – Fog – Amy Clampitt

A vagueness comes over everything, 

as though proving color and contour 

alike dispensable: the lighthouse 

extinct, the islands’ spruce-tips 

drunk up like milk in the 

universal emulsion; houses 

reverting into the lost 

and forgotten; granite 

subsumed, a rumor 

in a mumble of ocean. 

Tactile 

definition, however, has not been 

totally banished: hanging 

tassel by tassel, panicled 

foxtail and needlegrass, 

dropseed, furred hawkweed, 

and last season’s rose-hips 

are vested in silenced 

chimes of the finest, 

clearest sea-crystal. 

Opacity 

opens up rooms, a showcase 

for the hueless moonflower 

corolla, as Georgia 

O’Keefe might have seen it, 

of foghorns; the nodding 

campanula of bell buoys; 

the ticking, linear 

filigree of bird voices.

Poems – Novel – Arthur Rimbaud

I. 
No one’s serious at seventeen. 

–On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade 

And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need 

–You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade. 

Lindens smell fine on fine June nights! 

Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes;

The wind brings sounds–the town is near– 

And carries scents of vineyards and beer. . . 

II. 

–Over there, framed by a branch 

You can see a little patch of dark blue 

Stung by a sinister star that fades 

With faint quiverings, so small and white. . . 

June nights! Seventeen!–Drink it in. 

Sap is champagne, it goes to your head. . . 

The mind wanders, you feel a kiss 

On your lips, quivering like a living thing. . . 

III. 

The wild heart Crusoes through a thousand novels 

–And when a young girl walks alluringly 

Through a streetlamp’s pale light, beneath the ominous shadow 

Of her father’s starched collar. . . 

Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping, 

She turns on a dime, eyes wide, 

Finding you too sweet to resist. . . 

–And cavatinas die on your lips. 

IV. 

You’re in love. Off the market till August. 

You’re in love.–Your sonnets make Her laugh. 

Your friends are gone, you’re bad news. 

–Then, one night, your beloved, writes. . .! 

That night. . .you return to the blinding cafés; 

You order beer or lemonade. . . 

–No one’s serious at seventeen 

When lindens line the promenade.

Poems – Love At First Sight

When first we touched,My heart flew high,

On gossamer wings through a cloudless sky.

They said it was built upon a lie.

They told me my feelings would surely fade.

Passion would flare and foes would be made.

Can you not put the pass behind?

True love can change a rivers course,

Or pierce the strongest vault with ease.

True love can turn coal into gold,

Or tame the tempest to a balmy breeze.

Quite some time has passed since then:

People no longer criticize,

For now they see that truth exists,

Where once there might have been only lies.

Still my feelings are the same today,

As they were on that very first,

For when we touch, my heart still flies, on gossamer wings through cloudless skies.

Poems – My True Love

I have a feeling

That I can comprehend

In my deepest thoughts your are

More than just a friend.
I wouldn’t want to

Rush us now

As love we explore

But there’s a growing love inside

That we just can’t ignore.
I love the times we

Spend together. We are comfortable

And free. I think of you when we are

Alone. I think of you and me.
We have a share

Secrets to uncover. There’s more

To life then we will both discover.

I love you always.
I’ll love you when you’re dumb,

I’ll love you when you’re smart,

I’ll love you anyway you are,

Right from the start.
I’ll love you if you’re tall

I’ll love you if you’re short,

I’ll love you if you’re pretty,

Or just an ugly dork.
I’ll love you if you’re toothless,

I’ll love you if you’re blind,

Anything that’s wrong with you,

To me you’ll be fine.
My heart is opening up now,

Unlike it used to do,

I see the pain that’s in your heart

And sometimes I feel it to.
I’ll love you tomorrow,

I’ll love you today,

I’ll love you forever,

And forever always.

Moonlight – Victoria Sackville West

What time the meanest brick and stone 

Take on a beauty not their own, 

And past the flaw of builded wood 

Shines the intention whole and good, 

And all the little homes of man 

Rise to a dimmer, nobler span; 

When colour’s absence gives escape 

To the deeper spirit of the shape, 
— Then earth’s great architecture swells 

Among her mountains and her fells 

Under the moon to amplitude 

Massive and primitive and rude: 
— Then do the clouds like silver flags 

Stream out above the tattered crags, 

And black and silver all the coast 

Marshalls its hunched and rocky host, 

And headlands striding sombrely 

Buttress the land against the sea, 

— The darkened land, the brightening wave — 

And moonlight slants through Merlin’s cave.

Making Cider – Victoria Sackville West

I saw within the wheelwright’s shed 

The big round cartwheels, blue and red; 

A plough with blunted share; 

A blue tin jug; a broken chair; 

And paint in trial patchwork square 

Slapping up against the wall; 

The lumber of the wheelwright’s trade, 

And tools on benches neatly laid, 

The brace, the adze, the awl; 
And framed within the latticed-panes, 

Above the cluttered sill, 

Saw rooks upon the stubble hill 

Seeking forgotten grains; 
And all the air was sweet and shrill 

With juice of apples heaped in skips, 

Fermenting, rotten, soft and bruise, 

And all the yard was strewn with pips, 

Discarded pulp, and wrung-out ooze 

That ducks with rummaging flat bill 

Searched through beside the cider-press 

To gobble in their greediness. 
The young men strained upon the crank 

To wring the last reluctant inch. 

They laughed together, fair and frank, 

And threw their loins across the winch. 
A holiday from field and dung, 

From plough and harrow, scythe and spade, 

To dabble in another trade, 

The crush the pippins in the slats, 

And see that in the little vats 

An extra pint was wring; 

While round about the worthies stood 

Profuse in comment, praise or blame, 

Content the press should be of wood, 

Advising rum, decrying wheat, 

And black strong sugar makes it sweet, 

But still resolved, with maundering tongue, 

That cider could not be the same 

As once when they were young; 

But still the young contemptuous men 

Laughed kindly at their old conceit, 

And strained upon the crank again. 
Now barrels ranged in portly line 

Mature through winter’s sleep, 

Aping the leisured sloths of wine 

That dreams of Tiber or the Rhine, 

Mellowing slow and deep; 

But keen and cold the northern nights 

Sharpen the quiet yard. 

And sharp like no rich southern wine 

The tang of cider bites; 

For here the splintered stars and hard 

Hold England in a frosty guard. 

Orion and Pleiades 

Above the wheelwright’s shed. 

And Sirius resting on the trees 

While all the village snores abed.

Sailing Ships  – Victoria Sackville West

Lying on Downs above the wrinkling bay 

I with the kestrels shared the cleanly day, 

The candid day; wind-shaven, brindled turf; 

Tall cliffs; and long sea-line of marbled surf 

From Cornish Lizard to the Kentish Nore 

Lipping the bulwarks of the English shore, 

While many a lovely ship below sailed by 

On unknown errand, kempt and leisurely; 

And after each, oh, after each, my heart 

Fled forth, as, watching from the Downs apart, 

I shared with ships good joys and fortunes wide 

That might befall their beauty and their pride; 
Shared first with them the blessed void repose 

Of oily days at sea, when only rose 

The porpoise’s slow wheel to break the sheen 

Of satin water indolently green, 

When for’ard the crew, caps tilted over eyes, 

Lay heaped on deck; slept; mumbled; smoked; threw dice; 

The sleepy summer days; the summer nights 

(The coast pricked out with rings of harbour-lights), 

The motionless nights, the vaulted nights of June 

When high in the cordage drifts the entangled moon, 

And blocks go knocking, and the sheets go slapping, 

And lazy swells against the sides come lapping; 

And summer mornings off red Devon rocks, 

Faint inland bells at dawn and crowing cocks; 
Shared swifter days, when headlands into ken 

Trod grandly; threatened; and were lost again, 

Old fangs along the battlemented coast; 

And followed still my ship, when winds were most 

Night-purified, and, lying steeply over, 

She fled the wind as flees a girl her lover, 

Quickened by that pursuit for which she fretted, 

Her temper by the contest proved and whetted. 

Wild stars swept overhead; her lofty spars 

Reared to a ragged heaven sown with stars 

As leaping out from narrow English ease 

She faced the roll of long Atlantic seas. 
Her captain then was I, I was her crew, 

The mind that laid her course, the wake she drew, 

The waves that rose against her bows, the gales,– 

Nay, I was more: I was her very sails 

Rounded before the wind, her eager keel, 

Her straining mast-heads, her responsive wheel, 

Her pennon stiffened like a swallow’s wing; 

Yes, I was all her slope and speed and swing, 

Whether by yellow lemons and blue sea 

She dawdled through the isles off Thessaly, 

Or saw the palms like sheaves of scimitars 

On desert’s verge below the sunset bars, 

Or passed the girdle of the planet where 

The Southern Cross looks over to the Bear, 

And strayed, cool Northerner beneath strange skies, 

Flouting the lure of tropic estuaries, 

Down that long coast, and saw Magellan’s Clouds arise. 
And some that beat up Channel homeward-bound 

I watched, and wondered what they might have found, 

What alien ports enriched their teeming hold 

With crates of fruit or bars of unwrought gold? 

And thought how London clerks with paper-clips 

Had filed the bills of lading of those ships, 

Clerks that had never seen the embattled sea, 

But wrote down jettison and barratry, 

Perils, Adventures, and the Act of God, 

Having no vision of such wrath flung broad; 

Wrote down with weary and accustomed pen 

The classic dangers of sea-faring men; 

And wrote ‘Restraint of Princes,’ and ‘the Acts 

Of the King’s Enemies,’ as vacant facts, 

Blind to the ambushed seas, the encircling roar 

Of angry nations foaming into war.

Poems – Nothing But Color – Ai Ogawa

I didn’t write Etsuko, 

I sliced her open. 

She was carmine inside 

like a sea bass 

and empty. 

No viscera, nothing but color. 

I love you like that, boy. 

I pull the kimono down around your shoulders 

and kiss you. 

Then you let it fall open. 

Each time, I cut you a little 

and when you leave, I take the piece, 

broil it, dip it in ginger sauce 

and eat it. It burns my mouth so. 

You laugh, holding me belly-down 

with your body. 

So much hurting to get to this moment, 

when I’m beneath you, 

wanting it to go on and to end. 
At midnight, you say see you tonight 

and I answer there won’t be any tonight, 

but you just smile, swing your sweater 

over your head and tie the sleeves around your neck. 

I hear you whistling long after you disappear 

down the subway steps, 

as I walk back home, my whole body tingling. 

I undress 

and put the bronze sword on my desk 

beside the crumpled sheet of rice paper. 

I smooth it open 

and read its single sentence: 

I meant to do it. 

No. It should be common and feminine 

like I can’t go on sharing him, 

or something to imply that. 

Or the truth: 

that I saw in myself 

the five signs of the decay of the angel 

and you were holding on, watching and free, 

that I decided to go out 

with the pungent odor 

of this cold and consuming passion in my nose: death. 

Now, I’ve said it. That vulgar word 

that drags us down to the worms, sightless, predestined. 

Goddamn you, boy. 

Nothing I said mattered to you; 

that bullshit about Etsuko or about killing myself. 

I tear the note, then burn it. 

The alarm clock goes off. 5:45 A.M. 

I take the sword and walk into the garden. 

I look up. The sun, the moon, 

two round teeth rock together 

and the light of one chews up the other. 

I stab myself in the belly, 

wait, then stab myself again. Again. 

It’s snowing. I’ll turn to ice, 

but I’ll burn anyone who touches me. 

I start pulling my guts out, 

those red silk cords, 

spiraling skyward, 

and I’m climbing them 

past the moon and the sun, 

past darkness 

into white. 

I mean to live.
 

Poems – Grandfather Says – Ai Ogawa

Grandfather Says”Sit in my hand.” 

I’m ten. 

I can’t see him, 

but I hear him breathing 

in the dark. 

It’s after dinner playtime. 

We’re outside, 

hidden by trees and shrubbery. 

He calls it hide-and-seek, 

but only my little sister seeks us 

as we hide 

and she can’t find us, 

as grandfather picks me up 

and rubs his hands between my legs. 

I only feel a vague stirring 

at the edge of my consciousness. 

I don’t know what it is, 

but I like it. 

It gives me pleasure 

that I can’t identify. 

It’s not like eating candy, 

but it’s just as bad, 

because I had to lie to grandmother 

when she asked, 

“What do you do out there?” 

“Where?” I answered. 

Then I said, “Oh, play hide-and-seek.” 

She looked hard at me, 

then she said, “That was the last time. 

I’m stopping that game.” 

So it ended and I forgot. 

Ten years passed, thirtyfive, 

when I began to reconstruct the past. 

When I asked myself 

why I was attracted to men who disgusted me 

I traveled back through time 

to the dark and heavy breathing part of my life 

I thought was gone, 

but it had only sunk from view 

into the quicksand of my mind. 

It was pulling me down 

and there I found grandfather waiting, 

his hand outstretched to lift me up, 

naked and wet 

where he rubbed me. 

“I’ll do anything for you,” he whispered, 

“but let you go.” 

And I cried, “Yes,” then “No.” 

“I don’t understand how you can do this to me. 

I’m only ten years old,” 

and he said, “That’s old enough to know.”

Poems – Conversation – Ai Ogawa 

We smile at each other 

and I lean back against the wicker couch. 

How does it feel to be dead? I say. 

You touch my knees with your blue fingers. 

And when you open your mouth, 

a ball of yellow light falls to the floor 

and burns a hole through it. 

Don’t tell me, I say. I don’t want to hear. 

Did you ever, you start, 

wear a certain kind of dress 

and just by accident, 

so inconsequential you barely notice it, 

your fingers graze that dress 

and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper, 

you see it too 

and you realize how that image 

is simply the extension of another image, 

that your own life 

is a chain of words 

that one day will snap. 

Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands, 

and beginning to rise heavenward 

in their confirmation dresses, 

like white helium balloons, 

the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning, 

and above all that, 

that’s where I’m floating, 

and that’s what it’s like 

only ten times clearer, 

ten times more horrible. 

Could anyone alive survive it?

Poems – Passage For Allen Ginsberg – Ai Ogawa

 

Sunflowers beside the railroad tracks, 

sunflowers giving back the beauty God gave you 

to one lonely traveler 

who spies you from a train window 

as she passes on her way to another train station. 

She wonders if she were like you 

rooted to your bit of earth 

would she be happy, 

would she be satisfied 

to have the world glide past and not regret it? 

For a moment, she thinks so, 

then decides that, no, she never could 

and turns back to her book of poetry, 

remembering how hard it was to get here 

and that flowers have their places as people do 

and she cannot simply exchange hers for another, 

even though she wants it. 

That’s how it is. 

Her mother told her. 

Now she believes her, 

although she wishes she didn’t. 

At fifty-three, she feels the need 

to rebel against the inevitable winding down. 

She already feels it in her bones, 

feels artery deterioration, and imagines 

cancerous indications on medical charts 

she hopes will never be part of her life, 

as she turns back to the window 

to catch the last glimpse of the sunflowers 

that sent her thoughts on a journey 

from which she knows she will never return, 

only go on and on 

and then just go.

Poem – Sorry

one thing i don’t need 
is any more apologies 

i got sorry greetin me at my front door 

you can keep yrs 

i don’t know what to do wit em 

they dont open doors 

or bring the sun back 

they dont make me happy 

or get a mornin paper 

didnt nobody stop usin my tears to wash cars 

cuz a sorry 
i am simply tired 

of collectin 

i didnt know 

i was so important toyou 

i’m gonna haveta throw some away 

i cant get to the clothes in my closet 

for alla the sorries 

i’m gonna tack a sign to my door 

leave a message by the phone 

‘if you called 

to say yr sorry 

call somebody 

else 

i dont use em anymore’ 

i let sorry/ didnt meanta/ & how cd i know abt that 

take a walk down a dark & musty street in brooklyn 

i’m gonna do exactly what i want to 

& i wont be sorry for none of it 

letta sorry soothe yr soul/ i’m gonna soothe mine 

you were always inconsistent 

doin somethin & then bein sorry 

beatin my heart to death 

talkin bout you sorry 

well 

i will not call 

i’m not goin to be nice 

i will raise my voice 

& scream & holler 

& break things & race the engine 

& tell all yr secrets bout yrself to yr face 

& i will list in detail everyone of my wonderful lovers 

& their ways 

i will play oliver lake 

loud 

& i wont be sorry for none of it 

i loved you on purpose 

i was open on purpose 

i still crave vulnerability & close talk 

& i’m not even sorry bout you bein sorry 

you can carry all the guilt & grime ya wanna 

just dont give it to me 

i cant use another sorry 

next time 

you should admit 

you’re mean/ low-down/ triflin/ & no count straight out 

steada bein sorry alla the time 

enjoy bein yrself

Poem – You are such a Fool

You Are Sucha Foolyou are sucha fool/ i haveta love you 

you decide to give me a poem/ intent on it/ actually 

you pull/ kiss me from 125th to 72nd street/ on 

the east side/ no less 

you are sucha fool/ you gonna give me/ the poet/ 

the poem 

insistin on proletarian images/ we buy okra/ 

3 lbs for $1/ & a pair of 98 cent shoes 

we kiss 

we wrestle 

you make sure at east 110 street/ we have cognac 

no beer all day 

you are sucha fool/ you fall over my day like 

a wash of azure 

you take my tongue outta my mouth/ 

make me say foolish things 

you take my tongue outta my mouth/ lay it on yr skin 

like the dew between my legs 

on this the first day of silver balloons 

& lil girl’s braids undone 

friendly savage skulls on bikes/ wish me good-day 

you speak spanish like a german & ask puerto rican 

market men on lexington if they are foreigners 

oh you are sucha fool/ i cant help but love you 

maybe it was something in the air 

our memories 

our first walk 

our first… 

yes/ alla that 

where you poured wine down my throat in rooms 

poets i dreamed abt seduced sound & made history/ 

you make me feel like a cheetah 

a gazelle/ something fast & beautiful 

you make me remember my animal sounds/ 

so while i am an antelope 

ocelot & serpent speaking in tongues 

my body loosens for/ you 

you decide to give me the poem 

you wet yr fingers/ lay it to my lips 

that i might write some more abt you/ 

how you come into me 

the way the blues jumps outta b.b.king/ how 

david murray assaults a moon & takes her home/ 

like dyanne harvey invades the wind 

oh you/ you are sucha fool/ 

you want me to write some more abt you 

how you come into me like a rollercoaster in a 

dip that swings 

leaving me shattered/ glistening/ rich/ screeching 

& fully clothed 

you set me up to fall into yr dreams 

like the sub-saharan animal i am/ in all this heat 

wanting to be still 

to be still with you 

in the shadows 

all those buildings 

all those people/ celebrating/ sunlight & love/ you 

you are sucha fool/ you spend all day piling up images 

locations/ morsels of daydreams/ to give me a poem 

just smile/ i’ll get it

Poem – My Father Is A Retired Magician

 

my father is a retired magician 

which accounts for my irregular behavior 

everythin comes outta magic hats 

or bottles wit no bottoms & parakeets 

are as easy to get as a couple a rabbits 

or 3 fifty cent pieces/ 1958 
my daddy retired from magic & took 

up another trade cuz this friend of mine 

from the 3rd grade asked to be made white 

on the spot 
what cd any self-respectin colored american magician 

do wit such a outlandish request/ cept 

put all them razzamatazz hocus pocus zippity-do-dah 

thingamajigs away cuz 

colored chirren believin in magic 

waz becomin politically dangerous for the race 

& waznt nobody gonna be made white 

on the spot just 

from a clap of my daddy’s hands 
& the reason i’m so peculiar’s 

cuz i been studyin up on my daddy’s technique 

& everythin i do is magic these days 

& it’s very colored 

very now you see it/ now you 

dont mess wit me 

i come from a family of retired 

sorcerers/ active houngans & pennyante fortune tellers 

wit 41 million spirits critturs & celestial bodies 

on our side 

i’ll listen to yr problems 

help wit yr career yr lover yr wanderin spouse 

make yr grandma’s stay in heaven more gratifyin 

ease yr mother thru menopause & show yr son 

how to clean his room 
YES YES YES 3 wishes is all you get 

scarlet ribbons for yr hair 

benwa balls via hong kong 

a miniature of machu picchu 
all things are possible 

but aint no colored magician in her right mind 

gonna make you white 

i mean 

this is blk magic 

you lookin at 

& i’m fixin you up good/ fixin you up good n colored 

& you gonna be colored all yr life 

& you gonna love it/ bein colored/ all yr life/ colored & love it 

love it/ bein colored/ 

Spell #7 from Upnorth-Outwest Geechee Jibara Quik Magic Trance Manual for Technologically Stressed Third World People

Poem – Key to Friendship – Anonymous

The key to friendship 
Is not in the hand you hold 

But how you hold the hand. 
It’s not in the tears you dry 

But all the reasons why. 
It’s not how you make a person smile 

But whether or not it’s worthwhile. 
It’s not in the conversation 

But in the way you listen. 
It’s not in the laughter 

But what comes before and everything after. 
The key to friendship 

Is not in two people relating 

But in two hearts communicating. 
Thank you for being that special friend 

Who understands the key to friendship 

And how to unlock everything within my heart.

Poem – Death Of An Innocent – Anonymous 

I went to a party, Mom, 

I remembered what you said. 

You told me not to drink, Mom, 

So I drank soda instead. 
I really felt proud inside, Mom, 

The way you said I would. 

I didn’t drink and drive, Mom, 

Even though the others said I should. 
I know I did the right thing, Mom, 

I know you are always right. 

Now the party is finally ending, Mom, 

As everyone is driving out of sight. 
As I got into my car, Mom, 

I knew I’d get home in one piece. 

Because of the way you raised me, 

So responsible and sweet. 
I started to drive away, Mom, 

But as I pulled out into the road, 

The other car didn’t see me, Mom, 

And hit me like a load. 
As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, 

I hear the policeman say, 

‘The other guy is drunk,’ Mom, 

And now I’m the one who will pay. 
I’m lying here dying, Mom… 

I wish you’d get here soon. 

How could this happen to me, Mom? 

My life just burst like a balloon. 
There is blood all around me, Mom, 

And most of it is mine. 

I hear the medic say, Mom, 

I’ll die in a short time. 
I just wanted to tell you, Mom, 

I swear I didn’t drink. 

It was the others, Mom. 

The others didn’t think. 
He was probably at the same party as I. 

The only difference is, he drank 

And I will die. 
Why do people drink, Mom? 

It can ruin your whole life. 

I’m feeling sharp pains now. 

Pains just like a knife. 
The guy who hit me is walking, Mom, 

And I don’t think it’s fair. 

I’m lying here dying 

And all he can do is stare. 
Tell my brother not to cry, Mom. 

Tell Daddy to be brave. 

And when I go to heaven, Mom, 

Put ‘Daddy’s Girl’ on my grave. 
Someone should have told him, Mom, 

Not to drink and drive. 

If only they had told him, Mom, 

I would still be alive. 
My breath is getting shorter, Mom. 

I’m becoming very scared. 

Please don’t cry for me, Mom. 

When I needed you, 

you were always there. 
I have one last question, Mom. 

Before I say good bye. 

I didn’t drink and drive, 

So why am I the one to die?

Poem – Advice To A Lover – Anonymous

The sea hath many thousand sands, 

The sun hath motes as many; 

The sky is full of stars, and Love 

As full of woes as any: 

Believe me, that do know the elf, 

And make no trial by thyself! 
It is in truth a pretty toy 

For babes to play withal: 

But O, the honies of our youth 

Are oft our age’s gall: 

Self-proof in time will make thee know 

He was a prophet told thee so: 
A prophet that, Cassandra-like, 

Tells truth without belief; 

For headstrong Youth will run his race, 

Although his goal be grief: – 

Love’s Martyr, when his heat is past, 

Proves Care’s Confessor at the last.

Full Moon – Victoria Sackville-West

She was wearing the coral taffeta trousers 

Someone had brought her from Ispahan, 

And the little gold coat with pomegranate blossoms, 

And the coral-hafted feather fan; 

But she ran down a Kentish lane in the moonlight, 

And skipped in the pool of the moon as she ran. 
She cared not a rap for all the big planets, 

For Betelgeuse or Aldebaran, 

And all the big planets cared nothing for her, 

That small impertinent charlatan; 

But she climbed on a Kentish stile in the moonlight, 

And laughed at the sky through the sticks of her fan.

A Saxon Song – Victoria Sackville West

Tools with the comely names, 

Mattock and scythe and spade, 

Couth and bitter as flames, 

Clean, and bowed in the blade,– 

A man and his tools make a man and his trade. 
Breadth of the English shires, 

Hummock and kame and mead, 

Tang of the reeking byres, 

Land of the English breed,– 

A man and his land make a man and his creed. 
Leisurely flocks and herds, 

Cool-eyed cattle that come 

Mildly to wonted words, 

Swine that in orchards roam,– 

A man and his beasts make a man and his home. 
Children sturdy and flaxen 

Shouting in brotherly strife, 

Like the land they are Saxon, 

Sons of a man and his wife,– 

For a man and his loves make a man and his life.

The Suicide’s Soliloquy Abraham Loncoln 

Here, where the lonely hooting owl 

Sends forth his midnight moans, 

Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl, 

Or buzzards pick my bones. 
No fellow-man shall learn my fate, 

Or where my ashes lie; 

Unless by beasts drawn round their bait, 

Or by the ravens’ cry. 
Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do, 

And this the place to do it: 

This heart I’ll rush a dagger through, 

Though I in hell should rue it! 
Hell! What is hell to one like me 

Who pleasures never know; 

By friends consigned to misery, 

By hope deserted too? 
To ease me of this power to think, 

That through my bosom raves, 

I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink, 

And wallow in its waves. 
Though devils yell, and burning chains 

May waken long regret; 

Their frightful screams, and piercing pains, 

Will help me to forget. 
Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night, 

To take that fiery berth! 

Think not with tales of hell to fright 

Me, who am damn’d on earth! 
Sweet steel! come forth from your sheath, 

And glist’ning, speak your powers; 

Rip up the organs of my breath, 

And draw my blood in showers! 
I strike! It quivers in that heart 

Which drives me to this end; 

I draw and kiss the bloody dart, 

My last—my only friend!

My Childhood Home I See Again – Abraham Lincoln 

My childhood’s home I see again, 
And sadden with the view; 

And still, as memory crowds my brain, 

There’s pleasure in it too. 
O Memory! thou midway world 

‘Twixt earth and paradise, 

Where things decayed and loved ones lost 

In dreamy shadows rise, 
And, freed from all that’s earthly vile, 

Seem hallowed, pure, and bright, 

Like scenes in some enchanted isle 

All bathed in liquid light. 
As dusky mountains please the eye 

When twilight chases day; 

As bugle-tones that, passing by, 

In distance die away; 
As leaving some grand waterfall, 

We, lingering, list its roar– 

So memory will hallow all 

We’ve known, but know no more. 
Near twenty years have passed away 

Since here I bid farewell 

To woods and fields, and scenes of play, 

And playmates loved so well. 
Where many were, but few remain 

Of old familiar things; 

But seeing them, to mind again 

The lost and absent brings. 
The friends I left that parting day, 

How changed, as time has sped! 

Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray, 

And half of all are dead. 
I hear the loved survivors tell 

How nought from death could save, 

Till every sound appears a knell, 

And every spot a grave. 
I range the fields with pensive tread, 

And pace the hollow rooms, 

And feel (companion of the dead) 

I’m living in the tombs. 
II 
But here’s an object more of dread 

Than ought the grave contains– 

A human form with reason fled, 

While wretched life remains. 
Poor Matthew! Once of genius bright, 

A fortune-favored child– 

Now locked for aye, in mental night, 

A haggard mad-man wild. 
Poor Matthew! I have ne’er forgot, 

When first, with maddened will, 

Yourself you maimed, your father fought, 

And mother strove to kill; 
When terror spread, and neighbors ran, 

Your dange’rous strength to bind; 

And soon, a howling crazy man 

Your limbs were fast confined. 
How then you strove and shrieked aloud, 

Your bones and sinews bared; 

And fiendish on the gazing crowd, 

With burning eye-balls glared– 
And begged, and swore, and wept and prayed 

With maniac laught[ter?] joined– 

How fearful were those signs displayed 

By pangs that killed thy mind! 
And when at length, tho’ drear and long, 

Time smoothed thy fiercer woes, 

How plaintively thy mournful song 

Upon the still night rose. 
I’ve heard it oft, as if I dreamed, 

Far distant, sweet, and lone– 

The funeral dirge, it ever seemed 

Of reason dead and gone. 
To drink it’s strains, I’ve stole away, 

All stealthily and still, 

Ere yet the rising God of day 

Had streaked the Eastern hill. 
Air held his breath; trees, with the spell, 

Seemed sorrowing angels round, 

Whose swelling tears in dew-drops fell 

Upon the listening ground. 
But this is past; and nought remains, 

That raised thee o’er the brute. 

Thy piercing shrieks, and soothing strains, 

Are like, forever mute. 
Now fare thee well–more thou the cause, 

Than subject now of woe. 

All mental pangs, by time’s kind laws, 

Hast lost the power to know. 
O death! Thou awe-inspiring prince, 

That keepst the world in fear; 

Why dost thos tear more blest ones hence, 

And leave him ling’ring here?

The Bear Hunt – Abraham Lincoln

A wild-bear chace, didst never see? 

Then hast thou lived in vain. 

Thy richest bump of glorious glee, 

Lies desert in thy brain. 
When first my father settled here, 

‘Twas then the frontier line: 

The panther’s scream, filled night with fear 

And bears preyed on the swine. 
But wo for Bruin’s short lived fun, 

When rose the squealing cry; 

Now man and horse, with dog and gun, 

For vengeance, at him fly. 
A sound of danger strikes his ear; 

He gives the breeze a snuff; 

Away he bounds, with little fear, 

And seeks the tangled rough. 
On press his foes, and reach the ground, 

Where’s left his half munched meal; 

The dogs, in circles, scent around, 

And find his fresh made trail. 
With instant cry, away they dash, 

And men as fast pursue; 

O’er logs they leap, through water splash, 

And shout the brisk halloo. 
Now to elude the eager pack, 

Bear shuns the open ground; 

Th[r]ough matted vines, he shapes his track 

And runs it, round and round. 
The tall fleet cur, with deep-mouthed voice, 

Now speeds him, as the wind; 

While half-grown pup, and short-legged fice, 

Are yelping far behind. 
And fresh recruits are dropping in 

To join the merry corps: 

With yelp and yell,–a mingled din– 

The woods are in a roar. 
And round, and round the chace now goes, 

The world’s alive with fun; 

Nick Carter’s horse, his rider throws, 

And more, Hill drops his gun. 
Now sorely pressed, bear glances back, 

And lolls his tired tongue; 

When as, to force him from his track, 

An ambush on him sprung. 
Across the glade he sweeps for flight, 

And fully is in view. 

The dogs, new-fired, by the sight, 

Their cry, and speed, renew. 
The foremost ones, now reach his rear, 

He turns, they dash away; 

And circling now, the wrathful bear, 

They have him full at bay. 
At top of speed, the horse-men come, 

All screaming in a row, 

“Whoop! Take him Tiger. Seize him Drum.” 

Bang,–bang–the rifles go. 
And furious now, the dogs he tears, 

And crushes in his ire, 

Wheels right and left, and upward rears, 

With eyes of burning fire. 
But leaden death is at his heart, 

Vain all the strength he plies. 

And, spouting blood from every part, 

He reels, and sinks, and dies. 
And now a dinsome clamor rose, 

‘Bout who should have his skin; 

Who first draws blood, each hunter knows, 

This prize must always win. 
But who did this, and how to trace 

What’s true from what’s a lie, 

Like lawyers, in a murder case 

They stoutly argufy. 
Aforesaid fice, of blustering mood, 

Behind, and quite forgot, 

Just now emerging from the wood, 

Arrives upon the spot. 
With grinning teeth, and up-turned hair– 

Brim full of spunk and wrath, 

He growls, and seizes on dead bear, 

And shakes for life and death. 
And swells as if his skin would tear, 

And growls and shakes again; 

And swears, as plain as dog can swear, 

That he has won the skin. 
Conceited whelp! we laugh at thee– 

Nor mind, that now a few 

Of pompous, two-legged dogs there be, 

Conceited quite as you.

Memory – Abraham Lincoln

MY childhood’s home I see again, 

And sadden with the view; 

And still, as memory crowds my brain, 

There’s pleasure in it, too. 
O memory! thou midway world 

‘Twixt earth and paradise, 

Where things decayed and loved ones lost 

In dreamy shadows rise, 
And, freed from all that’s earthly, vile, 

Seem hallowed, pure and bright, 

Like scenes in some enchanted isle 

All bathed in liquid light. 
As dusky mountains please the eye 

When twilight chases day; 

As bugle notes that, passing by, 

In distance die away; 
As, leaving some grand waterfall, 

We, lingering, list its roar- 

So memory will hallow all 

We’ve known but know no more. 
Near twenty years have passed away 

Since here I bid farewll 

To woods and fields, and scenes of play, 

And playmates loved so well. 
Where many were, but few remain 

Of old familiar things, 

But seeing them to mind again 

The lost and absent brings. 
The friends I left that parting day, 

How changed, as time has sped! 

Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray; 

And half of all are dead. 
I hear the loved survivors tell 

How nought from death could save, 

Till every sound appear a knell 

And every spot a grave. 
I range the fields with pensive tread, 

And pace the hollow rooms, 

And feel (companion of the dead) 

I’m living in the tombs. 

Poems – Cat’s Dream – Pablo Neruda 

How neatly a cat sleeps, 
sleeps with its paws and its posture, 

sleeps with its wicked claws, 

and with its unfeeling blood, 

sleeps with all the rings- 

a series of burnt circles- 

which have formed the odd geology 

of its sand-colored tail. 
I should like to sleep like a cat, 

with all the fur of time, 

with a tongue rough as flint, 

with the dry sex of fire; 

and after speaking to no one, 

stretch myself over the world, 

over roofs and landscapes, 

with a passionate desire 

to hunt the rats in my dreams. 
I have seen how the cat asleep 

would undulate, how the night 

flowed through it like dark water; 

and at times, it was going to fall 

or possibly plunge into 

the bare deserted snowdrifts. 

Sometimes it grew so much in sleep 

like a tiger’s great-grandfather, 

and would leap in the darkness over 

rooftops, clouds and volcanoes. 
Sleep, sleep cat of the night, 

with episcopal ceremony 

and your stone-carved moustache. 

Take care of all our dreams; 

control the obscurity 

of our slumbering prowess 

with your relentless heart 

and the great ruff of your tail. 

Poems – A Lemon – Pablo Neruda 

Out of lemon flowers 

loosed 

on the moonlight, love’s 

lashed and insatiable 

essences, 

sodden with fragrance, 

the lemon tree’s yellow 

emerges, 

the lemons 

move down 

from the tree’s planetarium 
Delicate merchandise! 

The harbors are big with it- 

bazaars 

for the light and the 

barbarous gold. 

We open 

the halves 

of a miracle, 

and a clotting of acids 

brims 

into the starry 

divisions: 

creation’s 

original juices, 

irreducible, changeless, 

alive: 

so the freshness lives on 

in a lemon, 

in the sweet-smelling house of the rind, 

the proportions, arcane and acerb. 
Cutting the lemon 

the knife 

leaves a little cathedral: 

alcoves unguessed by the eye 

that open acidulous glass 

to the light; topazes 

riding the droplets, 

altars, 

aromatic facades. 
So, while the hand 

holds the cut of the lemon, 

half a world 

on a trencher, 

the gold of the universe 

wells 

to your touch: 

a cup yellow 

with miracles, 

a breast and a nipple 

perfuming the earth; 

a flashing made fruitage, 

the diminutive fire of a planet.