Spring Song – Lucy Maud Montgomery

Hark, I hear a robin calling!
List, the wind is from the south!
And the orchard-bloom is falling
Sweet as kisses on the mouth.

In the dreamy vale of beeches
Fair and faint is woven mist,
And the river’s orient reaches
Are the palest amethyst.

Every limpid brook is singing
Of the lure of April days;
Every piney glen is ringing
With the maddest roundelays.

Come and let us seek together
Springtime lore of daffodils,
Giving to the golden weather
Greeting on the sun-warm hills.

Ours shall be the moonrise stealing
Through the birches ivory-white;
Ours shall be the mystic healing
Of the velvet-footed night.

Ours shall be the gypsy winding
Of the path with violets blue,
Ours at last the wizard finding
Of the land where dreams come true.

A Spring Sonnet – Arthur Henry Adams

Last night beneath the mockery of the moon
I heard the suddenly startled whisperings
Of wakened birds settling their restless wings;
The North-east brought his word of gladness, “Soon!”
And all the night with wonder was a-swoon.
A soul had breathed into long-dreaming things;
Some unseen hand hovered above the strings:
Some cosmic chords had set the earth in tune.
And when I rose I saw the Bay arrayed
In her grey robe against the coming heat.
A pulse awoke within the stirring street–
The wattle-gold upon the pavements thrown,
And through the quiet of the colonnade
The smoky perfume of boronia blown.

Spring – Ernst Toller

In spring I go to war
To sing or to die.
What do I care for my own troubles?
Today I shatter them, laughing in pieces.

Oh, Brothers, know that young spring came
In a whirlwind.
Quickly throw off tired grief
And follow her in a host.

I have never felt so strongly
How much I love you, Oh, Germany,
As the magic of spring surrounds you
Amidst the bustle of war.

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.

The Pagans – Zachary Zuccaro

Eager anticipation of the upcoming adventure
a journey into foreign lands
filled with undiscovered species
and unseen wonders.

A dragon and a phoenix
perch on a mountain
above the king.
Seven living creatures
with seven eyes and seven wings
sit in a circle
upon seven beryl thrones.

Forty trumpets are sounded
twenty sacrifices offered.
Thirteen priests in scarlet robes
approach the altar
stained with the blood
of a newborn child,
a supplication to the gods
to bring rain to the land.

Hydrangea – Zachary Zuccaro

A hydrangea grows by the pond
and sprinkles its petals over the ground.

The sparrow sings on a maple tree
and offers her feathers to the whims of the wind.

Bluegill jumps from the water
and returns its body to the world from whence it came.

Wisdom And Knowledge – Zachary Zuccaro

Much emphasis is placed on knowledge and memory,
intelligence is worshipped and information is mankind’s god.
Yet these too are trivial and shall turn to dust.
People cling to memories yet these too are mortal
and shall fade with age and die with death.
No, what is immortal, and is important
does not age, does not die, and is rarely sought.

Wisdom and love are the fruit of the soul
and these do not age but grow with time.
Yet these treasures are ignored and mocked.

Many people believe they possess wisdom,
yet they do not seek it.
Many covet love, and wish it for themselves,
yet are reluctant to give it,
sharing it only with close friends and family.

Wisdom and love are the food of the soul
yet people stuff their souls with hatred and ignorance,
and while their bodies live healthy and well,
souls suffer and starve.
Wisdom often comes with age but
wisdom does not come from age.
Indeed, there are children who are wise
and elders who are fools.

No, knowledge and wisdom are enemies.
Knowledge is of the world and for the world,
wisdom is of the soul and for the soul.
Knowledge is nothing more than trivial facts
that help make us feel good about ourselves,
but wisdom is true understanding of life and what is life.

Only when one has wisdom, rather than knowledge,
can one truly understand the purpose of dying,
and more importantly, the purpose for living.

Christmas – Julia Ann Moore

Hail the coming holiday,
With a hearty joyous feast,
And drive away sorrow, friends,
For a day or two at least;
Lay all business cares aside,
And make the world resound,
With music and festivals
Throughout our merry town.

May every person in our land
A voice to heaven raise,
And welcome in Christ’s birthday,
With everlasting praise;
Praise Him who died upon the cross,
Our sinning souls to save,
The great Redeemer, Christ our Lord,
That dwells beyond the grave.

We should meet in reverence,
And God’s commands obey,
And make each other happy
Throughout the holiday;
And not forget the orphans,
The aged or the blind,
The rich, the poor and needy,
To each one pray be kind.

May every parent in the land,
Hail Christmas day with joy,
And not forget a present for
Their little girls and boys;
They are looking forth anxiously,
For Santa Claus to come
And fill their little stockings,
With toys and sugar-plumbs.

God grant a merry Christmas eve
And happy Christmas day,
To every person in the land,
At home or far away.
That festive day will soon be here,
Alas, will soon be o’er;
Welcome, welcome the coming of
Christmas day once more. 

Butterfly – Zachary Zuccaro

The body serves as a caterpillar
to house the soul in its larval state
while maturing;
then the soul blossoms
like a butterfly
with power and beauty
far greater than the body could ever have.
A fluttering glory
transcending time and space,
a brilliant light blinking into existence
and exuding brilliance.

The Sparrow – Paul Laurence Dunbar

A LITTLE bird, with plumage brown,
Beside my window flutters down,
A moment chirps its little strain,
Then taps upon my window-pane,
And chirps again, and hops along,
To call my notice to its song;
But I work on, nor heed its lay,
Till, in neglect, it flies away.

So birds of peace and hope and love
Come fluttering earthward from above,
To settle on life’s window-sills,
And ease our load of earthly ills;
But we, in traffic’s rush and din
Too deep engaged to let them in,
With deadened heart and sense plod on,
Nor know our loss till they are gone. 

Milkmaid – Laurie Lee

The girl’s far treble, muted to the heat,
calls like a fainting bird across the fields
to where her flock lies panting for her voice,
their black horns buried deep in marigolds.

They climb awake, like drowsy butterflies,
and press their red flanks through the tall branched grass,
and as they go their wandering tongues embrace
the vacant summer mirrored in their eyes.

Led to the limestone shadows of a barn
they snuff their past embalmed in the hay,
while her cool hand, cupped to the udder’s fount,
distils the brimming harvest of their day.

Look what a cloudy cream the earth gives out,
fat juice of buttercups and meadow-rye;
the girl dreams milk within her body’s field
and hears, far off, her muted children cry

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.

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.

Winter – Walter de la Mare

Clouded with snow
The cold winds blow,
And shrill on leafless bough
The robin with its burning breast
Alone sings now.

The rayless sun,
Day’s journey done,
Sheds its last ebbing light
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly white.

Thick draws the dark,
And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the white moon.

Suicide In The Trenches – Siegfried Sassoon

I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you’ll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

Poem – The Objection To Being Stepped On

At the end of the row
I stepped on the toe
Of an unemployed hoe.
It rose in offense
And struck me a blow
In the seat of my sense.
It wasn’t to blame
But I called it a name.
And I must say it dealt
Me a blow that I felt
Like a malice prepense.
You may call me a fool,
But was there a rule
The weapon should be
Turned into a tool?
And what do we see?
The first tool I step on
Turned into a weapon.

Poem – Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”

Poem – On Content

Grant heav’n that I may chuse my bliss
If you design me worldly Happiness
Tis not Honour thats but air
Glory has but fancied light
Fame as oft speak’s false as right
Riches have wings & ever dwell with care
Give me an undistemperd mind
As ye third region undisturbd by wind
Content from passions ever free
to rule ones selfs indeed a monarchy
this I request of thee

Tho all we see are fortunes apes
& change as oft as she their shapes
Tho my kinder fortune leave me
Tho my dearest friends deceive me
I in this universall tide
firm on heav’ns mercy would abide
& ‘mongst ye giddy waves securely ride
Tho they should die
Who never did my love abuse
Perhaps in tears I would my passion vent
But straight again I’de be content
Remembring ’twas th’ almighty’s deed tho I
should my best relations loose
Ide sighing cry Heav’ns will be done
It did but lend them now it has its own.
Fortune should never be
Adored as a deity by me
She onely makes them fooles who make her great
But still content on earth intent on heav’n I’de be
an equall temper keep in ev’ry state
nor Care nor fear my destiny
Death when most dreadfull should not fright
Wn ere he comes Ide patiently submitt
Content thus in my soul should build its halcyons nest
As did thy spirit on ye waters rest
& keep an everlasting calm with in my breast.

Poem – Autumn Interlude

I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week,
To blooms, and to things like these, for Winter bleak
Was shouting loud from the hills, and flinging high
His gossamer net that fills frail Autumn’s sky.
So I said goodbye to the bees; for I knew that soon
I should bask no more ‘neath the trees on some high noon
And hark to the drowsy hum close overhead.
For the cold and rain must come, now Summer’s dead.

So I wallowed a while in woe and wooed unease;
And I rather liked it so; for it seemed to please
Some clamoring inner urge – some need apart,
And I felt self-pity surge, here, in my heart
As I said goodbye to the bees, my tireless friends
Who toil mid the flowers and the trees till daylight ends
Who toil in the sun, yet seem to find no irk,
While I loll in the shade and dream; for I do love work.

Ah, fate and the falling leaf! How dear is woe.
How subtly sweet is grief (Synthetic). So
I said goodbye to the bees; and then I wrote
This crown of threhodies, while in my throat
I choked back many a sob and salt tears spent.
But I felt I’d done my job, and was content.
For I’d penned my piece to the bees – the poet’s tosh
Of the Autumn’s drear unease. Ah, me! Oh, gosh!

I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week….
Then the tempest shook the trees, the swollen creek
Went thundering down to the plain, the wind shrieked past,
And the cold, and the wet, wet rain were here at last….
Then, a hot sun, scorning rules, shone forth, alack!
And those blundering, blithering fools, the bees came back,
Humming a song inance in the rain-washed trees. . . .
Now it’s all to do again. . . . Oh, blast the bees!

The Joy Of Travel – Marilyn Lott

What a thrill it is to travel
Perhaps in a different country
The cultures incredibly diverse
So many wonderful things to see

The clothes can be so different
Unique in their treasured styles
An entirely distinctive kind of people
With their friendly happy smiles

And the food can be quite challenging
Different tastes and how they eat
But, hey, I’m ready to try it
Doesn’t have to be potatoes and meat

Different ways and thoughts of worship
It is such an international treat
To see the different cultures
And all the interesting folks you meet

So if you get a chance, folks
Get on a plane or cruising ship
Take yourself to another country
Have a great and wonderful trip!

Romance Is Dead – April Avalon

A glass of cheap vodka tastes just like depression –
It hurts to be sober tonight.
The mirror reflects such a hideous expression
That I promptly turn off the light.
Some porno, then casual sex with my hand…
Oh damn! This is something I shouldn’t have said.
Why don’t you believe that I need no boyfriend –
No problems, no worries, no tears, no regret?

Romance is dead,
And so am I,
I can’t forget
My perfect lie.
I still recall
The times we had.
Oh well, that’s all.
Romance is dead.

I can’t fall asleep, so I get on the net,
Where I claim to be an online super-wh-,
I find guys like you just to make them all fret,
My tease makes them want me, but they can’t get more
Than flirt for some minutes, some sexual tension
And then disconnect. Their muse disappears.
I’ve had a good time with these cruel intentions –
Enough for today. See you later, my dear.

Romance is dead,
And so am I,
I can’t forget
My perfect lie.
I still recall
The times we had.
Oh well, that’s all.
Romance is dead.
Romance is dead!

You say it is stupid, it doesn’t make sense,
But you are the first to have buried romance.

sad eyes – mariana zita

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

sad – cristina geanta

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

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

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

sad…
just what she is not

you are beautiful – fidelis patronus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 – the dark stag

1 A startled stag, the blue-grey Night,
2 Leaps down beyond black pines.
3 Behind–a length of yellow light–
4 The hunter’s arrow shines:
5 His moccasins are stained with red,
6 He bends upon his knee,
7 From covering peaks his shafts are sped,
8 The blue mists plume his mighty head,–
9 Well may the swift Night flee!

10 The pale, pale Moon, a snow-white doe,
11 Bounds by his dappled flank:
12 They beat the stars down as they go,
13 Like wood-bells growing rank.
14 The winds lift dewlaps from the ground,
15 Leap from the quaking reeds;
16 Their hoarse bays shake the forests round,
17 With keen cries on the track they bound,–
18 Swift, swift the dark stag speeds!

19 Away! his white doe, far behind,
20 Lies wounded on the plain;
21 Yells at his flank the nimblest wind,
22 His large tears fall in rain;
23 Like lily-pads, small clouds grow white
24 About his darkling way;
25 From his bald nest upon the height
26 The red-eyed eagle sees his flight;
27 He falters, turns, the antlered Night,–
28 The dark stag stands at bay!

29 His feet are in the waves of space;
30 His antlers broad and dun
31 He lowers; he turns his velvet face
32 To front the hunter, Sun;
33 He stamps the lilied clouds, and high
34 His branches fill the west.
35 The lean stork sails across the sky,
36 The shy loon shrieks to see him die,
37 The winds leap at his breast.

38 Roar the rent lakes as thro’ the wave
39 Their silver warriors plunge,
40 As vaults from core of crystal cave
41 The strong, fierce muskallunge;
42 Red torches of the sumach glare,
43 Fall’s council-fires are lit;
44 The bittern, squaw-like, scolds the air;
45 The wild duck splashes loudly where
46 The rustling rice-spears knit.

47 Shaft after shaft the red Sun speeds:
48 Rent the stag’s dappled side,
49 His breast, fanged by the shrill winds, bleeds,
50 He staggers on the tide;
51 He feels the hungry waves of space
52 Rush at him high and blue;
53 Their white spray smites his dusky face,
54 Swifter the Sun’s fierce arrows race
55 And pierce his stout heart thro’.

56 His antlers fall; once more he spurns
57 The hoarse hounds of the day;
58 His blood upon the crisp blue burns,
59 Reddens the mounting spray;
60 His branches smite the wave–with cries
61 The loud winds pause and flag–
62 He sinks in space–red glow the skies,
63 The brown earth crimsons as he dies,
64 The strong and dusky stag.

poem – the disciple

When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of
sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping
through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it
comfort.

And when they saw that the pool had changed from a cup of sweet
waters into a cup of salt tears, they loosened the green tresses of
their hair and cried to the pool and said, ‘We do not wonder that
you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus, so beautiful was
he.’

‘But was Narcissus beautiful?’ said the pool.

‘Who should know that better than you?’ answered the Oreads. ‘Us
did he ever pass by, but you he sought for, and would lie on your
banks and look down at you, and in the mirror of your waters he
would mirror his own beauty.’

And the pool answered, ‘But I loved Narcissus because, as he lay on
my banks and looked down at me, in the mirror of his eyes I saw
ever my own beauty mirrored.’

Poem – Several Questions Answered

What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.

The look of love alarms
Because ’tis fill’d with fire;
But the look of soft deceit
Shall Win the lover’s hire.

Soft Deceit & Idleness,
These are Beauty’s sweetest dress.

He who binds to himself a joy
Dot the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity’s sunrise

Poem – The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut
And ‘Thou shalt not,’ writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

Poem – The Indian to His Love

THE island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.
Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:
How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam
and dart,
The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water’s drowsy blaze.

Poem – The Three Monuments

THEY hold their public meetings where
Our most renowned patriots stand,
One among the birds of the air,
A stumpier on either hand;
And all the popular statesmen say
That purity built up the State
And after kept it from decay;
And let all base ambition be,
For intellect would make us proud
And pride bring in impurity:
The three old rascals laugh aloud.

Poem – A Prayer for Old Age

GOD guard me from those thoughts men think
In the mind alone;
He that sings a lasting song
Thinks in a marrow-bone;
From all that makes a wise old man
That can be praised of all;
O what am I that I should not seem
For the song’s sake a fool?
I pray — for word is out
And prayer comes round again —
That I may seem, though I die old,
A foolish, passionate man.

Poem – She Spins Silk

Far up river in Szechuan,
waters rise as spring winds roar.

How can I dare to meet her now,
to brave the dangerous gorge?

The grass grows green in the valley below
where silk worms silently spin.

Her hands work threads that never end,
dawn to dusk when the cuckoo sings.

Poem – On Gazing into a Mirror

Follow Tao, and nothing is old or new.
Lose it, and the ruins of age return.

Someone smiling back in the mirror,
hair white as the frost-stained glass,

you admit lament is empty, ask how
reflections get so worn and withered.

How speak of peach and plum: timeless
South Mountain blazes in the end?

Poem – Bringing in the Wine

See how the Yellow River’s water move out of heaven.
Entering the ocean,never to return.
See how lovely locks in bright mirrors in high chambers,
Though silken-black at morning, have changed by night to snow.
… Oh, let a man of spirit venture where he pleases
And never tip his golden cup empty toward the moon!
Since heaven gave the talent, let it be employed!
Spin a thousand of pieces of silver, all of them come back!
Cook a sheep, kill a cow, whet the appetite,
And make me, of three hundred bowls, one long drink!
… To the old master, Tsen,
And the young scholar, Tan-chiu,
Bring in the wine!
Let your cups never rest!
Let me sing you a song!
Let your ears attend!
What are bell and drum, rare dishes and treasure?
Let me br forever drunk and never come to reason!
Sober men of olden days and sages are forgotten,
And only the great drinkers are famous for all time.
… Prince Chen paid at a banquet in the Palace of Perfection
Ten thousand coins for a cask of wine, with many a laugh and quip.
Why say, my host, that your money is gone?
Go and buy wine and we’ll drink it together!
My flower-dappled horse,
My furs worth a thousand,
Hand them to the boy to exchange for good wine,
And we’ll drown away the woes of ten thousand generation!

Poem – Hard is the Journey

Gold vessels of fine wines,
thousands a gallon,
Jade dishes of rare meats,
costing more thousands,

I lay my chopsticks down,
no more can banquet,
I draw my sword and stare
wildly about me:

Ice bars my way to cross
the Yellow River,
Snows from dark skies to climb
the T’ai-hang mountains!

At peace I drop a hook
into a brooklet,
At once I’m in a boat
but sailing sunward…

(Hard is the journey,
Hard is the journey,
So many turnings,
And now where am I?)

So when a breeze breaks waves,
bringing fair weather,
I set a cloud for sails,
cross the blue oceans!

Poem – Meddlesome Matty

One ugly trick has often spoil’d
The sweetest and the best;
Matilda, though a pleasant child,
One ugly trick possess’d,
Which, like a cloud before the skies,
Hid all her better qualities.

Sometimes she’d lift the tea-pot lid,
To peep at what was in it,
Or tilt the kettle, if you did
But turn your back a minute.
In vain you told her not to touch,
Her trick of meddling grew so much.

Her grandmamma went out one day,
And by mistake she laid
Her spectacles and snuff-box gay
Too near the little maid;
“Ah! well,” thought she, “I’ll try them on,
As soon as grandmamma is gone. ”

Forthwith she placed upon her nose
The glasses large and wide;
And looking round, as I suppose,
The snuff-box too she spied:
“Oh! what a pretty box is that;
I’ll open it,” said little Matt.

“I know that grandmamma would say,
‘Don’t meddle with it, dear;’
But then, she’s far enough away,
And no one else is near:
Besides, what can there be amiss
In opening such a box as this? ”

So thumb and finger went to work
To move the stubborn lid,
And presently a mighty jerk
The mighty mischief did;
For all at once, ah! woful case,
The snuff came puffing in her face.

Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside
A dismal sight presented;
In vain, as bitterly she cried,
Her folly she repented.
In vain she ran about for ease;
She could do nothing now but sneeze.

She dash’d the spectacles away,
To wipe her tingling eyes,
And as in twenty bits they lay,
Her grandmamma she spies.
“Heyday! and what’s the matter now?”
Says grandmamma, with lifted brow.

Matilda, smarting with the pain,
And tingling still, and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain
From meddling evermore.
And ’tis a fact, as I have heard,
She ever since has kept her word.

Poem – Hard Luck

I left the course, and by my side
There walked a ruined tout —
A hungry creature, evil-eyed,
Who poured this story out.
“You see,” he said, “there came a swell
To Kensington today,
And, if I picked the winners well,
A crown at least he’s pay.

“I picked three winners straight, I did;
I filled his purse with pelf,
And then he gave me half-a-quid
To back one for myself.

“A half-a-quid to me he cast —
I wanted it indeed;
So help me Bob, for two days past
I haven’t had a feed.

“But still I thought my luck was in,
I couldn’t go astray —
I put it all on Little Min,
And lost it straightaway.

“I haven’t got a bite or bed,
I’m absolutely stuck;
So keep this lesson in your head:
Don’t over-trust your luck!”

The folks went homeward, near and far,
The tout, oh! where is he?
Ask where the empty boilers are
Beside the Circular Quay.

Poem – Picture 

Meadow of matchsticks,
soon to be rekindled

by Spring the incendiary.
The exact flame of your blossoms

will ignite the passions

happily sapped by time–
Dripdrop their excess went

and now miners’ hats

light up like love before
your vein, the frame of which

is there to depict the drift,

the waste when I painted
all the review copies

they sent me. But those books

open to polar pages where you
and I weigh the ends of this

teeter totem down, you

at the head and nadir me;
where postmortem is

the aura of self-portrait,

its other half regained at last. 

Poem – The Silent Tree

Gentle and forlorn,
Darkness creeps,
Slowly stalking
The solemn presence.

A misplaced light glistens
As the moon shines softly
Upon the tender branches
Of the Silent Tree.

And the winds lightly
Speak, very quietly.
Unspoken voices
Of the Silent Tree

And the tender river
Flows smoothly,
Life pours into the aged roots
Of the Silent Tree

And unheard by Nature,
The delicately woven song
Beautifully voiced
By the Silent Tree

Poem – Pebble

The pebble
is a perfect creature

equal to itself
mindful of its limits

filled exactly
with a pebbly meaning

with a scent that does not remind one of anything
does not frighten anything away does not arouse desire

its ardour and coldness
are just and full of dignity

I feel a heavy remorse
when I hold it in my hand
and its noble body
is permeated by false warmth

–Pebbles cannot be tamed
to the end they will look at us
with a calm and very clear eye

Comes A Doubter – John Tansey 

Nonbeliever

If one you should know

Is felled by a deep grief

Into a black hole of depression, 

And you, armed with clichés, 

Come to console, relieve, 

Before you open your mouth, 

Know this: 

That, in the absence of the right words, 

Silence will suit the situation well.
Like the wearing of basic black

For all formal affairs and funerals, 

It is proper, 

always in style

and goes with any occasion.
Just ask the petitioners of God

Who, all too well, know: 

It is through the long terrible silence

Of unanswered prayers

Made under the duress of the dark, 
That we, too late, learn to survive this life on our own…

English Poem – I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

PABLO NERUDA 12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973  Parral / Chile

PABLO NERUDA
12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973 Parral / Chile


I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
Pablo Neruda

English Poem – Part In Peace: Is Day Before Us? – Sarah Flower Adams

Part in peace: is day before us?
Praise His Name for life and light;
Are the shadows lengthening o’er us?
Bless His care Who guards the night.

Part in peace: with deep thanksgiving,
Rendering, as we homeward tread,
Gracious service to the living,
Tranquil memory to the dead.

Part in peace: such are the praises
God our Maker loveth best;
Such the worship that upraises
Human hearts to heavenly rest.

adams

English Poem – When You Love Someone – Vanessa Hernandez

When you love someone so deep inside,
It seems like it’s so easy to hide.
You’ve loved him for so very long,
You would think he could do no wrong.

Every day you would hope and pray,
That he would always stay this way.
He treated you like you should be treated,
You thought your life was finally completed.

You thought your love was growing true,
And then one day it was all so blue.
He started putting you down and it hurt,
You thought all you were to him was dirt.

He started ignoring you and you wondered why,
All you wanted to do was curl up and die.
You thought your relationship would never end,
But that was all so fake and pretend.

One night he was so sweet to you,
You thought all those things were maybe untrue,
Two days later he was back the same,
You thought you were the one to blame.

He thought the relationship was getting too serious
And that you had become a little too curious.
By this time you knew it wouldn’t last,
All the nice things he said were in the past.

You thought that you would marry him some day,
But this time God wanted to get his way.
You wanted things back how they were before,
But you knew this couldn’t happen anymore.

It was a Saturday night about ten o’clock,
You heard the news and it wasn’t a shock.
You knew this was going to happen soon,
As you laid there and cried in the pale lit moon.