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othorizedshogun

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Found Poem (Allegory) 20 November, 2018 Failing to reach the grapes Ill says of those the jackal.

found-poem

Input: [Form: found-poem] Poem: Found Poem (Allegory) 20 November, 2018 Failing to reach the grapes Ill says of those the jackal.

The more we live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages; A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange—yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone, And left our bosoms bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion'd to their sweetness.

river

Input: [Topic: river] Poem: The more we live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages; A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange—yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone, And left our bosoms bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion'd to their sweetness.

America, from a grain of maize you grew to crown with spacious lands the ocean foam. A grain of maize was your geography. From the grain a green lance rose, was covered with gold, to grace the heights of Peru with its yellow tassels. But, poet, let history rest in its shroud; praise with your lyre the grain in its granaries: sing to the simple maize in the kitchen. First, a fine beard fluttered in the field above the tender teeth of the young ear. Then the husks parted and fruitfulness burst its veils of pale papyrus that grains of laughter might fall upon the earth. To the stone, in your journey, you returned. Not to the terrible stone, the bloody triangle of Mexican death, but to the grinding stone, sacred stone of your kitchens. There, milk and matter, strength-giving, nutritious cornmeal pulp, you were worked and patted by the wondrous hands of dark-skinned women. Wherever you fall, maize, whether into the splendid pot of partridge, or among country beans, you light up the meal and lend it your virginal flavor. Oh, to bite into the steaming ear beside the sea of distant song and deepest waltz. To boil you as your aroma spreads through blue sierras. But is there no end to your treasure? In chalky, barren lands bordered by the sea, along the rocky Chilean coast, at times only your radiance reaches the empty table of the miner. Your light, your cornmeal, your hope pervades America's solitudes, and to hunger your lances are enemy legions. Within your husks, like gentle kernels, our sober provincial children's hearts were nurtured, until life began to shuck us from the ear.

ode

Input: [Form: ode] Poem: America, from a grain of maize you grew to crown with spacious lands the ocean foam. A grain of maize was your geography. From the grain a green lance rose, was covered with gold, to grace the heights of Peru with its yellow tassels. But, poet, let history rest in its shroud; praise with your lyre the grain in its granaries: sing to the simple maize in the kitchen. First, a fine beard fluttered in the field above the tender teeth of the young ear. Then the husks parted and fruitfulness burst its veils of pale papyrus that grains of laughter might fall upon the earth. To the stone, in your journey, you returned. Not to the terrible stone, the bloody triangle of Mexican death, but to the grinding stone, sacred stone of your kitchens. There, milk and matter, strength-giving, nutritious cornmeal pulp, you were worked and patted by the wondrous hands of dark-skinned women. Wherever you fall, maize, whether into the splendid pot of partridge, or among country beans, you light up the meal and lend it your virginal flavor. Oh, to bite into the steaming ear beside the sea of distant song and deepest waltz. To boil you as your aroma spreads through blue sierras. But is there no end to your treasure? In chalky, barren lands bordered by the sea, along the rocky Chilean coast, at times only your radiance reaches the empty table of the miner. Your light, your cornmeal, your hope pervades America's solitudes, and to hunger your lances are enemy legions. Within your husks, like gentle kernels, our sober provincial children's hearts were nurtured, until life began to shuck us from the ear.

If only i'd understand your true intent... but with a broken trust, was it all meant? I always think we'd make it to the end started believing, tried to comprehend but here you are flaunting your escapades completely forgotten I watched love fades broken trust this heart will never mend all these pain wielded inside my head....

trust

Input: [Topic: trust] Poem: If only i'd understand your true intent... but with a broken trust, was it all meant? I always think we'd make it to the end started believing, tried to comprehend but here you are flaunting your escapades completely forgotten I watched love fades broken trust this heart will never mend all these pain wielded inside my head....

Its Funny... When im happy I have a bad day Its Funnny, That when I wish it was hot it snowed Its Funny, That when the world is finally at peace War begins Its Funny, When I fancy Chicken my mum cooks pork Its Funny, When I get a new phone It breaks Its Funny, When I tell my friend a secret and politely ask her not to tell a soul but she does anyway Its Funny, When my mate does something wrong I get in trouble Its Funny, I want to watch a movie on T.V but theres a powercut from start to finish Its Funny, When I ask for a cat for my birthday, I get a fish Its Funny, When I say I love you You reply....I love you too and I always will

funny

Input: [Topic: funny] Poem: Its Funny... When im happy I have a bad day Its Funnny, That when I wish it was hot it snowed Its Funny, That when the world is finally at peace War begins Its Funny, When I fancy Chicken my mum cooks pork Its Funny, When I get a new phone It breaks Its Funny, When I tell my friend a secret and politely ask her not to tell a soul but she does anyway Its Funny, When my mate does something wrong I get in trouble Its Funny, I want to watch a movie on T.V but theres a powercut from start to finish Its Funny, When I ask for a cat for my birthday, I get a fish Its Funny, When I say I love you You reply....I love you too and I always will

You are a repulsive child trapped in a tangle of your forebears' filth, Your own shames were unmasked by a stranger, A careless past rising as an unheeded warning of your vanities, You grasp at the toys of others, eagerly dashing them to pieces, As bespoke by sanguine, yet ironically, you stumble amidst a thicker mist than most, Dessicated and diseased, you hunch as a spider: stealing, binding, and defiling experiences never meant for you........

conceit

Input: [Form: conceit] Poem: You are a repulsive child trapped in a tangle of your forebears' filth, Your own shames were unmasked by a stranger, A careless past rising as an unheeded warning of your vanities, You grasp at the toys of others, eagerly dashing them to pieces, As bespoke by sanguine, yet ironically, you stumble amidst a thicker mist than most, Dessicated and diseased, you hunch as a spider: stealing, binding, and defiling experiences never meant for you........

This bogey is a fing What lives up in your nose And how they comes to get there No one really knows Me grandad likes to blow ‘is out And then he takes a look I fink he’s double checking Just how many he has took But me see, I is different I likes to pick ‘em out By stickin’ up me finger And jiggling it about Then when I knows I got one I quickly whips it out But I don’t shows I got one ‘cause mum would scream and shout So then I likes to hold it Between me fum and finger I roll it round into a ball And then I lets it linger While I finks about a place Where I can go and stick it But sometimes when you’re hungry A bogey’s just the ticket So this one, what I got right here I fought you’d like to meet it It’s big and grey and rubbery And now I’m gonna eat it!

nature

Input: [Topic: nature] Poem: This bogey is a fing What lives up in your nose And how they comes to get there No one really knows Me grandad likes to blow ‘is out And then he takes a look I fink he’s double checking Just how many he has took But me see, I is different I likes to pick ‘em out By stickin’ up me finger And jiggling it about Then when I knows I got one I quickly whips it out But I don’t shows I got one ‘cause mum would scream and shout So then I likes to hold it Between me fum and finger I roll it round into a ball And then I lets it linger While I finks about a place Where I can go and stick it But sometimes when you’re hungry A bogey’s just the ticket So this one, what I got right here I fought you’d like to meet it It’s big and grey and rubbery And now I’m gonna eat it!

I THOUGHT no more was needed Youth to polong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. O who could have foretold That thc heart grows old? Though I have many words, What woman's satisfied, I am no longer faint Because at her side? O who could have foretold That the heart grows old? I have not lost desire But the heart that I had; I thOught 'twould burn my body Laid on the death-bed, For who could have foretold That the heart grows old?

song

Input: [Topic: song] Poem: I THOUGHT no more was needed Youth to polong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. O who could have foretold That thc heart grows old? Though I have many words, What woman's satisfied, I am no longer faint Because at her side? O who could have foretold That the heart grows old? I have not lost desire But the heart that I had; I thOught 'twould burn my body Laid on the death-bed, For who could have foretold That the heart grows old?

Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation! Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum 'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation, With fun, jeering Conjuring Sky-staring, Loungerin g, And still to the tune of Transmogrification-- Those muttering Spluttering Ventriloquogusty P oets With no Hats Or Hats that are rusty. They're my Torment and Curse And harass me worse And bait me and bay me, far sorer I vow Than the Screech of the Owl Or the witch-wolf's long howl, Or sheep-killing Butcher-dog's inward Bow wow For me they all spite--an unfortunate Wight. And the very first moment that I came to Light A Rascal call'd Voss the more to his scandal, Turn'd me into a sickle with never a handle. A Night or two after a worse Rogue there came, The head of the Gang, one Wordsworth by name-- `Ho! What's in the wind?' 'Tis the voice of a Wizzard! I saw him look at me most terribly blue ! He was hunting for witch-rhymes from great A to Izzard, And soon as he'd found them made no more ado But chang'd me at once to a little Canoe. From this strange Enchantment uncharm'd by degrees I began to take courage & hop'd for some Ease, When one Coleridge, a Raff of the self-same Banditti Past by--& intending no doubt to be witty, Because I'd th' ill-fortune his taste to displease, He turn'd up his nose, And in pitiful Prose Made me into the half of a small Cheshire Cheese. Well, a night or two past--it was wind, rain & hail-- And I ventur'd abroad in a thick Cloak & veil-- But the very first Evening he saw me again The last mentioned Ruffian popp'd out of his Den-- I was resting a moment on the bare edge of Naddle I fancy the sight of me turn'd his Brains addle-- For what was I now? A complete Barley-mow And when I climb'd higher he made a long leg, And chang'd me at once to an Ostrich's Egg-- But now Heaven be praised in contempt of the Loon, I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon. Yet my heart is still fluttering-- For I heard the Rogue muttering-- He was hulking and skulking at the skirt of a Wood When lightly & brightly on tip-toe I stood On the long level Line of a motionless Cloud And ho! what a Skittle-ground! quoth he aloud And wish'd from his heart nine Nine-pins to see In brightness & size just proportion'd to me. So I fear'd from my soul, That he'd make me a Bowl, But in spite of his spite This was more than his might And still Heaven be prais'd! in contempt of the Loon I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon.

moon

Input: [Topic: moon] Poem: Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation! Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum 'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation, With fun, jeering Conjuring Sky-staring, Loungerin g, And still to the tune of Transmogrification-- Those muttering Spluttering Ventriloquogusty P oets With no Hats Or Hats that are rusty. They're my Torment and Curse And harass me worse And bait me and bay me, far sorer I vow Than the Screech of the Owl Or the witch-wolf's long howl, Or sheep-killing Butcher-dog's inward Bow wow For me they all spite--an unfortunate Wight. And the very first moment that I came to Light A Rascal call'd Voss the more to his scandal, Turn'd me into a sickle with never a handle. A Night or two after a worse Rogue there came, The head of the Gang, one Wordsworth by name-- `Ho! What's in the wind?' 'Tis the voice of a Wizzard! I saw him look at me most terribly blue ! He was hunting for witch-rhymes from great A to Izzard, And soon as he'd found them made no more ado But chang'd me at once to a little Canoe. From this strange Enchantment uncharm'd by degrees I began to take courage & hop'd for some Ease, When one Coleridge, a Raff of the self-same Banditti Past by--& intending no doubt to be witty, Because I'd th' ill-fortune his taste to displease, He turn'd up his nose, And in pitiful Prose Made me into the half of a small Cheshire Cheese. Well, a night or two past--it was wind, rain & hail-- And I ventur'd abroad in a thick Cloak & veil-- But the very first Evening he saw me again The last mentioned Ruffian popp'd out of his Den-- I was resting a moment on the bare edge of Naddle I fancy the sight of me turn'd his Brains addle-- For what was I now? A complete Barley-mow And when I climb'd higher he made a long leg, And chang'd me at once to an Ostrich's Egg-- But now Heaven be praised in contempt of the Loon, I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon. Yet my heart is still fluttering-- For I heard the Rogue muttering-- He was hulking and skulking at the skirt of a Wood When lightly & brightly on tip-toe I stood On the long level Line of a motionless Cloud And ho! what a Skittle-ground! quoth he aloud And wish'd from his heart nine Nine-pins to see In brightness & size just proportion'd to me. So I fear'd from my soul, That he'd make me a Bowl, But in spite of his spite This was more than his might And still Heaven be prais'd! in contempt of the Loon I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon.

I was dead, then alive. Weeping, then laughing. The power of love came into me, and I became fierce like a lion, then tender like the evening star. He said, ‘You’re not mad enough. You don’t belong in this house.’ I went wild and had to be tied up. He said, ‘Still not wild enough to stay with us!’ I broke through another layer into joyfulness. He said, ‘Its not enough.’ I died.

ghazal

Input: [Form: ghazal] Poem: I was dead, then alive. Weeping, then laughing. The power of love came into me, and I became fierce like a lion, then tender like the evening star. He said, ‘You’re not mad enough. You don’t belong in this house.’ I went wild and had to be tied up. He said, ‘Still not wild enough to stay with us!’ I broke through another layer into joyfulness. He said, ‘Its not enough.’ I died.

The weather vane It crackled And the wind Turned round A little Not that The wind was not Running though not A gale. Yet It was just restless A restless Soul Selling its merchandise.

weather

Input: [Topic: weather] Poem: The weather vane It crackled And the wind Turned round A little Not that The wind was not Running though not A gale. Yet It was just restless A restless Soul Selling its merchandise.

with just a glance a small glance into your eyes I saw your evil evil eyes and evil mind I felt it in my bones but I didn’t understand it for you looked so normal besides those evil eyes such a kind smile I thought I must be wrong for you are but a normal guy for you were a pretty boy beautiful blonde hair that perfect smile you had it all everything a girl wants and even more for I found out your were not just what every girl wanted you are also what every girl fears as well you are both what we search for and what we run from such a deadly combo

evil

Input: [Topic: evil] Poem: with just a glance a small glance into your eyes I saw your evil evil eyes and evil mind I felt it in my bones but I didn’t understand it for you looked so normal besides those evil eyes such a kind smile I thought I must be wrong for you are but a normal guy for you were a pretty boy beautiful blonde hair that perfect smile you had it all everything a girl wants and even more for I found out your were not just what every girl wanted you are also what every girl fears as well you are both what we search for and what we run from such a deadly combo

SMALL is the trust when love is green In sap of early years; A little thing steps in between And kisses turn to tears. Awhile - and see how love be grown In loveliness and power! Awhile, it loves the sweets alone, But next it loves the sour. A little love is none at all That wanders or that fears; A hearty love dwells still at call To kisses or to tears. Such then be mine, my love to give, And such be yours to take:- A faith to hold, a life to live, For lovingkindness' sake: Should you be sad, should you be gay, Or should you prove unkind, A love to hold the growing way And keep the helping mind:- A love to turn the laugh on care When wrinkled care appears, And, with an equal will, to share Your losses and your tears.

green

Input: [Topic: green] Poem: SMALL is the trust when love is green In sap of early years; A little thing steps in between And kisses turn to tears. Awhile - and see how love be grown In loveliness and power! Awhile, it loves the sweets alone, But next it loves the sour. A little love is none at all That wanders or that fears; A hearty love dwells still at call To kisses or to tears. Such then be mine, my love to give, And such be yours to take:- A faith to hold, a life to live, For lovingkindness' sake: Should you be sad, should you be gay, Or should you prove unkind, A love to hold the growing way And keep the helping mind:- A love to turn the laugh on care When wrinkled care appears, And, with an equal will, to share Your losses and your tears.

Here I am tonight, I know it’s not alright, Something’s just not right… When I look into your eyes, I can see all the lies. Sometimes, I wish this not be, Sometimes, I don’t want to believe, Sometimes, That we’re not to be, Sometimes, When I think about our memories…… Where you, Lock your arms around me, Letting our minds go free, When you, Sit by my side under the tree, Hand in hand we can see, The moonlight shining ever bright as can be, How you, sing the song of our lullaby… Sometimes, I hum along this vivid tone, Sometimes, When I’m all alone, Sometimes, I still dream about you, Sometimes, All I can think of is you… Since your trembling voice, Muted…… When the sorrow siren, Ended…… You left me in the rain, Jaded…… When I last saw your face, Faded……

sometimes

Input: [Topic: sometimes] Poem: Here I am tonight, I know it’s not alright, Something’s just not right… When I look into your eyes, I can see all the lies. Sometimes, I wish this not be, Sometimes, I don’t want to believe, Sometimes, That we’re not to be, Sometimes, When I think about our memories…… Where you, Lock your arms around me, Letting our minds go free, When you, Sit by my side under the tree, Hand in hand we can see, The moonlight shining ever bright as can be, How you, sing the song of our lullaby… Sometimes, I hum along this vivid tone, Sometimes, When I’m all alone, Sometimes, I still dream about you, Sometimes, All I can think of is you… Since your trembling voice, Muted…… When the sorrow siren, Ended…… You left me in the rain, Jaded…… When I last saw your face, Faded……

Upon the bank a fisherman Now look across the river still While seated on his folding stool With trusted rod in hand, That's been with him since childhood days A father's gift so long ago He treasures it just like a son A memory of his life. In days of old they shared such joy Upon this spot they called their own Beside the bridge and 'neath the bough That oak still firmly stands, He learned the skills and learned the ways The baits to use and where to cast The knowledge that has stayed with him And never will forget. For here within this leafy shade A boy was raised to be a man Who learned to love the countryside And found a sense of peace, It's now the only life he knows And every day he lives and breathes To watch the river gently flow Along the valley green. Yet now he fishes all-alone His father sadly passed away But proudly wears the cap he wore That's pinned with feathered flies, He often feels his presence here A tutors eye a guiding hand Where ashes spread his spirit lives And it shall never die.

son

Input: [Topic: son] Poem: Upon the bank a fisherman Now look across the river still While seated on his folding stool With trusted rod in hand, That's been with him since childhood days A father's gift so long ago He treasures it just like a son A memory of his life. In days of old they shared such joy Upon this spot they called their own Beside the bridge and 'neath the bough That oak still firmly stands, He learned the skills and learned the ways The baits to use and where to cast The knowledge that has stayed with him And never will forget. For here within this leafy shade A boy was raised to be a man Who learned to love the countryside And found a sense of peace, It's now the only life he knows And every day he lives and breathes To watch the river gently flow Along the valley green. Yet now he fishes all-alone His father sadly passed away But proudly wears the cap he wore That's pinned with feathered flies, He often feels his presence here A tutors eye a guiding hand Where ashes spread his spirit lives And it shall never die.

Money is a kind of poetry. - Wallace Stevens Money, the long green, cash, stash, rhino, jack or just plain dough. Chock it up, fork it over, shell it out. Watch it burn holes through pockets. To be made of it! To have it to burn! Greenbacks, double eagles, megabucks and Ginnie Maes. It greases the palm, feathers a nest, holds heads above water, makes both ends meet. Money breeds money. Gathering interest, compounding daily. Always in circulation. Money. You don't know where it's been, but you put it where your mouth is. And it talks.

money

Input: [Topic: money] Poem: Money is a kind of poetry. - Wallace Stevens Money, the long green, cash, stash, rhino, jack or just plain dough. Chock it up, fork it over, shell it out. Watch it burn holes through pockets. To be made of it! To have it to burn! Greenbacks, double eagles, megabucks and Ginnie Maes. It greases the palm, feathers a nest, holds heads above water, makes both ends meet. Money breeds money. Gathering interest, compounding daily. Always in circulation. Money. You don't know where it's been, but you put it where your mouth is. And it talks.

I. While envious crowds the summit view, Where Danger with Ambition strays; Or far, with anxious step, pursue Pale Av'rice, thro' his winding ways; The selfish passions in their train, Whose force the social ties unbind, And chill the love of human kind, And make fond Nature's best emotions vain; II. O, poesy! O nymph most dear, To whom I early gave my heart,-- Whose voice is sweetest to my ear Of aught in nature or in art; Thou, who canst all my breast controul, Come, and thy harp of various cadence bring, And long with melting music swell the string That suits the present temper of my soul. III. O! ever gild my path of woe, And I the ills of life can bear; Let but thy lovely visions glow, And chase the forms of real care; O still, when tempted to repine At partial Fortune's frown severe, Wipe from my eyes the anxious tear, And whisper that thy soothing joys are mine! IV. When did my fancy ever frame A dream of joy by thee unblest? When first my lips pronounc'd thy name, New pleasure warm'd my infant breast. I lov'd to form the jingling rhyme, The measur'd sounds, tho' rude, my ear could please, Could give the little pains of childhood ease, And long have sooth'd the keener pains of time. V. The idle crowd in fashion's train, Their trifling comment, pert reply, Who talk so much, yet talk in vain, How pleas'd for thee, O nymph, I fly! For thine is all the wealth of mind, Thine the unborrow'd gems of thought; The flash of light by souls refin'd, From heav'n's empyreal source exulting caught. VI. And ah! when destin'd to forego The social hour with those I love,-- That charm which brightens all below, That joy all other joys above, And dearer to this breast of mine, O Muse! than aught thy magic power can give,-- Then on the gloom of lonely sadness shine, And bid thy airy forms around me live. VII. Thy page, O SHAKESPEARE ! let me view, Thine! at whose name my bosom glows; Proud that my earliest breath I drew In that blest isle where SHAKESPEARE rose! Where shall my dazzled glances roll? Shall I pursue gay Ariel's flight? Or wander where those hags of night With deeds unnam'd shall freeze my trembling soul? VIII. Plunge me, foul sisters! in the gloom Ye wrap around yon blasted heath: To hear the harrowing rite I come, That calls the angry shades from death! Away--my frighted bosom spare! Let true Cordelia pour her filial sigh, Let Desdemona lift her pleading eye, And poor Ophelia sing in wild despair! IX. When the bright noon of summer streams In one wide flash of lavish day, As soon shall mortal count the beams, As tell the powers of SHAKESPEARE'S lay! O, Nature's Poet! the untaught, The simple mind thy tale pursues, And wonders by what art it views The perfect image of each native thought. X. In those still moments, when the breast, Expanded, leaves its cares behind, Glows by some higher thought possest, And feels the energies of mind; Then, awful MILTON , raise the veil That hides from human eye the heav'nly throng! Immortal sons of light! I hear your song, I hear your high-tun'd harps creation hail! XI Well might creation claim your care, And well the string of rapture move, When all was perfect, good, and fair, When all was music, joy, and love! Ere Evil's inauspicious birth Chang'd Nature's harmony to strife; And wild Remorse, abhorring life, And deep Affliction, spread their shade on earth. XII Blest Poesy! O, sent to calm The human pains which all must feel, Still shed on life thy precious balm, And every wound of nature heal! Is there a heart of human frame Along the burning track of torrid light, Or 'mid the fearful waste of polar night, That never glow'd at thy inspiring name? XIII. Ye Southern Isles,* emerg'd so late Where the Pacific billow rolls, Witness, though rude your simple state, How heav'n-taught verse can melt your souls! Say, when you hear the wand'ring bard, How thrill'd ye listen to his lay, By what kind arts ye court his stay,-- All savage life affords his sure reward. XIV. So, when great HOMER 'S chiefs prepare, Awhile from War's rude toils releas'd, The pious hecatomb, and share The flowing bowl, and genial feast: Some heav'nly minstrel sweeps the lyre, While all applaud the poet's native art; For him they heap the viand's choicest part, And copious goblets crown the Muse's fire. XV. Ev'n here , in scenes of pride and gain, Where faint each genuine feeling glows; Here , Nature asks, in want and pain, The dear illusions verse bestows; The poor, from hunger, and from cold, Spare one small coin, the ballad's price, Admire their poet's quaint device, And marvel much at all his rhymes unfold. XVI. Ye children, lost in forests drear, Still o'er your wrongs each bosom grieves, And long the red-breast shall be dear, Who strew'd each little corpse with leaves; For you my earliest tears were shed, For you the gaudy doll I pleas'd forsook, And heard, with hands uprais'd, and eager look, The cruel tale, and wish'd ye were not dead! XVII. And still on Scotia's northern shore, "At times, between the rushing blast," Recording mem'ry loves to pour The mournful song of ages past; Come, lonely Bard "of other years!" While dim the half-seen moon of varying skies, While sad the wind along the grey moss sighs, And give my pensive heart "the joy of tears!" XVIII. The various tropes that splendour dart Around the modern poet's line, Where, borrow'd from the sphere of art, Unnumber'd gay allusions shine, Have not a charm my breast to please Like the blue mist, the meteor's beam, The dark-brow'd rock, the mountain stream, And the light thistle waving in the breeze. XIX. Wild Poesy, in haunts sublime, Delights her lofty note to pour; She loves the hanging rock to climb, And hear the sweeping torrent roar! The little scene of cultur'd grace But faintly her expanded bosom warms; She seeks the daring stroke, the awful charms, Which Nature's pencil throws on Nature's face. XX. O, Nature! thou whose works divine Such rapture in this breast inspire, As makes me dream one spark is mine Of Poesy's celestial fire; When doom'd, "in cities pent," to leave The kindling morn's unfolding view, Which ever wears some aspect new, And all the shadowy forms of soothing eve; XXI. Then, THOMSON , then be ever near, And paint whatever season reigns; Still let me see the varying year, And worship Nature in thy strains; Now, when the wint'ry tempests roll, Unfold their dark and desolating form, Rush in the savage madness of the storm, And spread those horrors that exalt my soul! XXII. And, POPE the music of thy verse Shall winter's dreary gloom dispel, And fond remembrance oft rehearse The moral song she knows so well; The sportive sylphs shall flutter here,-- There Eloise, in anguish pale, "Kiss with cold lips the sacred veil, "And drop with every bead too soft a tear!" XXIII. When disappointment's sick'ning pain With chilling sadness numbs my breast, That feels its dearest hope was vain, And bids its fruitless struggles rest; When those for whom I wish to live, With cold suspicion wrong my aching heart; Or, doom'd from those for ever lov'd to part, And feel a sharper pang than death can give; XXIV. Then with the mournful Bard I go, Whom "melancholy mark'd her own," While tolls the curfew, solemn, slow, And wander amid graves unknown; With yon pale orb, lov'd poet, come! While from those elms long shadows spread, And where the lines of light are shed, Read the fond record of the rustic tomb! XXV. Or let me o'er old Conway's flood Hang on the frowning rock, and trace The characters that, wove in blood, Stamp'd the dire fate of EDWARD'S race; Proud tyrant! tear thy laurell'd plume; How poor thy vain pretence to deathless fame! The injur'd Muse records thy lasting shame, And she has power to "ratify thy doom." XXVI. Nature, when first she smiling came, To wake within the human breast The sacred Muse's hallow'd flame, And earth, with heav'n's rich spirit blest! Nature in that auspicious hour, With awful mandate, bade the Bard The register of glory guard, And gave him o'er all mortal honours power. XXVII. Can Fame on Painting's aid rely? Or lean on Sculpture's trophy'd bust?-- The faithless colours bloom to die, The crumbling pillar mocks its trust; But thou, O Muse, immortal maid! Canst paint the godlike deeds that praise inspire, Or worth, that lives but in the mind's desire, In tints that only shall with Nature fade! XXVIII. O tell me, partial nymph! what rite, What incense sweet, what homage true, Draws from thy fount of purest light The flame it lends a chosen few? Alas! these lips can never frame The mystic vow that moves thy breast; Yet by thy joys my life is blest, And my fond soul shall consecrate thy name.

poetry

Input: [Topic: poetry] Poem: I. While envious crowds the summit view, Where Danger with Ambition strays; Or far, with anxious step, pursue Pale Av'rice, thro' his winding ways; The selfish passions in their train, Whose force the social ties unbind, And chill the love of human kind, And make fond Nature's best emotions vain; II. O, poesy! O nymph most dear, To whom I early gave my heart,-- Whose voice is sweetest to my ear Of aught in nature or in art; Thou, who canst all my breast controul, Come, and thy harp of various cadence bring, And long with melting music swell the string That suits the present temper of my soul. III. O! ever gild my path of woe, And I the ills of life can bear; Let but thy lovely visions glow, And chase the forms of real care; O still, when tempted to repine At partial Fortune's frown severe, Wipe from my eyes the anxious tear, And whisper that thy soothing joys are mine! IV. When did my fancy ever frame A dream of joy by thee unblest? When first my lips pronounc'd thy name, New pleasure warm'd my infant breast. I lov'd to form the jingling rhyme, The measur'd sounds, tho' rude, my ear could please, Could give the little pains of childhood ease, And long have sooth'd the keener pains of time. V. The idle crowd in fashion's train, Their trifling comment, pert reply, Who talk so much, yet talk in vain, How pleas'd for thee, O nymph, I fly! For thine is all the wealth of mind, Thine the unborrow'd gems of thought; The flash of light by souls refin'd, From heav'n's empyreal source exulting caught. VI. And ah! when destin'd to forego The social hour with those I love,-- That charm which brightens all below, That joy all other joys above, And dearer to this breast of mine, O Muse! than aught thy magic power can give,-- Then on the gloom of lonely sadness shine, And bid thy airy forms around me live. VII. Thy page, O SHAKESPEARE ! let me view, Thine! at whose name my bosom glows; Proud that my earliest breath I drew In that blest isle where SHAKESPEARE rose! Where shall my dazzled glances roll? Shall I pursue gay Ariel's flight? Or wander where those hags of night With deeds unnam'd shall freeze my trembling soul? VIII. Plunge me, foul sisters! in the gloom Ye wrap around yon blasted heath: To hear the harrowing rite I come, That calls the angry shades from death! Away--my frighted bosom spare! Let true Cordelia pour her filial sigh, Let Desdemona lift her pleading eye, And poor Ophelia sing in wild despair! IX. When the bright noon of summer streams In one wide flash of lavish day, As soon shall mortal count the beams, As tell the powers of SHAKESPEARE'S lay! O, Nature's Poet! the untaught, The simple mind thy tale pursues, And wonders by what art it views The perfect image of each native thought. X. In those still moments, when the breast, Expanded, leaves its cares behind, Glows by some higher thought possest, And feels the energies of mind; Then, awful MILTON , raise the veil That hides from human eye the heav'nly throng! Immortal sons of light! I hear your song, I hear your high-tun'd harps creation hail! XI Well might creation claim your care, And well the string of rapture move, When all was perfect, good, and fair, When all was music, joy, and love! Ere Evil's inauspicious birth Chang'd Nature's harmony to strife; And wild Remorse, abhorring life, And deep Affliction, spread their shade on earth. XII Blest Poesy! O, sent to calm The human pains which all must feel, Still shed on life thy precious balm, And every wound of nature heal! Is there a heart of human frame Along the burning track of torrid light, Or 'mid the fearful waste of polar night, That never glow'd at thy inspiring name? XIII. Ye Southern Isles,* emerg'd so late Where the Pacific billow rolls, Witness, though rude your simple state, How heav'n-taught verse can melt your souls! Say, when you hear the wand'ring bard, How thrill'd ye listen to his lay, By what kind arts ye court his stay,-- All savage life affords his sure reward. XIV. So, when great HOMER 'S chiefs prepare, Awhile from War's rude toils releas'd, The pious hecatomb, and share The flowing bowl, and genial feast: Some heav'nly minstrel sweeps the lyre, While all applaud the poet's native art; For him they heap the viand's choicest part, And copious goblets crown the Muse's fire. XV. Ev'n here , in scenes of pride and gain, Where faint each genuine feeling glows; Here , Nature asks, in want and pain, The dear illusions verse bestows; The poor, from hunger, and from cold, Spare one small coin, the ballad's price, Admire their poet's quaint device, And marvel much at all his rhymes unfold. XVI. Ye children, lost in forests drear, Still o'er your wrongs each bosom grieves, And long the red-breast shall be dear, Who strew'd each little corpse with leaves; For you my earliest tears were shed, For you the gaudy doll I pleas'd forsook, And heard, with hands uprais'd, and eager look, The cruel tale, and wish'd ye were not dead! XVII. And still on Scotia's northern shore, "At times, between the rushing blast," Recording mem'ry loves to pour The mournful song of ages past; Come, lonely Bard "of other years!" While dim the half-seen moon of varying skies, While sad the wind along the grey moss sighs, And give my pensive heart "the joy of tears!" XVIII. The various tropes that splendour dart Around the modern poet's line, Where, borrow'd from the sphere of art, Unnumber'd gay allusions shine, Have not a charm my breast to please Like the blue mist, the meteor's beam, The dark-brow'd rock, the mountain stream, And the light thistle waving in the breeze. XIX. Wild Poesy, in haunts sublime, Delights her lofty note to pour; She loves the hanging rock to climb, And hear the sweeping torrent roar! The little scene of cultur'd grace But faintly her expanded bosom warms; She seeks the daring stroke, the awful charms, Which Nature's pencil throws on Nature's face. XX. O, Nature! thou whose works divine Such rapture in this breast inspire, As makes me dream one spark is mine Of Poesy's celestial fire; When doom'd, "in cities pent," to leave The kindling morn's unfolding view, Which ever wears some aspect new, And all the shadowy forms of soothing eve; XXI. Then, THOMSON , then be ever near, And paint whatever season reigns; Still let me see the varying year, And worship Nature in thy strains; Now, when the wint'ry tempests roll, Unfold their dark and desolating form, Rush in the savage madness of the storm, And spread those horrors that exalt my soul! XXII. And, POPE the music of thy verse Shall winter's dreary gloom dispel, And fond remembrance oft rehearse The moral song she knows so well; The sportive sylphs shall flutter here,-- There Eloise, in anguish pale, "Kiss with cold lips the sacred veil, "And drop with every bead too soft a tear!" XXIII. When disappointment's sick'ning pain With chilling sadness numbs my breast, That feels its dearest hope was vain, And bids its fruitless struggles rest; When those for whom I wish to live, With cold suspicion wrong my aching heart; Or, doom'd from those for ever lov'd to part, And feel a sharper pang than death can give; XXIV. Then with the mournful Bard I go, Whom "melancholy mark'd her own," While tolls the curfew, solemn, slow, And wander amid graves unknown; With yon pale orb, lov'd poet, come! While from those elms long shadows spread, And where the lines of light are shed, Read the fond record of the rustic tomb! XXV. Or let me o'er old Conway's flood Hang on the frowning rock, and trace The characters that, wove in blood, Stamp'd the dire fate of EDWARD'S race; Proud tyrant! tear thy laurell'd plume; How poor thy vain pretence to deathless fame! The injur'd Muse records thy lasting shame, And she has power to "ratify thy doom." XXVI. Nature, when first she smiling came, To wake within the human breast The sacred Muse's hallow'd flame, And earth, with heav'n's rich spirit blest! Nature in that auspicious hour, With awful mandate, bade the Bard The register of glory guard, And gave him o'er all mortal honours power. XXVII. Can Fame on Painting's aid rely? Or lean on Sculpture's trophy'd bust?-- The faithless colours bloom to die, The crumbling pillar mocks its trust; But thou, O Muse, immortal maid! Canst paint the godlike deeds that praise inspire, Or worth, that lives but in the mind's desire, In tints that only shall with Nature fade! XXVIII. O tell me, partial nymph! what rite, What incense sweet, what homage true, Draws from thy fount of purest light The flame it lends a chosen few? Alas! these lips can never frame The mystic vow that moves thy breast; Yet by thy joys my life is blest, And my fond soul shall consecrate thy name.

Fire, fire, Fire, fight with the fire. I am fire You are fire, Fight with the fire And take care. Fire harbor doubts Fire hamper growth, Fire is my illness, Fire is sap my Life force and wisdom. Fire, fire, Fire is both inside And fire is also outside. Fire is my own doubts, My own uncertainty And my own confusion. Let me overtake my fire, Let me fight with this fire Within first.

fire

Input: [Topic: fire] Poem: Fire, fire, Fire, fight with the fire. I am fire You are fire, Fight with the fire And take care. Fire harbor doubts Fire hamper growth, Fire is my illness, Fire is sap my Life force and wisdom. Fire, fire, Fire is both inside And fire is also outside. Fire is my own doubts, My own uncertainty And my own confusion. Let me overtake my fire, Let me fight with this fire Within first.

'Naff' comes back as 'cutting-edge'... though dogs may have their day, doggerel may have nine lives... I guess it's here to stay...

poetry

Input: [Topic: poetry] Poem: 'Naff' comes back as 'cutting-edge'... though dogs may have their day, doggerel may have nine lives... I guess it's here to stay...

My most Distinguished Guest and Learned Friend, The pallid hare that runs before the day Having brought your earnest counsels to an end Now have I somewhat of my own to say: That it is folly to be sunk in love, And madness plain to make the matter known, There are no mysteries you are verger of; Everyman's wisdoms these are, and my own. If I have flung my heart unto a hound I have done ill, it is a certain thing; Yet breathe I freer, walk I the more sound On my sick bones for this brave reasoning? Soon must I say, " 'Tis prowling Death I hear!" Yet come no better off, for my quick ear.

friend

Input: [Topic: friend] Poem: My most Distinguished Guest and Learned Friend, The pallid hare that runs before the day Having brought your earnest counsels to an end Now have I somewhat of my own to say: That it is folly to be sunk in love, And madness plain to make the matter known, There are no mysteries you are verger of; Everyman's wisdoms these are, and my own. If I have flung my heart unto a hound I have done ill, it is a certain thing; Yet breathe I freer, walk I the more sound On my sick bones for this brave reasoning? Soon must I say, " 'Tis prowling Death I hear!" Yet come no better off, for my quick ear.

Signs appearing in the middle of an afternoon rush at Wendy's. People of all colors, creeds, religions, and races together, laughing, talking, getting along fantastically. So much for racism here in America, it is just a lie perpetrated by obama and all his racist friends. Letting the entire world know, that here we accept one another as people, individuals only. Nothing going on here, no hatred or intolerance, only what obama and George Soros are paying people to do. They're trying to make it look like America is prejudiced, yet it is the farthest thing from the truth. Only problem we have here now are the muslims who are intolerant, prejudiced and racists, wanting sharia law. Yet it goes completely against our Constitution, and the morals of our country, it will never be the law here! The world can count on it, as God Blesses America, the home of the brave and the land of the free!

racism

Input: [Topic: racism] Poem: Signs appearing in the middle of an afternoon rush at Wendy's. People of all colors, creeds, religions, and races together, laughing, talking, getting along fantastically. So much for racism here in America, it is just a lie perpetrated by obama and all his racist friends. Letting the entire world know, that here we accept one another as people, individuals only. Nothing going on here, no hatred or intolerance, only what obama and George Soros are paying people to do. They're trying to make it look like America is prejudiced, yet it is the farthest thing from the truth. Only problem we have here now are the muslims who are intolerant, prejudiced and racists, wanting sharia law. Yet it goes completely against our Constitution, and the morals of our country, it will never be the law here! The world can count on it, as God Blesses America, the home of the brave and the land of the free!

There are certain things - as, a spider, a ghost, The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three - That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most Is a thing they call the Sea. Pour some salt water over the floor - Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be: Suppose it extended a mile or more, THAT'S very like the Sea. Beat a dog till it howls outright - Cruel, but all very well for a spree: Suppose that he did so day and night, THAT would be like the Sea. I had a vision of nursery-maids; Tens of thousands passed by me - All leading children with wooden spades, And this was by the Sea. Who invented those spades of wood? Who was it cut them out of the tree? None, I think, but an idiot could - Or one that loved the Sea. It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free': But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat, How do you like the Sea? There is an insect that people avoid (Whence is derived the verb 'to flee'). Where have you been by it most annoyed? In lodgings by the Sea. If you like your coffee with sand for dregs, A decided hint of salt in your tea, And a fishy taste in the very eggs - By all means choose the Sea. And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, And a chronic state of wet in your feet, Then - I recommend the Sea. For I have friends who dwell by the coast - Pleasant friends they are to me! It is when I am with them I wonder most That anyone likes the Sea. They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, To climb the heights I madly agree; And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, They kindly suggest the Sea. I try the rocks, and I think it cool That they laugh with such an excess of glee, As I heavily slip into every pool That skirts the cold cold Sea.

dirge

sea

Input: [Form: dirge, Topic: sea] Poem: There are certain things - as, a spider, a ghost, The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three - That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most Is a thing they call the Sea. Pour some salt water over the floor - Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be: Suppose it extended a mile or more, THAT'S very like the Sea. Beat a dog till it howls outright - Cruel, but all very well for a spree: Suppose that he did so day and night, THAT would be like the Sea. I had a vision of nursery-maids; Tens of thousands passed by me - All leading children with wooden spades, And this was by the Sea. Who invented those spades of wood? Who was it cut them out of the tree? None, I think, but an idiot could - Or one that loved the Sea. It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free': But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat, How do you like the Sea? There is an insect that people avoid (Whence is derived the verb 'to flee'). Where have you been by it most annoyed? In lodgings by the Sea. If you like your coffee with sand for dregs, A decided hint of salt in your tea, And a fishy taste in the very eggs - By all means choose the Sea. And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, And a chronic state of wet in your feet, Then - I recommend the Sea. For I have friends who dwell by the coast - Pleasant friends they are to me! It is when I am with them I wonder most That anyone likes the Sea. They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, To climb the heights I madly agree; And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, They kindly suggest the Sea. I try the rocks, and I think it cool That they laugh with such an excess of glee, As I heavily slip into every pool That skirts the cold cold Sea.

when i die, you can burn this body, and take the ashes to the street down in front of the housing projects, where people live day to day, moment to moment, just trying to survive... or you can take them to the countries ravaged by starvation, and pour them out on the side of the road where families are dying... or you can take them to any street corner in the world, where young boys and girls are sold like meat, and take your hands and rub them on their ashen faces... or you can take them to Washington, DC, to where the Congress is meeting, and pour them on the floor, each tiny flake of ash screaming out for justice!

justice

Input: [Topic: justice] Poem: when i die, you can burn this body, and take the ashes to the street down in front of the housing projects, where people live day to day, moment to moment, just trying to survive... or you can take them to the countries ravaged by starvation, and pour them out on the side of the road where families are dying... or you can take them to any street corner in the world, where young boys and girls are sold like meat, and take your hands and rub them on their ashen faces... or you can take them to Washington, DC, to where the Congress is meeting, and pour them on the floor, each tiny flake of ash screaming out for justice!

In futurity I prophesy see. That the earth from sleep. (Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise and seek For her maker meek: And the desart wild Become a garden mild. In the southern clime, Where the summers prime Never fades away; Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old Lovely Lyca told, She had wandered long. Hearing wild birds song. Sweet sleep come to me Underneath this tree; Do father, mother weep.-- "Where can Lyca sleep". Lost in desert wild Is your little child. How can Lyca sleep. If her mother weep. If her heart does ake. Then let Lyca wake; If my mother sleep, Lyca shall not weep. Frowning, frowning night, O'er this desert bright. Let thy moon arise. While I close my eyes. Sleeping Lyca lay: While the beasts of prey, Come from caverns deep, View'd the maid asleep The kingly lion stood And the virgin view'd: Then he gambolled round O'er the hallowed ground: Leopards, tygers play, Round her as she lay; While the lion old, Bow'd his mane of gold, And her bosom lick, And upon her neck, From his eyes of flame, Ruby tears there came; While the lioness Loos'd her slender dress, And naked they convey'd To caves the sleeping maid.

girl

Input: [Topic: girl] Poem: In futurity I prophesy see. That the earth from sleep. (Grave the sentence deep) Shall arise and seek For her maker meek: And the desart wild Become a garden mild. In the southern clime, Where the summers prime Never fades away; Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old Lovely Lyca told, She had wandered long. Hearing wild birds song. Sweet sleep come to me Underneath this tree; Do father, mother weep.-- "Where can Lyca sleep". Lost in desert wild Is your little child. How can Lyca sleep. If her mother weep. If her heart does ake. Then let Lyca wake; If my mother sleep, Lyca shall not weep. Frowning, frowning night, O'er this desert bright. Let thy moon arise. While I close my eyes. Sleeping Lyca lay: While the beasts of prey, Come from caverns deep, View'd the maid asleep The kingly lion stood And the virgin view'd: Then he gambolled round O'er the hallowed ground: Leopards, tygers play, Round her as she lay; While the lion old, Bow'd his mane of gold, And her bosom lick, And upon her neck, From his eyes of flame, Ruby tears there came; While the lioness Loos'd her slender dress, And naked they convey'd To caves the sleeping maid.

How can we affirm our own existence? Cogito ergo sum, Descartes said, I think therefore I am. But wait! Who is doing the thinking? The body? Am I my body? Well, Descartes explained, we are talking about Two incompatible substances: The unextended and indivisible mind In contrast with the extended and divisible matter, Res cogitans versus res extensa. Yes, but am I my body? How is the contact created Between the mental And the physical worlds? Princess Elizabeth of the Palatinate asked. Well, somewhere at the base of the brain, In the pineal gland, replied the philosopher. Oh, I have a problem with that, The princess remarked. For, if the brain exists in space, How can the non-spatial mind dwell in it? And Descartes threw up his hands In despair.

despair

Input: [Topic: despair] Poem: How can we affirm our own existence? Cogito ergo sum, Descartes said, I think therefore I am. But wait! Who is doing the thinking? The body? Am I my body? Well, Descartes explained, we are talking about Two incompatible substances: The unextended and indivisible mind In contrast with the extended and divisible matter, Res cogitans versus res extensa. Yes, but am I my body? How is the contact created Between the mental And the physical worlds? Princess Elizabeth of the Palatinate asked. Well, somewhere at the base of the brain, In the pineal gland, replied the philosopher. Oh, I have a problem with that, The princess remarked. For, if the brain exists in space, How can the non-spatial mind dwell in it? And Descartes threw up his hands In despair.

There is a girl inside. She is randy as a wolf. She will not walk away and leave these bones to an old woman. She is a green tree in a forest of kindling. She is a greeen girl in a used poet. She has waited patient as a nun for the second coming, when she can break through gray hairs into blossom and her lovers will harvest honey and thyme and the woods will be wild with the damn wonder of it.

girl

Input: [Topic: girl] Poem: There is a girl inside. She is randy as a wolf. She will not walk away and leave these bones to an old woman. She is a green tree in a forest of kindling. She is a greeen girl in a used poet. She has waited patient as a nun for the second coming, when she can break through gray hairs into blossom and her lovers will harvest honey and thyme and the woods will be wild with the damn wonder of it.

The moving finger writes, and, having writ, the Book of Life is signed and sealed to fit. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, are mirage lures, poor men in shadows cower. I am here now, and gone tomorrow, this vale of tears leads on to sorrow though Green grow the rushes, Ho from dark we spring, to darkness go So gather ye rosebuds while ye may, short lived are darling buds of May. Of Faith, Obedience, Sacrifice naught shall remain for in a trice how tragedy and comedy embrace the rise and fall of all the human race, to his lamented loss, for time to come the Fates bear witness, hear fear's dreaded drum. To cease upon the midnight with no pain means sods remain to never rise again, for who would bear the whips and scorns of time soon sinks, forgotten, corpses cannot rhyme! We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! repented soon for in Life's afternoon If we might have a second chance perhaps we'd forge ahead, advance: I shall be telling this with a sigh, perhaps another road I'd try. Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, my wraith may lament opportunities flown, The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath no more will pour balm on my garden path.

cento

Input: [Form: cento] Poem: The moving finger writes, and, having writ, the Book of Life is signed and sealed to fit. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, are mirage lures, poor men in shadows cower. I am here now, and gone tomorrow, this vale of tears leads on to sorrow though Green grow the rushes, Ho from dark we spring, to darkness go So gather ye rosebuds while ye may, short lived are darling buds of May. Of Faith, Obedience, Sacrifice naught shall remain for in a trice how tragedy and comedy embrace the rise and fall of all the human race, to his lamented loss, for time to come the Fates bear witness, hear fear's dreaded drum. To cease upon the midnight with no pain means sods remain to never rise again, for who would bear the whips and scorns of time soon sinks, forgotten, corpses cannot rhyme! We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! repented soon for in Life's afternoon If we might have a second chance perhaps we'd forge ahead, advance: I shall be telling this with a sigh, perhaps another road I'd try. Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, my wraith may lament opportunities flown, The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath no more will pour balm on my garden path.

We must wait for the future to see Which is the land, which is the sea? We must wait for the time to decide Who are the slaves, who are the free? We must wait for the future to see Is the world ours, is the world thee? We must wait for the future to see Is the man peaceful, is the mind free? We must wait for the future to see I love you? Do you love me? You will be mine I will be thee I can dream it, I can see

future

Input: [Topic: future] Poem: We must wait for the future to see Which is the land, which is the sea? We must wait for the time to decide Who are the slaves, who are the free? We must wait for the future to see Is the world ours, is the world thee? We must wait for the future to see Is the man peaceful, is the mind free? We must wait for the future to see I love you? Do you love me? You will be mine I will be thee I can dream it, I can see

A poem is not more absurd Because its title is no word: And yet that title, although small, Is the great fountain whence spring all. From this most copious source we'll draw Youth, beauty, wedlock, love, and law. The two extremes we'll surely find. Which please and which torment the mind For if we love and law can trace 'Twill be sufficient for our case. A parson's work it nicely fits, Who often join two opposites. Nothing on earth the heart can move To pleasure, like that passion love. It reigns triumphant in the breast; Supports and governs all the rest. But Law's a monster that devours The choicest comfort of your hours. All other mischiefs may keep off; Involv'd in law, you've plague enough, This maxim then admits no doubt, He who is in would fain be out. Long dissertations are absurd-- We'll close without another word. THE SECOND PART As much of love shall now be told As ever A. B. C. can hold. That urchin Cupid knows his duty; He'll always shoot a heart for beauty; This he more eagerly will deign, Because he seldom shoots in vain. If Plutus too should give a nod, He's willing to obey the god; For wealth and charms in any state Most certainly will captivate. But if Miss Prudence claims his care, 'He seldom has a dart to spare.' Thus what should merit most respect Is apt to meet with most neglect. Of all the pictures earth can boast, A handsome woman pleases most; And the most powerful she appears Over fourteen or fourscore years. The moment you a sight can have, That moment you become her slave. The looker-on is all on fire Either with wonder or desire; Supremely then is beauty bless'd; No creature is like her caress'd. But view the fair in her last stage, Struggling with long decays of age, When kind assistance is most needed, There's not a soul so little heeded. The picture's dash'd, no pity's nigh, The looker-on turns off his eye: In solitude she may abide; Her sov'reign powers are laid aside. That which was most of all high-priz'd. Is now the most of all dispis'd. Only three persons we'll engage, By summons to adorn our page; And all their names must secret be Close shelter'd under A. B. C. Miss A. was tall, and mov'd with grace; Strait, and most beautiful of face; To much good-nature was inclin'd; It play'd both in her face and mind: No wonder then, in deep surprize, B fell a victim to her eyes; For when those eyes but gave a glance, A lover fell-you'd think, by chance. But, should you doubt, then take a view, You'd see her powers--and feel them too: For, like a power that's magical, Spite of yourself you're sure to fall. In lover's eyes are plainly seen The language that is held within. With bowing, smiling, on his part, He found the road that reach'd her heart; While she, a stranger to disdain, Would never let him sue in vain; But, form'd for love, she, without guile, Sweetly return'd him smile for smile. Should, by her eyes, a lover drop, She well knew how to raise him up. Or, if he should a wound endure, She'd perfectly perform a cure. That state of bliss is half divine When two bright flames in one shall join. Can greater happiness remain Than love, and be belov'd again? When two folks are to union prone, Then Hymen's cause moves gently on. To grasp his torch he will not faulter, That he may light them to the altar. Examine whether 'tis in case right, Give it a rap to make it blaze bright. The banns put up, the ring was there, The bride in satin would appear. Now all the joyous blessings flow, Except that time mov'd rather slow. When most delicious fruit is nigh It strongly tempts the stander-by; And if no obstacle is near, It is not easy to forbear. What motive was there to have staid Until the parson grace had said: Our happy B those joys possess'd Design'd to make a husband bless'd. When a stale lover nothing wants, Because he's all the sex e'er grants, Would he call his a happier lot After the priest had tied the knot? For all that ever law has made Only a licence is to trade. No further pleasure B could know; She no more pleasure could bestow: A secret coldness was th' effect, Succeeded by a small neglect. His eyes, which met her eyes with glee, Now rang'd a foot below her knee. A conduct slighting he shew'd to her More like a husband than a wooer. The day pass'd by, indiff'rence planted, Ring, gown, and parson, were not wanted. 'And, as the bell for supper rings, I'll stop to say no more fine things.' THE THIRD PART Both law and love compose the past; Poetic justice comes at last. Love, like a blooming rose, is press'd Within the precincts of the breast. The owner often casts an eye, Delighted with the pleasing toy. Perhaps an hour it may not rest Till planted in a second breast. So on, from breast to breast it flies; Wanting a prudent root it dies. A young and handsome man was C; The friend and intimate of B: They oft converse, and notes compare, Of laurels gather'd from the fair. Between these two it was agreed 'That B should be compleatly freed Of beauteous A; and C should take her While B for ever should forsake her. That as the banns 'twixt A and B Stood in the church, they'd serve for C; By which they'd save expence and time,' And I procure a word to rhime. Whether Miss A ponder'd a while on't We cannot say; history is silent: Yet no more grief appear'd to view Than changing an old gown for new. But now to church went A and C, And married in the name of B. The joyous day gave great delight; Perhaps more joyous was the night; But, like his predecessor, he Cropp'd the ripe fruit, and left the tree: For soon with matrimony cloy'd He turn'd his tail upon the bride. What though his conduct was absurd, It left her ready for a third. Nor can we think much hard her case Who still commanded half the race. Her beauty'd such a powerful sway 'Twould pick a man up ev'ry day. Now while Miss A'd no husband near She liv'd a life of 'as it were.' Her person to support in state Was much inclin'd to run in debt; And when we debts contract, they say, The time will come when we should pay. But if neglect be on our side Compulsive methods must be tried. For common justice holds this tone, 'That ev'ry man should have his own.' In vain for cash Miss A being sought Was to the Court of Conscience brought. The plaintiff thus the fair pursued, In C's surname Miss A was sued. The crowd, surpriz'd, began to stare That so much beauty enter'd there. Nay, cold Commissioners, 'tis true, Would lick their lips and steal a view. Thaw'd from the ice by warm desire, A frozen stick will catch the fire; Disguise the passion how you will, 'Tis nature, and 'tis nature still. But seniors are not apt to fall; To look and lick their lips is all. A lawyer made appearance there, And loudly pleaded for the fair; Arrang'd his tropes, his figures dress'd, In lofty stile himself express'd: And pray what lawyer would dispute To plead his best in beauty's suit? But what was his retaining fee Is no concern to you or me. He pleaded with decisive air; Resolv'd to win the cause--and fair: 'That none an action can support Against a wife in any court. That though her marriage had a flaw It perfectly was good in law; For as the ritual she'd gone through, A wife must be to one of two; And that's her real husband still With whom she said at church I will. Then if the plaintiff will pursue, The husband is the mark in view.' The bench was then my sole delight; My care was parting wrong from right. As I sat president of three, Decision was referr'd to me. 'Was perfect beauty ever made To hawk its charms for want of trade? We hope no great defect comes forth To quash the sale of so much worth. That she ne'er chang'd a marriage vow With the first man, we all allow; So far from marrying the dame, He never to the altar came; Nor once commission'd any one By proxy, to make her his own. Nor could she be by right fix'd there, No, not if Madan held the chair; For he'd suppose, without reflection, This might not be her first connexion. Survey the second husband's claim; His title will be found the same: He left both parties in the lurch, And put a trick upon the church. A name that's stolen appears to view; Also a borrow'd person too. No banns put up 'twixt C and A, Which must to wedlock lead the way; For this is what the law demands; On this a union falls or stands; Therefore, if marriage has a flaw, It can't be ratified by law. Then this assertion springs from all; No man can this a wedding call: Or, if it should that phrase invite, 'Tis but the wedding of a night; Or like one that is hatch'd up quick By dancing round a candlestick; Or one of military stamp, That's solemniz'd within a camp: The loving couple's plighted word Is only jumping o'er a sword; That sword, intended to divide, Will there unite, and make a bride. Besides, when there appears demur, We must consult the register; And though there should B's name appear, Yet B himself was never there; and if for C you chuse to look, His name was never in the book. This wedding's founded on no laws; We must, of course, dismiss the cause; For as a husband A ne'er knew, No husband can the plaintiff sue; But if he will pursue his claim, May still sue A in her own name. There's one delightful word we see Compos'd of our A B and C. To girls, whose flimzy virtue lies Quite dormant, and whose passions rise, That dear word husband stands the first Of all the alphabet can boast: In that cornpriz'd is every thing That either Heaven or Earth can bring; But, when that blessing husband's granted, Then ev'ry other blessing's wanted.' A, rather out of credit grown, Display'd her charms upon the town. 'But why in Birmingham appear Among the dirty bunters there? Whose manners are a foul disgrace; A satire on the female race. She might a constellation rise, And figure in the London skies; Could charms display as bright as any, In evenings when it was not rainy.' 'Tis done--and she acquir'd renown, As the first beauty on the town. Dress'd in the pink, she took her stand Among the ladies of the Strand. Thus beauty, by imprudent steps, To sure destruction slowly creeps. For she, when to that bevy's got in, Takes much about three years to rot in. The silent priest We'll tell simple truth, and our story comes pat, No matter if acted in this age or that. Dear Friend, let us saunter to Baxterly church, Where good Mr. D--left himself in the lurch; For there the gay hearer will, sure as a gun, Meet with a sweet morsal of high-season'd fun. The pray'rs being ended, and no blunder made, The Clerk his desk mounted--he well knew his trade; Two staves out of Sternhold he struck up compleat, While climbing the pulpit the Priest took his seat. Now heav'nly music, a Clerk's highest boast, Calm'd every breast, but the Vicar's the most. The psalm being over, deep silence came next; Not a single breath sounded, expecting the text; But, to the surprize of the serious and gay, The Vicar himself was as silent as they; For he'd dropt to sleep, being drench'd with mild ale, And dream'd of full bumpers, the last night's regale; Or, rather, till five in the morning had hanker'd, Before he could find the last drop in the tankard. Now the congregation became rather wild, They look'd at the Priest, at each other, and smil'd. If a shepherd should fall fast asleep in the day, No wonder his flock goes a little astray. Then Moses look'd up--'Sir, we've done,' cried Amen; The Priest, half awake, replied, 'Fill it agen.'

abc

Input: [Form: abc] Poem: A poem is not more absurd Because its title is no word: And yet that title, although small, Is the great fountain whence spring all. From this most copious source we'll draw Youth, beauty, wedlock, love, and law. The two extremes we'll surely find. Which please and which torment the mind For if we love and law can trace 'Twill be sufficient for our case. A parson's work it nicely fits, Who often join two opposites. Nothing on earth the heart can move To pleasure, like that passion love. It reigns triumphant in the breast; Supports and governs all the rest. But Law's a monster that devours The choicest comfort of your hours. All other mischiefs may keep off; Involv'd in law, you've plague enough, This maxim then admits no doubt, He who is in would fain be out. Long dissertations are absurd-- We'll close without another word. THE SECOND PART As much of love shall now be told As ever A. B. C. can hold. That urchin Cupid knows his duty; He'll always shoot a heart for beauty; This he more eagerly will deign, Because he seldom shoots in vain. If Plutus too should give a nod, He's willing to obey the god; For wealth and charms in any state Most certainly will captivate. But if Miss Prudence claims his care, 'He seldom has a dart to spare.' Thus what should merit most respect Is apt to meet with most neglect. Of all the pictures earth can boast, A handsome woman pleases most; And the most powerful she appears Over fourteen or fourscore years. The moment you a sight can have, That moment you become her slave. The looker-on is all on fire Either with wonder or desire; Supremely then is beauty bless'd; No creature is like her caress'd. But view the fair in her last stage, Struggling with long decays of age, When kind assistance is most needed, There's not a soul so little heeded. The picture's dash'd, no pity's nigh, The looker-on turns off his eye: In solitude she may abide; Her sov'reign powers are laid aside. That which was most of all high-priz'd. Is now the most of all dispis'd. Only three persons we'll engage, By summons to adorn our page; And all their names must secret be Close shelter'd under A. B. C. Miss A. was tall, and mov'd with grace; Strait, and most beautiful of face; To much good-nature was inclin'd; It play'd both in her face and mind: No wonder then, in deep surprize, B fell a victim to her eyes; For when those eyes but gave a glance, A lover fell-you'd think, by chance. But, should you doubt, then take a view, You'd see her powers--and feel them too: For, like a power that's magical, Spite of yourself you're sure to fall. In lover's eyes are plainly seen The language that is held within. With bowing, smiling, on his part, He found the road that reach'd her heart; While she, a stranger to disdain, Would never let him sue in vain; But, form'd for love, she, without guile, Sweetly return'd him smile for smile. Should, by her eyes, a lover drop, She well knew how to raise him up. Or, if he should a wound endure, She'd perfectly perform a cure. That state of bliss is half divine When two bright flames in one shall join. Can greater happiness remain Than love, and be belov'd again? When two folks are to union prone, Then Hymen's cause moves gently on. To grasp his torch he will not faulter, That he may light them to the altar. Examine whether 'tis in case right, Give it a rap to make it blaze bright. The banns put up, the ring was there, The bride in satin would appear. Now all the joyous blessings flow, Except that time mov'd rather slow. When most delicious fruit is nigh It strongly tempts the stander-by; And if no obstacle is near, It is not easy to forbear. What motive was there to have staid Until the parson grace had said: Our happy B those joys possess'd Design'd to make a husband bless'd. When a stale lover nothing wants, Because he's all the sex e'er grants, Would he call his a happier lot After the priest had tied the knot? For all that ever law has made Only a licence is to trade. No further pleasure B could know; She no more pleasure could bestow: A secret coldness was th' effect, Succeeded by a small neglect. His eyes, which met her eyes with glee, Now rang'd a foot below her knee. A conduct slighting he shew'd to her More like a husband than a wooer. The day pass'd by, indiff'rence planted, Ring, gown, and parson, were not wanted. 'And, as the bell for supper rings, I'll stop to say no more fine things.' THE THIRD PART Both law and love compose the past; Poetic justice comes at last. Love, like a blooming rose, is press'd Within the precincts of the breast. The owner often casts an eye, Delighted with the pleasing toy. Perhaps an hour it may not rest Till planted in a second breast. So on, from breast to breast it flies; Wanting a prudent root it dies. A young and handsome man was C; The friend and intimate of B: They oft converse, and notes compare, Of laurels gather'd from the fair. Between these two it was agreed 'That B should be compleatly freed Of beauteous A; and C should take her While B for ever should forsake her. That as the banns 'twixt A and B Stood in the church, they'd serve for C; By which they'd save expence and time,' And I procure a word to rhime. Whether Miss A ponder'd a while on't We cannot say; history is silent: Yet no more grief appear'd to view Than changing an old gown for new. But now to church went A and C, And married in the name of B. The joyous day gave great delight; Perhaps more joyous was the night; But, like his predecessor, he Cropp'd the ripe fruit, and left the tree: For soon with matrimony cloy'd He turn'd his tail upon the bride. What though his conduct was absurd, It left her ready for a third. Nor can we think much hard her case Who still commanded half the race. Her beauty'd such a powerful sway 'Twould pick a man up ev'ry day. Now while Miss A'd no husband near She liv'd a life of 'as it were.' Her person to support in state Was much inclin'd to run in debt; And when we debts contract, they say, The time will come when we should pay. But if neglect be on our side Compulsive methods must be tried. For common justice holds this tone, 'That ev'ry man should have his own.' In vain for cash Miss A being sought Was to the Court of Conscience brought. The plaintiff thus the fair pursued, In C's surname Miss A was sued. The crowd, surpriz'd, began to stare That so much beauty enter'd there. Nay, cold Commissioners, 'tis true, Would lick their lips and steal a view. Thaw'd from the ice by warm desire, A frozen stick will catch the fire; Disguise the passion how you will, 'Tis nature, and 'tis nature still. But seniors are not apt to fall; To look and lick their lips is all. A lawyer made appearance there, And loudly pleaded for the fair; Arrang'd his tropes, his figures dress'd, In lofty stile himself express'd: And pray what lawyer would dispute To plead his best in beauty's suit? But what was his retaining fee Is no concern to you or me. He pleaded with decisive air; Resolv'd to win the cause--and fair: 'That none an action can support Against a wife in any court. That though her marriage had a flaw It perfectly was good in law; For as the ritual she'd gone through, A wife must be to one of two; And that's her real husband still With whom she said at church I will. Then if the plaintiff will pursue, The husband is the mark in view.' The bench was then my sole delight; My care was parting wrong from right. As I sat president of three, Decision was referr'd to me. 'Was perfect beauty ever made To hawk its charms for want of trade? We hope no great defect comes forth To quash the sale of so much worth. That she ne'er chang'd a marriage vow With the first man, we all allow; So far from marrying the dame, He never to the altar came; Nor once commission'd any one By proxy, to make her his own. Nor could she be by right fix'd there, No, not if Madan held the chair; For he'd suppose, without reflection, This might not be her first connexion. Survey the second husband's claim; His title will be found the same: He left both parties in the lurch, And put a trick upon the church. A name that's stolen appears to view; Also a borrow'd person too. No banns put up 'twixt C and A, Which must to wedlock lead the way; For this is what the law demands; On this a union falls or stands; Therefore, if marriage has a flaw, It can't be ratified by law. Then this assertion springs from all; No man can this a wedding call: Or, if it should that phrase invite, 'Tis but the wedding of a night; Or like one that is hatch'd up quick By dancing round a candlestick; Or one of military stamp, That's solemniz'd within a camp: The loving couple's plighted word Is only jumping o'er a sword; That sword, intended to divide, Will there unite, and make a bride. Besides, when there appears demur, We must consult the register; And though there should B's name appear, Yet B himself was never there; and if for C you chuse to look, His name was never in the book. This wedding's founded on no laws; We must, of course, dismiss the cause; For as a husband A ne'er knew, No husband can the plaintiff sue; But if he will pursue his claim, May still sue A in her own name. There's one delightful word we see Compos'd of our A B and C. To girls, whose flimzy virtue lies Quite dormant, and whose passions rise, That dear word husband stands the first Of all the alphabet can boast: In that cornpriz'd is every thing That either Heaven or Earth can bring; But, when that blessing husband's granted, Then ev'ry other blessing's wanted.' A, rather out of credit grown, Display'd her charms upon the town. 'But why in Birmingham appear Among the dirty bunters there? Whose manners are a foul disgrace; A satire on the female race. She might a constellation rise, And figure in the London skies; Could charms display as bright as any, In evenings when it was not rainy.' 'Tis done--and she acquir'd renown, As the first beauty on the town. Dress'd in the pink, she took her stand Among the ladies of the Strand. Thus beauty, by imprudent steps, To sure destruction slowly creeps. For she, when to that bevy's got in, Takes much about three years to rot in. The silent priest We'll tell simple truth, and our story comes pat, No matter if acted in this age or that. Dear Friend, let us saunter to Baxterly church, Where good Mr. D--left himself in the lurch; For there the gay hearer will, sure as a gun, Meet with a sweet morsal of high-season'd fun. The pray'rs being ended, and no blunder made, The Clerk his desk mounted--he well knew his trade; Two staves out of Sternhold he struck up compleat, While climbing the pulpit the Priest took his seat. Now heav'nly music, a Clerk's highest boast, Calm'd every breast, but the Vicar's the most. The psalm being over, deep silence came next; Not a single breath sounded, expecting the text; But, to the surprize of the serious and gay, The Vicar himself was as silent as they; For he'd dropt to sleep, being drench'd with mild ale, And dream'd of full bumpers, the last night's regale; Or, rather, till five in the morning had hanker'd, Before he could find the last drop in the tankard. Now the congregation became rather wild, They look'd at the Priest, at each other, and smil'd. If a shepherd should fall fast asleep in the day, No wonder his flock goes a little astray. Then Moses look'd up--'Sir, we've done,' cried Amen; The Priest, half awake, replied, 'Fill it agen.'

The racism erases the beautiful memories and it believes in the perfect world The racism is a too big and horrible problem It is a wrong and impure mistake The racism is a bad and public thought The racism is played by the poors of reasons The racism doesn't live in the jungle but it lives in the modern society I'm against the racism The racists are cursed because they are false For me the racism resides in the hate For the innocents the racism is lost war For me the racism doesn't exist in a citizen world For me the racism is a terrible suffering It can't stand the harmony and the heart of a bay It survives in the evident darkness The racism hates the comfortable and hospitable villa The racism serves the big Evil It doesn't use the magic It wants to destroy the balance between the people For the angels the racism is a shame and a bright lie

racism

Input: [Topic: racism] Poem: The racism erases the beautiful memories and it believes in the perfect world The racism is a too big and horrible problem It is a wrong and impure mistake The racism is a bad and public thought The racism is played by the poors of reasons The racism doesn't live in the jungle but it lives in the modern society I'm against the racism The racists are cursed because they are false For me the racism resides in the hate For the innocents the racism is lost war For me the racism doesn't exist in a citizen world For me the racism is a terrible suffering It can't stand the harmony and the heart of a bay It survives in the evident darkness The racism hates the comfortable and hospitable villa The racism serves the big Evil It doesn't use the magic It wants to destroy the balance between the people For the angels the racism is a shame and a bright lie

trust in me cause i know the pain trust in me cause i know the cold nights trust in me cause i know the lonliness trust in me cause i know my heart trust in me cause i know my soul trust in me cause i know what i give trust in me cause i know who i am trust in me cause i know what i want trust in me cause i know i can trust you! !

trust

Input: [Topic: trust] Poem: trust in me cause i know the pain trust in me cause i know the cold nights trust in me cause i know the lonliness trust in me cause i know my heart trust in me cause i know my soul trust in me cause i know what i give trust in me cause i know who i am trust in me cause i know what i want trust in me cause i know i can trust you! !

Love, love, love! Is very special And so warm Because it is A feeling That comes Out from our hearts That we give To the ones that We love and cherished The most in our lives

love

Input: [Topic: love] Poem: Love, love, love! Is very special And so warm Because it is A feeling That comes Out from our hearts That we give To the ones that We love and cherished The most in our lives

evil has came down to earth haunting people that nows right from wrong am i the the one to cause this if i did show me prof Am i evil for believing what i do? Am i evil for not agreeing with you? Can't i be right and you wrong, maybe your weak and im strong you never now when you walk out of place saying i wish i could go back and re-take my steps but i want to now if i am evil or am i not show me a sign that i never forgot and then i will now from the day i start what i did to be on the evil's list the evil is planting his plot showing people that may never forgot what should i say to be off your list and what i did to be on it your list but i just want to prove you that your wrong and i'm right so what should i do to be not evil in my way or not

evil

Input: [Topic: evil] Poem: evil has came down to earth haunting people that nows right from wrong am i the the one to cause this if i did show me prof Am i evil for believing what i do? Am i evil for not agreeing with you? Can't i be right and you wrong, maybe your weak and im strong you never now when you walk out of place saying i wish i could go back and re-take my steps but i want to now if i am evil or am i not show me a sign that i never forgot and then i will now from the day i start what i did to be on the evil's list the evil is planting his plot showing people that may never forgot what should i say to be off your list and what i did to be on it your list but i just want to prove you that your wrong and i'm right so what should i do to be not evil in my way or not

The Son of God who became a human being did walk upon the water of the Sea of Galilee, when He came to set all men free from sin and His love still is something amazing and when I hear the birds sing their praises in spring then I see the One who made things like they are supposed to be and the humiliation of that dark Calvary does stay with me as humanity’s most terrible crushing thing but although the Prince does not walk on this earth anymore He still at times comes visiting in disguise and when a poor beggar knocks at the door I do some great caution exercise as Jesus does change lives from what they have been before and in that wretched man the Lord God I might just recognize.

italian-sonnet

Input: [Form: italian-sonnet] Poem: The Son of God who became a human being did walk upon the water of the Sea of Galilee, when He came to set all men free from sin and His love still is something amazing and when I hear the birds sing their praises in spring then I see the One who made things like they are supposed to be and the humiliation of that dark Calvary does stay with me as humanity’s most terrible crushing thing but although the Prince does not walk on this earth anymore He still at times comes visiting in disguise and when a poor beggar knocks at the door I do some great caution exercise as Jesus does change lives from what they have been before and in that wretched man the Lord God I might just recognize.

Listen my children and you shall hear, The life story of Taylor Swift loud and clear. How she touched the hearts of many, With her amazing songs plenty. She was born and raised in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania land. She wrote songs when she felt her social life was offhand. Taylor always had trouble fitting in. She always got knocked down like a social bowling pin. A computer repairman taught her the guitar to play. He taught her only three chords and she learned the rest someway. Now she has 6 albums,66 songs, and 10 hit singles. This breath-taking celebrity came from a timid girl who mingled. She has had many songs that topped charts. Her songs are always written straight from her heart. Her first song was written when she was thirteen. Taylor wrote songs when she needed to come clean. Taylor Swift writes her songs about her personal life. About break-ups, make-ups, and love strive. "My goal is to never write songs that my fans can't relate to" Just about every girl feels one or two of her songs that tell their story true. In 2009, Taylor won the Best Music Video CMA award. She was so excited and adored. But then Kanye West ran up and took the microphone And the event of how he protested that she didn't deserve it is well known She is very humorous and comical She is more average and normal, Than some may think she is. She's just a teenager trying to have fun and fit in like the rest of us. Taylor doesn't have a "Love Story". She also has "Beautiful Eyes" She knows that she's "…not a princess. This ain't a fairy tale" She knows when to "Jump than fall".

narrative

Input: [Form: narrative] Poem: Listen my children and you shall hear, The life story of Taylor Swift loud and clear. How she touched the hearts of many, With her amazing songs plenty. She was born and raised in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania land. She wrote songs when she felt her social life was offhand. Taylor always had trouble fitting in. She always got knocked down like a social bowling pin. A computer repairman taught her the guitar to play. He taught her only three chords and she learned the rest someway. Now she has 6 albums,66 songs, and 10 hit singles. This breath-taking celebrity came from a timid girl who mingled. She has had many songs that topped charts. Her songs are always written straight from her heart. Her first song was written when she was thirteen. Taylor wrote songs when she needed to come clean. Taylor Swift writes her songs about her personal life. About break-ups, make-ups, and love strive. "My goal is to never write songs that my fans can't relate to" Just about every girl feels one or two of her songs that tell their story true. In 2009, Taylor won the Best Music Video CMA award. She was so excited and adored. But then Kanye West ran up and took the microphone And the event of how he protested that she didn't deserve it is well known She is very humorous and comical She is more average and normal, Than some may think she is. She's just a teenager trying to have fun and fit in like the rest of us. Taylor doesn't have a "Love Story". She also has "Beautiful Eyes" She knows that she's "…not a princess. This ain't a fairy tale" She knows when to "Jump than fall".

Vultures Perched in office Feed on bloated paychecks Decayed people not carrion yet Fight back. ---- (June 24,2009 Tarlac City Philippines)

cinquain

greed

Input: [Form: cinquain, Topic: greed] Poem: Vultures Perched in office Feed on bloated paychecks Decayed people not carrion yet Fight back. ---- (June 24,2009 Tarlac City Philippines)

The earth has been shaped and forged For over 4.5 billion years, there is no hurry Ice formed and shaped the valley, Plates collided, they were in no hurry. Mountains climbed, some would say 7 7 culture mountains, they'd be business, Government, media, arts, and entertainment, Education - the family and religion. 7 mountains sitting on the throne On the throne of the earth,6 chess pieces 6 physical 3D realms… 1 spiritual Now, this is a battlefield for change agents. This calling and a catalyst for change! They want you to infiltrate the mountains. To be their salt and light a mustard seed For change and build a new earth. In 4.5 billion years man might just be a fish. Good for nothing on some distant frozen planet But on a hook still where there's no hurry Swallowing orbs golden of starlight. Ye are the salt of the earth: But if the salt has lost its savour, Wherewith shall it be salted? "Can strategies cause a tipping point in culture? " Their argument is it has before.

culture

Input: [Topic: culture] Poem: The earth has been shaped and forged For over 4.5 billion years, there is no hurry Ice formed and shaped the valley, Plates collided, they were in no hurry. Mountains climbed, some would say 7 7 culture mountains, they'd be business, Government, media, arts, and entertainment, Education - the family and religion. 7 mountains sitting on the throne On the throne of the earth,6 chess pieces 6 physical 3D realms… 1 spiritual Now, this is a battlefield for change agents. This calling and a catalyst for change! They want you to infiltrate the mountains. To be their salt and light a mustard seed For change and build a new earth. In 4.5 billion years man might just be a fish. Good for nothing on some distant frozen planet But on a hook still where there's no hurry Swallowing orbs golden of starlight. Ye are the salt of the earth: But if the salt has lost its savour, Wherewith shall it be salted? "Can strategies cause a tipping point in culture? " Their argument is it has before.

207 Tho' I get home how late—how late— So I get home - 'twill compensate— Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me— When Night—descending—dumb—and dark— They hear my unexpected knock— Transporting must the moment be— Brewed from decades of Agony! To think just how the fire will burn— Just how long-cheated eyes will turn— To wonder what myself will say, And what itself, will say to me— Beguiles the Centuries of way!

home

Input: [Topic: home] Poem: 207 Tho' I get home how late—how late— So I get home - 'twill compensate— Better will be the Ecstasy That they have done expecting me— When Night—descending—dumb—and dark— They hear my unexpected knock— Transporting must the moment be— Brewed from decades of Agony! To think just how the fire will burn— Just how long-cheated eyes will turn— To wonder what myself will say, And what itself, will say to me— Beguiles the Centuries of way!

She knew all I was hoping for was a little time with you all. She knew if the day was bright and sunny he would be out riding his bike and the girls would be busy soaking up the sun. You would inevitably have work to do whether it was changing the spark plugs on one of our half-dead vehicles or mending the fence to keep our squirrel-crazy bassett hound from escaping. She knew I would probably plant flowers by myself. I love planting flowers but, I can do that anyday. Today I wanted to spend with those who have made me a mother. She knew if she dropped the temperature down into the 40's you would all surely seek the warmth of the house. She knew that a light drizzle of ice-cold rain would ensure your company throughout the day. As I curl up on the couch with all of you surrounding me and I listen to the predictable bickering over the popcorn bowl, I silently thank her for giving me the gift I wanted most for Mothers Day. My family. I'm glad she knows me so well. Thank you Mother Nature. Happy Mothers Day!

nature

Input: [Topic: nature] Poem: She knew all I was hoping for was a little time with you all. She knew if the day was bright and sunny he would be out riding his bike and the girls would be busy soaking up the sun. You would inevitably have work to do whether it was changing the spark plugs on one of our half-dead vehicles or mending the fence to keep our squirrel-crazy bassett hound from escaping. She knew I would probably plant flowers by myself. I love planting flowers but, I can do that anyday. Today I wanted to spend with those who have made me a mother. She knew if she dropped the temperature down into the 40's you would all surely seek the warmth of the house. She knew that a light drizzle of ice-cold rain would ensure your company throughout the day. As I curl up on the couch with all of you surrounding me and I listen to the predictable bickering over the popcorn bowl, I silently thank her for giving me the gift I wanted most for Mothers Day. My family. I'm glad she knows me so well. Thank you Mother Nature. Happy Mothers Day!

Your hair (fine as a baby’s fine) so soft softly your hair falls asleep before the rest of you. Your hair dreams of being stroked caressed. The rest of you follows suit & soon all of you is sleeping. Your hair dreaming of my hands. Your body dreaming of my hands. Dream & Reality merging.

hair

Input: [Topic: hair] Poem: Your hair (fine as a baby’s fine) so soft softly your hair falls asleep before the rest of you. Your hair dreams of being stroked caressed. The rest of you follows suit & soon all of you is sleeping. Your hair dreaming of my hands. Your body dreaming of my hands. Dream & Reality merging.

Did I see a red hair vixen at several DSW’s? A ‘canine’ with a fetish of shoes? It can’t be. Anyway it has; a wily fox outsmarted the bi-pedals taking their shoes. I know that this fox has a German background, She wasn’t a ‘desert fox’ I later found, Was she related to General Rommel? Anyway, to make a long story even longer, This vixen cunningly stole pairs of shoes from people, She could have stole them for toys, -for her kits, or wear them in style. Slippers, boots, and sneakers; -she had taken them from various porches for awhile. She tried and tried and tried, To get the right shoes to fit. The case was cracked when a forestry worker stumbled upon an astonishing scene in the woods: -dozens of shoes lay strewn on the forest floor surrounding a fox's den. Even more were discovered inside! By the way, 'We found 86 shoes in the den and a further 32 in a nearby quarry, -where they like to play.' What were the clues? Tiny little teeth marks on the shoelaces leads the Count to theorize that the vixen had been stealing the footwear for her cubs to play with. That, or she 'simply likes collecting shoes, ' say the locals. And, really, who could fault a female for liking shoes? Imelda Marcos had 2400 pairs in her ‘den’. As far as the vixen correcting her ways. Not a chance, 'More shoes have gone missing in the last few days.' (6-18-09)

hair

Input: [Topic: hair] Poem: Did I see a red hair vixen at several DSW’s? A ‘canine’ with a fetish of shoes? It can’t be. Anyway it has; a wily fox outsmarted the bi-pedals taking their shoes. I know that this fox has a German background, She wasn’t a ‘desert fox’ I later found, Was she related to General Rommel? Anyway, to make a long story even longer, This vixen cunningly stole pairs of shoes from people, She could have stole them for toys, -for her kits, or wear them in style. Slippers, boots, and sneakers; -she had taken them from various porches for awhile. She tried and tried and tried, To get the right shoes to fit. The case was cracked when a forestry worker stumbled upon an astonishing scene in the woods: -dozens of shoes lay strewn on the forest floor surrounding a fox's den. Even more were discovered inside! By the way, 'We found 86 shoes in the den and a further 32 in a nearby quarry, -where they like to play.' What were the clues? Tiny little teeth marks on the shoelaces leads the Count to theorize that the vixen had been stealing the footwear for her cubs to play with. That, or she 'simply likes collecting shoes, ' say the locals. And, really, who could fault a female for liking shoes? Imelda Marcos had 2400 pairs in her ‘den’. As far as the vixen correcting her ways. Not a chance, 'More shoes have gone missing in the last few days.' (6-18-09)

The answer to do you love me isn't, I married you, didn't I? Or, Can't we discuss this after the ballgame is through? It isn't, Well that all depends on what you mean by 'love'. Or even, Come to bed and I'll prove that I do. The answer isn't, How can I talk about love when the bacon is burned and the house is an absolute mess and the children are screaming their heads off and I'm going to miss my bus? The answer is yes. The answer is yes. The answer is yes.

son

Input: [Topic: son] Poem: The answer to do you love me isn't, I married you, didn't I? Or, Can't we discuss this after the ballgame is through? It isn't, Well that all depends on what you mean by 'love'. Or even, Come to bed and I'll prove that I do. The answer isn't, How can I talk about love when the bacon is burned and the house is an absolute mess and the children are screaming their heads off and I'm going to miss my bus? The answer is yes. The answer is yes. The answer is yes.

Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou seemest most charming to my sight; As I gaze upon thee in the sky so high, A tear of joy does moisten mine eye. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the Esquimau in the night; For thou lettest him see to harpoon the fish, And with them he makes a dainty dish. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the fox in the night, And lettest him see to steal the grey goose away Out of the farm-yard from a stack of hay. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the farmer in the night, and makes his heart beat high with delight As he views his crops by the light in the night. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the eagle in the night, And lettest him see to devour his prey And carry it to his nest away. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the mariner in the night As he paces the deck alone, Thinking of his dear friends at home. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the weary traveller in the night; For thou lightest up the wayside around To him when he is homeward bound. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the lovers in the night As they walk through the shady groves alone, Making love to each other before they go home. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the poacher in the night; For thou lettest him see to set his snares To catch the rabbit and the hares.

moon

Input: [Topic: moon] Poem: Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou seemest most charming to my sight; As I gaze upon thee in the sky so high, A tear of joy does moisten mine eye. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the Esquimau in the night; For thou lettest him see to harpoon the fish, And with them he makes a dainty dish. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the fox in the night, And lettest him see to steal the grey goose away Out of the farm-yard from a stack of hay. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the farmer in the night, and makes his heart beat high with delight As he views his crops by the light in the night. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the eagle in the night, And lettest him see to devour his prey And carry it to his nest away. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the mariner in the night As he paces the deck alone, Thinking of his dear friends at home. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the weary traveller in the night; For thou lightest up the wayside around To him when he is homeward bound. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the lovers in the night As they walk through the shady groves alone, Making love to each other before they go home. Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light, Thou cheerest the poacher in the night; For thou lettest him see to set his snares To catch the rabbit and the hares.

He is sixty his hair dyed brown and she is a natural blond of nineteen And strolling hand in hand along the beach road every evening they are seen His grandchildren as old as she is it is so true what they say That money does speak every language and it has always been this way. In a World where money matters men of money seem to rule And with a rolls royce in his garage and an indoor heated swimming pool She must see him as a good catch though he is years beyond his prime And he is smitten by her beauty and he buys her a good time. One less attractive young woman for to woo for the single young males of the town For the fellow in his sixties she has turned all suitors down Those who say love only matters must believe in their own lie She has knocked back men of her own age for to be with the wealthy older guy. To those who talk of love and passion pay no heed to what they say For in a World where money matters the sugar daddy leads the way To find himself a young beauty he doesn't even have to try For in a World where money matters there's little money cannot buy. He is sixty his hair dyed brown and he goes walking hand in hand With a young beauty of nineteen and that's not hard to understand For in a World where money matters he is a known millionaire And the young males of him jealous doesn't life seem very unfair?

money

Input: [Topic: money] Poem: He is sixty his hair dyed brown and she is a natural blond of nineteen And strolling hand in hand along the beach road every evening they are seen His grandchildren as old as she is it is so true what they say That money does speak every language and it has always been this way. In a World where money matters men of money seem to rule And with a rolls royce in his garage and an indoor heated swimming pool She must see him as a good catch though he is years beyond his prime And he is smitten by her beauty and he buys her a good time. One less attractive young woman for to woo for the single young males of the town For the fellow in his sixties she has turned all suitors down Those who say love only matters must believe in their own lie She has knocked back men of her own age for to be with the wealthy older guy. To those who talk of love and passion pay no heed to what they say For in a World where money matters the sugar daddy leads the way To find himself a young beauty he doesn't even have to try For in a World where money matters there's little money cannot buy. He is sixty his hair dyed brown and he goes walking hand in hand With a young beauty of nineteen and that's not hard to understand For in a World where money matters he is a known millionaire And the young males of him jealous doesn't life seem very unfair?

The unknown author of the ‚Epistle of Prayer‘ says: „Whoso draweth near to God as it is by such a reverent affection touched before, he is one spirit with God. That is, though all that God and he be two and sere in kind, nevertheless yet in grace they are so knit together that they are but one in spirit; And all this is one for onehead of love and accordance of will; and in the onehead is marriage made between God and the soul the which shall never be broken…." (The Epistle of Prayer, in Pepwell's edition of „The Cell of Self knowledge", edited by Edmund Gardner, P.88) .

epistle

Input: [Form: epistle] Poem: The unknown author of the ‚Epistle of Prayer‘ says: „Whoso draweth near to God as it is by such a reverent affection touched before, he is one spirit with God. That is, though all that God and he be two and sere in kind, nevertheless yet in grace they are so knit together that they are but one in spirit; And all this is one for onehead of love and accordance of will; and in the onehead is marriage made between God and the soul the which shall never be broken…." (The Epistle of Prayer, in Pepwell's edition of „The Cell of Self knowledge", edited by Edmund Gardner, P.88) .

In this evil year, autumn comes early... I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters, The wind on my hat...And you? And you, my friend? You are standing- maybe- and seeing the sickle moon Move in a small arc over the forests And bivouac fire, red in the black valley. You are lying- maybe- in a straw field and sleeping And dew falls cold on your forehead and battle jacket. It's possible tonight you're on horseback, The farthest outpost, peering along, with a gun in your fist, Smiling, whispering, to your exhausted horse. Maybe- I keep imagining- you are spending the night As a guest in a strange castle with a park And writing a letter by candlelight, and tapping On the piano keys by the window, Groping for a sound... - And maybe You are already silent, already dead, and the day Will shine no longer into your beloved Serious eyes, and your beloved brown hand hangs wilted, And your white forehead split open- Oh, if only, If only, just once, that last day, I had shown you, told you Something of my love, that was too timid to speak! But you know me, you know...and, smiling, you nod Tonight in front of your strange castle, And you nod to your horse in the drenched forest, And you nod to your sleep to your harsh clutter of straw, And think about me, and smile. And maybe, Maybe some day you will come back from the war, and take a walk with me some evening, And somebody will talk about Longwy, Luttich, Dammerkirch, And smile gravely, and everything will be as before, And no one will speak a word of his worry, Of his worry and tenderness by night in the field, Of his love. And with a single joke You will frighten away the worry, the war, the uneasy nights, The summer lightning of shy human friendship, Into the cool past that will never come back. Translated by James Wright Submitted by Holt

night

Input: [Topic: night] Poem: In this evil year, autumn comes early... I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters, The wind on my hat...And you? And you, my friend? You are standing- maybe- and seeing the sickle moon Move in a small arc over the forests And bivouac fire, red in the black valley. You are lying- maybe- in a straw field and sleeping And dew falls cold on your forehead and battle jacket. It's possible tonight you're on horseback, The farthest outpost, peering along, with a gun in your fist, Smiling, whispering, to your exhausted horse. Maybe- I keep imagining- you are spending the night As a guest in a strange castle with a park And writing a letter by candlelight, and tapping On the piano keys by the window, Groping for a sound... - And maybe You are already silent, already dead, and the day Will shine no longer into your beloved Serious eyes, and your beloved brown hand hangs wilted, And your white forehead split open- Oh, if only, If only, just once, that last day, I had shown you, told you Something of my love, that was too timid to speak! But you know me, you know...and, smiling, you nod Tonight in front of your strange castle, And you nod to your horse in the drenched forest, And you nod to your sleep to your harsh clutter of straw, And think about me, and smile. And maybe, Maybe some day you will come back from the war, and take a walk with me some evening, And somebody will talk about Longwy, Luttich, Dammerkirch, And smile gravely, and everything will be as before, And no one will speak a word of his worry, Of his worry and tenderness by night in the field, Of his love. And with a single joke You will frighten away the worry, the war, the uneasy nights, The summer lightning of shy human friendship, Into the cool past that will never come back. Translated by James Wright Submitted by Holt

Christmas, a joyful time of year. Fun-filled days, lots of holiday cheer. Children all over the world, year after year, Wait for this special day in the hopes of many gifts to open and play. How soon we forget, the true meaning of Christmas. Sweet Jesus was born on this joyous day. In a manger in Bethlehem oh, so far away. No pillow for his head. No blanket for his bed. A true gift from God, our Father Let us praise him instead. Written: Dec.2/06

joy

Input: [Topic: joy] Poem: Christmas, a joyful time of year. Fun-filled days, lots of holiday cheer. Children all over the world, year after year, Wait for this special day in the hopes of many gifts to open and play. How soon we forget, the true meaning of Christmas. Sweet Jesus was born on this joyous day. In a manger in Bethlehem oh, so far away. No pillow for his head. No blanket for his bed. A true gift from God, our Father Let us praise him instead. Written: Dec.2/06

I had a bitter enemy, His heart to hate he gave, And when I died he swore that he Would dance upon my grave; That he would leap and laugh because A livid corpse was I, And that's the reason why I was In no great haste to die. And then - such is the quirk of fate, One day with joy I read, Despite his vitalizing hate My enemy was dead. Maybe the poison in his heart Had helped to haste his doom: He was not spared till I depart To spit upon my tomb. The other day I chanced to go To where he lies alone. 'Tis easy to forgive a foe When he is dead and gone. . . . Poor devil! Now his day is done, (Though bright it was and brave,) Yet I am happy there is none To dance upon my grave.

hate

Input: [Topic: hate] Poem: I had a bitter enemy, His heart to hate he gave, And when I died he swore that he Would dance upon my grave; That he would leap and laugh because A livid corpse was I, And that's the reason why I was In no great haste to die. And then - such is the quirk of fate, One day with joy I read, Despite his vitalizing hate My enemy was dead. Maybe the poison in his heart Had helped to haste his doom: He was not spared till I depart To spit upon my tomb. The other day I chanced to go To where he lies alone. 'Tis easy to forgive a foe When he is dead and gone. . . . Poor devil! Now his day is done, (Though bright it was and brave,) Yet I am happy there is none To dance upon my grave.

SPIRIT of Loveliness! Heart of my heart! Flying so far from me, Heart of my heart! Above the eastern hill, I know the red leaves thrill, But thou art distant still, Heart of my heart! Sinning, I’ve searched for thee, Heart of my heart! Sinning, I’ve dreamed of thee, Heart of my heart! I know no end nor gain; amongst the paths of pain I follow thee in vain, Heart of my heart! Much have I lost for thee, Heart of my heart! Not counting the cost for thee, Heart of my heart! Through all this year of years thy form as mist appears, So blind am I with tears, Heart of my heart! Mighty and mournful now, Heart of my heart! Cometh the Shadow-Face, Heart of my heart! The friends I’ve left for thee, their sad eyes trouble me— I cannot bear to be, Heart of my heart!

lament

Input: [Form: lament] Poem: SPIRIT of Loveliness! Heart of my heart! Flying so far from me, Heart of my heart! Above the eastern hill, I know the red leaves thrill, But thou art distant still, Heart of my heart! Sinning, I’ve searched for thee, Heart of my heart! Sinning, I’ve dreamed of thee, Heart of my heart! I know no end nor gain; amongst the paths of pain I follow thee in vain, Heart of my heart! Much have I lost for thee, Heart of my heart! Not counting the cost for thee, Heart of my heart! Through all this year of years thy form as mist appears, So blind am I with tears, Heart of my heart! Mighty and mournful now, Heart of my heart! Cometh the Shadow-Face, Heart of my heart! The friends I’ve left for thee, their sad eyes trouble me— I cannot bear to be, Heart of my heart!

Suicide I hate all of you i want to die i hate everything die, die, die suicide has a grip on me goodbye

suicide

Input: [Topic: suicide] Poem: Suicide I hate all of you i want to die i hate everything die, die, die suicide has a grip on me goodbye

Rat in the attic, Toad in the abandoned well Dreaming rule town? joke!

dream

Input: [Topic: dream] Poem: Rat in the attic, Toad in the abandoned well Dreaming rule town? joke!

Man of sincere love Great source of true knowledge He is called a teacher.

teacher

Input: [Topic: teacher] Poem: Man of sincere love Great source of true knowledge He is called a teacher.

Well then; the promis'd hour is come at last; The present age of wit obscures the past: Strong were our sires; and as they fought they writ, Conqu'ring with force of arms, and dint of wit; Theirs was the giant race, before the Flood; And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire stood. Like Janus he the stubborn soil manur'd, With rules of husbandry the rankness cur'd: Tam'd us to manners, when the stage was rude; And boisterous English wit, with art endu'd. Our age was cultivated thus at length; But what we gained in skill we lost in strength. Our builders were, with want of genius, curst; The second temple was not like the first: Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length; Our beauties equal; but excel our strength. Firm Doric pillars found your solid base: The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space; Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace. In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise: He mov'd the mind, but had not power to raise. Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please: Yet doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease. In differing talents both adorn'd their age; One for the study, t'other for the stage. But both to Congreve justly shall submit, One match'd in judgment, both o'er-match'd in wit. In him all beauties of this age we see; Etherege's courtship, Southern's purity; The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherly. All this in blooming youth you have achiev'd; Nor are your foil'd contemporaries griev'd; So much the sweetness of your manners move, We cannot envy you because we love. Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw A beardless Consul made against the law, And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome; Though he with Hannibal was overcome. Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame; And scholar to the youth he taught, became. Oh that your brows my laurel had sustain'd, Well had I been depos'd, if you had reign'd! The father had descended for the son; For only you are lineal to the throne. Thus when the State one Edward did depose; A greater Edward in his room arose. But now, not I, but poetry is curs'd; For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first. But let 'em not mistake my patron's part; Nor call his charity their own desert. Yet this I prophesy; thou shalt be seen, (Tho' with some short parenthesis between High on the throne of wit; and seated there, Not mine (that's little) but thy laurel wear. Thy first attempt an early promise made; That early promise this has more than paid. So bold, yet so judiciously you dare, That your least praise, is to be regular. Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought, But genius must be born; and never can be taught. This is your portion; this your native store; Heav'n that but once was prodigal before, To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more. Maintain your post: that's all the fame you need; For 'tis impossible you should proceed. Already I am worn with cares and age; And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage: Unprofitably kept at Heav'n's expense, I live a rent-charge on his providence: But you, whom ev'ry muse and grace adorn, Whom I foresee to better fortune born, Be kind to my remains; and oh defend, Against your judgment your departed friend! Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue; But shade those laurels which descend to you: And take for tribute what these lines express: You merit more; nor could my love do less.

friend

Input: [Topic: friend] Poem: Well then; the promis'd hour is come at last; The present age of wit obscures the past: Strong were our sires; and as they fought they writ, Conqu'ring with force of arms, and dint of wit; Theirs was the giant race, before the Flood; And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire stood. Like Janus he the stubborn soil manur'd, With rules of husbandry the rankness cur'd: Tam'd us to manners, when the stage was rude; And boisterous English wit, with art endu'd. Our age was cultivated thus at length; But what we gained in skill we lost in strength. Our builders were, with want of genius, curst; The second temple was not like the first: Till you, the best Vitruvius, come at length; Our beauties equal; but excel our strength. Firm Doric pillars found your solid base: The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space; Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace. In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise: He mov'd the mind, but had not power to raise. Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please: Yet doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease. In differing talents both adorn'd their age; One for the study, t'other for the stage. But both to Congreve justly shall submit, One match'd in judgment, both o'er-match'd in wit. In him all beauties of this age we see; Etherege's courtship, Southern's purity; The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherly. All this in blooming youth you have achiev'd; Nor are your foil'd contemporaries griev'd; So much the sweetness of your manners move, We cannot envy you because we love. Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw A beardless Consul made against the law, And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome; Though he with Hannibal was overcome. Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame; And scholar to the youth he taught, became. Oh that your brows my laurel had sustain'd, Well had I been depos'd, if you had reign'd! The father had descended for the son; For only you are lineal to the throne. Thus when the State one Edward did depose; A greater Edward in his room arose. But now, not I, but poetry is curs'd; For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first. But let 'em not mistake my patron's part; Nor call his charity their own desert. Yet this I prophesy; thou shalt be seen, (Tho' with some short parenthesis between High on the throne of wit; and seated there, Not mine (that's little) but thy laurel wear. Thy first attempt an early promise made; That early promise this has more than paid. So bold, yet so judiciously you dare, That your least praise, is to be regular. Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought, But genius must be born; and never can be taught. This is your portion; this your native store; Heav'n that but once was prodigal before, To Shakespeare gave as much; she could not give him more. Maintain your post: that's all the fame you need; For 'tis impossible you should proceed. Already I am worn with cares and age; And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage: Unprofitably kept at Heav'n's expense, I live a rent-charge on his providence: But you, whom ev'ry muse and grace adorn, Whom I foresee to better fortune born, Be kind to my remains; and oh defend, Against your judgment your departed friend! Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue; But shade those laurels which descend to you: And take for tribute what these lines express: You merit more; nor could my love do less.

we say we will spend some time for the season take a walk in the autumn groove enjoy the trees the leaves and the soft rustle at our feet that gently bids goodbye to another season of gold and amber we never let it dig our heart to catch a leaf or two they fall, resigned to the fact that we will never have time trail the last wind and listlessly to the ground like jilted lovers soon the snow will bury them and our wish to explore the season Spring will see us caught up with another year like fish in a net with the water just inches away

despair

Input: [Topic: despair] Poem: we say we will spend some time for the season take a walk in the autumn groove enjoy the trees the leaves and the soft rustle at our feet that gently bids goodbye to another season of gold and amber we never let it dig our heart to catch a leaf or two they fall, resigned to the fact that we will never have time trail the last wind and listlessly to the ground like jilted lovers soon the snow will bury them and our wish to explore the season Spring will see us caught up with another year like fish in a net with the water just inches away

There was a Young Lady whose bonnet, Came untied when the birds sate upon it; But she said: 'I don't care! All the birds in the air Are welcome to sit on my bonnet!'

limerick

Input: [Form: limerick] Poem: There was a Young Lady whose bonnet, Came untied when the birds sate upon it; But she said: 'I don't care! All the birds in the air Are welcome to sit on my bonnet!'

I'm thinking hard, But my mind should be empty. I practice the movements, But they come out all wrong. When I stop, And think, I concentrate, On one thing, Dance. And I dance. And it's graceful, When you think. Be passionate With your movements, Listen to the song, The beats, the rhythyms, And flow. And dance. Dance. Smile. Be.

dance

Input: [Topic: dance] Poem: I'm thinking hard, But my mind should be empty. I practice the movements, But they come out all wrong. When I stop, And think, I concentrate, On one thing, Dance. And I dance. And it's graceful, When you think. Be passionate With your movements, Listen to the song, The beats, the rhythyms, And flow. And dance. Dance. Smile. Be.

The world's wrapped up in politics and loves big finance too I find it quite depressing in large quantities, it's true It's good to have the knowledge, and to know what's going on But when it starts to rule the world, then everything goes wrong There's so much hate out in this world, It's such a crying shame People pointing fingers and so quick to place the blame Intolerant of others, and unwilling to diffuse With sociopaths in charge, war is always in the news I wish that we could coexist, respect our fellow man Quit hating other ways of life that we don't understand But in politics and finance, war profiteering, grows and thrives Yes, it's all about the money, not at all about the lives I am not apathetic, I just can't stand it any more I do not wish to witness so much suffering and war If I focus on the travesty of all thats going down I can not breathe, I suffocate, my spirit starts to drown

greed

Input: [Topic: greed] Poem: The world's wrapped up in politics and loves big finance too I find it quite depressing in large quantities, it's true It's good to have the knowledge, and to know what's going on But when it starts to rule the world, then everything goes wrong There's so much hate out in this world, It's such a crying shame People pointing fingers and so quick to place the blame Intolerant of others, and unwilling to diffuse With sociopaths in charge, war is always in the news I wish that we could coexist, respect our fellow man Quit hating other ways of life that we don't understand But in politics and finance, war profiteering, grows and thrives Yes, it's all about the money, not at all about the lives I am not apathetic, I just can't stand it any more I do not wish to witness so much suffering and war If I focus on the travesty of all thats going down I can not breathe, I suffocate, my spirit starts to drown

Hear someone giggle, Peer out, there is no one... puzzled; am here smiled drizzle.

childhood

Input: [Topic: childhood] Poem: Hear someone giggle, Peer out, there is no one... puzzled; am here smiled drizzle.

Lovers all are soldiers, and Cupid has his campaigns: I tell you, Atticus, lovers all are soldiers. Youth is fit for war, and also fit for Venus. Imagine an aged soldier, an elderly lover! A general looks for spirit in his brave soldiery; a pretty girl wants spirit in her companions. Both stay up all night long, and each sleeps on the ground; one guards his mistress's doorway, one his general's. The soldier's lot requires far journeys; send his girl, the zealous lover will follow her anywhere. He'll cross the glowering mountains, the rivers swollen with storm; he'll tread a pathway through the heaped-up snows; and never whine of raging Eurus when he sets sail or wait for stars propitious for his voyage. Who but lovers and soldiers endure the chill of night, and blizzards interspersed with driving rain? The soldier reconnoiters among the dangerous foe; the lover spies to learn his rival's plans. Soldiers besiege strong cities; lovers, a harsh girl's home; one storms town gates, the other storms house doors. It's clever strategy to raid a sleeping foe and slay an unarmed host by force of arms. (That's how the troops of Thracian Rhesus met their doom, and you, O captive steeds, forsook your master.) Well, lovers take advantage of husbands when they sleep, launching surprise attacks while the enemy snores. To slip through bands of guards and watchful sentinels is always the soldier's mission - and the lover's. Mars wavers; Venus flutters: the conquered rise again, and those you'd think could never fall, lie low. So those who like to say that love is indolent should stop: Love is the soul of enterprise. Sad Achilles burns for Briseis, his lost darling: Trojans, smash the Greeks' power while you may! From Andromache's embrace Hector went to war; his own wife set the helmet on his head; and High King Agamemnon, looking on Priam's child, was stunned (they say) by the Maenad's flowing hair. And Mars himself was trapped in The Artificer's bonds: no tale was more notorious in heaven. I too was once an idler, born for careless ease; my shady couch had made my spirit soft. But care for a lovely girl aroused me from my sloth and bid me to enlist in her campaign. So now you see me forceful, in combat all night long. If you want a life of action, fall in love. - translated from the Latin by Jon Corelis

war

Input: [Topic: war] Poem: Lovers all are soldiers, and Cupid has his campaigns: I tell you, Atticus, lovers all are soldiers. Youth is fit for war, and also fit for Venus. Imagine an aged soldier, an elderly lover! A general looks for spirit in his brave soldiery; a pretty girl wants spirit in her companions. Both stay up all night long, and each sleeps on the ground; one guards his mistress's doorway, one his general's. The soldier's lot requires far journeys; send his girl, the zealous lover will follow her anywhere. He'll cross the glowering mountains, the rivers swollen with storm; he'll tread a pathway through the heaped-up snows; and never whine of raging Eurus when he sets sail or wait for stars propitious for his voyage. Who but lovers and soldiers endure the chill of night, and blizzards interspersed with driving rain? The soldier reconnoiters among the dangerous foe; the lover spies to learn his rival's plans. Soldiers besiege strong cities; lovers, a harsh girl's home; one storms town gates, the other storms house doors. It's clever strategy to raid a sleeping foe and slay an unarmed host by force of arms. (That's how the troops of Thracian Rhesus met their doom, and you, O captive steeds, forsook your master.) Well, lovers take advantage of husbands when they sleep, launching surprise attacks while the enemy snores. To slip through bands of guards and watchful sentinels is always the soldier's mission - and the lover's. Mars wavers; Venus flutters: the conquered rise again, and those you'd think could never fall, lie low. So those who like to say that love is indolent should stop: Love is the soul of enterprise. Sad Achilles burns for Briseis, his lost darling: Trojans, smash the Greeks' power while you may! From Andromache's embrace Hector went to war; his own wife set the helmet on his head; and High King Agamemnon, looking on Priam's child, was stunned (they say) by the Maenad's flowing hair. And Mars himself was trapped in The Artificer's bonds: no tale was more notorious in heaven. I too was once an idler, born for careless ease; my shady couch had made my spirit soft. But care for a lovely girl aroused me from my sloth and bid me to enlist in her campaign. So now you see me forceful, in combat all night long. If you want a life of action, fall in love. - translated from the Latin by Jon Corelis

Something's wrong with me Or them I'm talking the men and women Who deliver the weather All of 'em like heat While I'm a blizzard through and through.

funny

Input: [Topic: funny] Poem: Something's wrong with me Or them I'm talking the men and women Who deliver the weather All of 'em like heat While I'm a blizzard through and through.

Oh Solitude! Ah grief! Thou twin tormentors That keep so close To the heart Even the marrow of the bone! I wish thee farewell And that thou wouldest flee, to the Farthest regions of Hades, And stay far away And not come near To hold me dread in thy grasp so strong; So that I can be free To love and to live again!

sorrow

Input: [Topic: sorrow] Poem: Oh Solitude! Ah grief! Thou twin tormentors That keep so close To the heart Even the marrow of the bone! I wish thee farewell And that thou wouldest flee, to the Farthest regions of Hades, And stay far away And not come near To hold me dread in thy grasp so strong; So that I can be free To love and to live again!

Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil's foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee, Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me, All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, No where Lives a woman true, and fair. If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet; Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we might meet; Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.

star

Input: [Topic: star] Poem: Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil's foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible to see, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee, Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me, All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear, No where Lives a woman true, and fair. If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet; Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we might meet; Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.

Water is searching the path— Lost its way— We are dancing, laughing, In our own way— Gust of flood snatched happiness, After waiting long for lost way, Our thought is not less than water, Searching the peace way— Gust of unified thought- be a flood For terrorism to wash out from earth, How long we let them paint earth with blood?

racism

Input: [Topic: racism] Poem: Water is searching the path— Lost its way— We are dancing, laughing, In our own way— Gust of flood snatched happiness, After waiting long for lost way, Our thought is not less than water, Searching the peace way— Gust of unified thought- be a flood For terrorism to wash out from earth, How long we let them paint earth with blood?

sail with me on my boat to the sea your breasts my paddles my pelvis your floor sail with me in the ocean of desire lust with me on this little leak of my boat to the sea sink with me to the deepest thoughts of the sea learn with me the meaning of love the true meaning of true love death of desire rising at the end to the greater joys of foam at the surface the sun, the moon and then the stars

lust

Input: [Topic: lust] Poem: sail with me on my boat to the sea your breasts my paddles my pelvis your floor sail with me in the ocean of desire lust with me on this little leak of my boat to the sea sink with me to the deepest thoughts of the sea learn with me the meaning of love the true meaning of true love death of desire rising at the end to the greater joys of foam at the surface the sun, the moon and then the stars

Though I have watched so many mourners weep O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep— Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays. Now though you go on smiling in the sun Our love is slain, and love and you were one. You are the first, you I have known so long, Whose death was deadly, a tremendous wrong. Therefore I seek the faith that sets it right Amid the lilies and the candle-light. I think on Heaven, for in that air so dear We two may meet, confused and parted here. Ah, when man's dearest dies,'tis then he goes To that old balm that heals the centuries' woes. Then Christ's wild cry in all the streets is rife:— "I am the Resurrection and the Life."

hope

Input: [Topic: hope] Poem: Though I have watched so many mourners weep O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep— Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays. Now though you go on smiling in the sun Our love is slain, and love and you were one. You are the first, you I have known so long, Whose death was deadly, a tremendous wrong. Therefore I seek the faith that sets it right Amid the lilies and the candle-light. I think on Heaven, for in that air so dear We two may meet, confused and parted here. Ah, when man's dearest dies,'tis then he goes To that old balm that heals the centuries' woes. Then Christ's wild cry in all the streets is rife:— "I am the Resurrection and the Life."

Like the Ocean kissed The Sky At the most beautiful place under the sun, For true love is so hard to find but we just keep searching for our soul can be complete It's in that lovely special place of bluest of blues which are both under the sun that gives you so much beauty It's where the ocean and sky never ends kissed by the sun over and over a again. Our hearts come together to kiss like the ocean kissed the sky for our hearts are like two large waves falling on one another over and over again. As i swim and you fly we will meet at where the ocean kissed the sky

ocean

Input: [Topic: ocean] Poem: Like the Ocean kissed The Sky At the most beautiful place under the sun, For true love is so hard to find but we just keep searching for our soul can be complete It's in that lovely special place of bluest of blues which are both under the sun that gives you so much beauty It's where the ocean and sky never ends kissed by the sun over and over a again. Our hearts come together to kiss like the ocean kissed the sky for our hearts are like two large waves falling on one another over and over again. As i swim and you fly we will meet at where the ocean kissed the sky

In the retinue of The carrion and paper airplanes Contrived- Careening forwards through the Madness of Dishonor- The waves like the Zygotes of misinformed poltergeists; Until irretrievably other Avenues With friends and Lights Offering sweet fruits buttered with meats At the doorsteps of The wildfires of unresolved holidays- Already smothered underfoot, And carefully dishonored, Blinded- The diamonds of a unrequited Nest, Pilfered to the aeries of Amnesiac stewardesses; And in this way misplaced forever Into the firmament of Simulacrum and marionettes Holding their breath futilely as she drives away Without a second look down the highway Of a football player’s boredom.

football

Input: [Topic: football] Poem: In the retinue of The carrion and paper airplanes Contrived- Careening forwards through the Madness of Dishonor- The waves like the Zygotes of misinformed poltergeists; Until irretrievably other Avenues With friends and Lights Offering sweet fruits buttered with meats At the doorsteps of The wildfires of unresolved holidays- Already smothered underfoot, And carefully dishonored, Blinded- The diamonds of a unrequited Nest, Pilfered to the aeries of Amnesiac stewardesses; And in this way misplaced forever Into the firmament of Simulacrum and marionettes Holding their breath futilely as she drives away Without a second look down the highway Of a football player’s boredom.

And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when, no they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence, but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there I was without a face and it touched me. I did not know what to say, my mouth had no way with names, my eyes were blind, and something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings, and I made my own way, deciphering that fire, and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance, pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing, and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open, planets, palpitating plantations, shadow perforated, riddled with arrows, fire and flowers, the winding night, the universe. And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.

poetry

Input: [Topic: poetry] Poem: And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river. I don't know how or when, no they were not voices, they were not words, nor silence, but from a street I was summoned, from the branches of night, abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone, there I was without a face and it touched me. I did not know what to say, my mouth had no way with names, my eyes were blind, and something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings, and I made my own way, deciphering that fire, and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance, pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing, and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open, planets, palpitating plantations, shadow perforated, riddled with arrows, fire and flowers, the winding night, the universe. And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.

This I know... I have one! She is very special I think she’s beautiful And so very unusual... She is intelligent, also very sensual, Both of which are to me Relationship essentials What most brought her to me Was her sweet empathy Which I appreciate Most since I lost Peggy She’s not a replacement, I love her for her Self She’s what it took to get This widower off the shelf She’s my loved Marina from her head to her feet And she has what it takes To make my life complete She’s lovely and I say She’s my Russian Treasure Gold has value, but my Lady’s beyond measure

romance

Input: [Topic: romance] Poem: This I know... I have one! She is very special I think she’s beautiful And so very unusual... She is intelligent, also very sensual, Both of which are to me Relationship essentials What most brought her to me Was her sweet empathy Which I appreciate Most since I lost Peggy She’s not a replacement, I love her for her Self She’s what it took to get This widower off the shelf She’s my loved Marina from her head to her feet And she has what it takes To make my life complete She’s lovely and I say She’s my Russian Treasure Gold has value, but my Lady’s beyond measure

At The Beach You roll down the window And even before you see it You smell that salty, ocean scent You already know your there At the beach Where the breeze is best Where the sun is most powerful Mother Nature’s birthplace At the beach There so much to do Starting from building sand castles To finding shells so odd looking To riding tsunami on your surfboard To tanning yourself like bread in the toaster To fishing with your grandpa To snorkeling with fish To going on cruises To riding a dolphin Just so much to do The list is as big as space As long as infinity At the beach As you walk on the shore You see the sky red as the sun sits on the water You feel the sand filling the gaps between your toes You hear the soothing sounds of the waves At the beach Some claim to see the most wondrous things Like beautiful mermaids sitting on rocks Or the mysterious Loch Ness Monster And even the lost city of Atlantis At the beach There nothing better than the beach Where beauty was given its name Where Happiness cannot be expressed At the beach By: Khalid

beach

Input: [Topic: beach] Poem: At The Beach You roll down the window And even before you see it You smell that salty, ocean scent You already know your there At the beach Where the breeze is best Where the sun is most powerful Mother Nature’s birthplace At the beach There so much to do Starting from building sand castles To finding shells so odd looking To riding tsunami on your surfboard To tanning yourself like bread in the toaster To fishing with your grandpa To snorkeling with fish To going on cruises To riding a dolphin Just so much to do The list is as big as space As long as infinity At the beach As you walk on the shore You see the sky red as the sun sits on the water You feel the sand filling the gaps between your toes You hear the soothing sounds of the waves At the beach Some claim to see the most wondrous things Like beautiful mermaids sitting on rocks Or the mysterious Loch Ness Monster And even the lost city of Atlantis At the beach There nothing better than the beach Where beauty was given its name Where Happiness cannot be expressed At the beach By: Khalid

As I stare upon you, Evening Star From the land where sorrows reign I envy you, oh star of night Who never has known pain Star you shine with hope and peace, For all the world to see. Brightest of the stars tonight, One wish might you grant me? I do not wish for the magic Of the Fairies' song Its sweet true tune would not survive Amid our mortal throng. Nor do I wish to own the power To rule the earth and sea, For power only robs a man Of Strength and dignity. I do not wish to love a man Or another's love obtain For love upon this world of hate, Can only end in pain. I dare not wish for life eternal To never age a day, To live and watch my loved ones die Is a price I cannot pay. Star, shining in the heavens. Light and life you share This one wish I ask of you Might I join you there?

star

Input: [Topic: star] Poem: As I stare upon you, Evening Star From the land where sorrows reign I envy you, oh star of night Who never has known pain Star you shine with hope and peace, For all the world to see. Brightest of the stars tonight, One wish might you grant me? I do not wish for the magic Of the Fairies' song Its sweet true tune would not survive Amid our mortal throng. Nor do I wish to own the power To rule the earth and sea, For power only robs a man Of Strength and dignity. I do not wish to love a man Or another's love obtain For love upon this world of hate, Can only end in pain. I dare not wish for life eternal To never age a day, To live and watch my loved ones die Is a price I cannot pay. Star, shining in the heavens. Light and life you share This one wish I ask of you Might I join you there?

Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain, Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again. And well his stock-horse bears him, And light of heart is he, And stoutly his old pack-horse Is trotting by his knee. Up Queensland way with cattle He travelled regions vast; And many months have vanished Since home-folk saw him last. He hums a song of someone He hopes to marry soon; And hobble-chains and camp-ware Keep jingling to the tune. Beyond the hazy dado Against the lower skies And yon blue line of ranges The homestead station lies. And thitherward the drover Jogs through the lazy noon, While hobble-chains and camp-ware Are jingling to a tune. An hour has filled the heavens With storm-clouds inky black; At times the lightning trickles Around the drover's track; But Harry pushes onward, His horses' strength he tries, In hope to reach the river Before the flood shall rise. The thunder from above him Goes rolling o'er the plain; And down on thirsty pastures In torrents falls the rain. And every creek and gully Sends forth its little flood, Till the river runs a banker, All stained with yellow mud. Now Harry speaks to Rover, The best dog on the plains, And to his hardy horses, And strokes their shaggy manes; `We've breasted bigger rivers When floods were at their height Nor shall this gutter stop us From getting home to-night!' The thunder growls a warning, The ghastly lightnings gleam, As the drover turns his horses To swim the fatal stream. But, oh! the flood runs stronger Than e'er it ran before; The saddle-horse is failing, And only half-way o'er! When flashes next the lightning, The flood's grey breast is blank, And a cattle dog and pack-horse Are struggling up the bank. But in the lonely homestead The girl will wait in vain - He'll never pass the stations In charge of stock again. The faithful dog a moment Sits panting on the bank, And then swims through the current To where his master sank. And round and round in circles He fights with failing strength, Till, borne down by the waters, The old dog sinks at length. Across the flooded lowlands And slopes of sodden loam The pack-horse struggles onward, To take dumb tidings home. And mud-stained, wet, and weary, Through ranges dark goes he; While hobble-chains and tinware Are sounding eerily. The floods are in the ocean, The stream is clear again, And now a verdant carpet Is stretched across the plain. But someone's eyes are saddened, And someone's heart still bleeds In sorrow for the drover Who sleeps among the reeds.

ballad

Input: [Form: ballad] Poem: Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain, Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again. And well his stock-horse bears him, And light of heart is he, And stoutly his old pack-horse Is trotting by his knee. Up Queensland way with cattle He travelled regions vast; And many months have vanished Since home-folk saw him last. He hums a song of someone He hopes to marry soon; And hobble-chains and camp-ware Keep jingling to the tune. Beyond the hazy dado Against the lower skies And yon blue line of ranges The homestead station lies. And thitherward the drover Jogs through the lazy noon, While hobble-chains and camp-ware Are jingling to a tune. An hour has filled the heavens With storm-clouds inky black; At times the lightning trickles Around the drover's track; But Harry pushes onward, His horses' strength he tries, In hope to reach the river Before the flood shall rise. The thunder from above him Goes rolling o'er the plain; And down on thirsty pastures In torrents falls the rain. And every creek and gully Sends forth its little flood, Till the river runs a banker, All stained with yellow mud. Now Harry speaks to Rover, The best dog on the plains, And to his hardy horses, And strokes their shaggy manes; `We've breasted bigger rivers When floods were at their height Nor shall this gutter stop us From getting home to-night!' The thunder growls a warning, The ghastly lightnings gleam, As the drover turns his horses To swim the fatal stream. But, oh! the flood runs stronger Than e'er it ran before; The saddle-horse is failing, And only half-way o'er! When flashes next the lightning, The flood's grey breast is blank, And a cattle dog and pack-horse Are struggling up the bank. But in the lonely homestead The girl will wait in vain - He'll never pass the stations In charge of stock again. The faithful dog a moment Sits panting on the bank, And then swims through the current To where his master sank. And round and round in circles He fights with failing strength, Till, borne down by the waters, The old dog sinks at length. Across the flooded lowlands And slopes of sodden loam The pack-horse struggles onward, To take dumb tidings home. And mud-stained, wet, and weary, Through ranges dark goes he; While hobble-chains and tinware Are sounding eerily. The floods are in the ocean, The stream is clear again, And now a verdant carpet Is stretched across the plain. But someone's eyes are saddened, And someone's heart still bleeds In sorrow for the drover Who sleeps among the reeds.

Frank carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats; He eats more than six, and drinks more than he eats. Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes, And seasons his whiffs with impertinent jokes: Yet sighing, he says we must certainly break, And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak, For of late I invite him - but four times a week.

epigram

Input: [Form: epigram] Poem: Frank carves very ill, yet will palm all the meats; He eats more than six, and drinks more than he eats. Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes, And seasons his whiffs with impertinent jokes: Yet sighing, he says we must certainly break, And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak, For of late I invite him - but four times a week.

The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go or driven like hail stream bitterly out to one side and fall where the salvias, hard carmine-- like no leaf that ever was-- edge the bare garden.

winter

Input: [Topic: winter] Poem: The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go or driven like hail stream bitterly out to one side and fall where the salvias, hard carmine-- like no leaf that ever was-- edge the bare garden.

I have special family memories Of when I was just a child My family did things together More often than once in awhile We would go to church together Then afterward a Sunday drive With roast beef and mashed potatoes When back home we’d later arrive We’d to go the movies on occasion My mom, dad, brother and me I remember especially seeing Bambi Although that was sad for me to see But family is so important It creates a special bond I have many family memories Of which I’m so terribly fond!

family

Input: [Topic: family] Poem: I have special family memories Of when I was just a child My family did things together More often than once in awhile We would go to church together Then afterward a Sunday drive With roast beef and mashed potatoes When back home we’d later arrive We’d to go the movies on occasion My mom, dad, brother and me I remember especially seeing Bambi Although that was sad for me to see But family is so important It creates a special bond I have many family memories Of which I’m so terribly fond!

Lo! in the paintedoriel of the West, Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines, Like a fair lady at her casement, shines The evening star, the star of love and rest! And then anon she doth herself divest Of all her radiant garments, and reclines Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines, With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed. O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus! My morning and my evening star of love! My best and gentlest lady! even thus, As that fair planet in the sky above, Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, And from thy darkened window fades the light.

star

Input: [Topic: star] Poem: Lo! in the paintedoriel of the West, Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines, Like a fair lady at her casement, shines The evening star, the star of love and rest! And then anon she doth herself divest Of all her radiant garments, and reclines Behind the sombre screen of yonder pines, With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed. O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus! My morning and my evening star of love! My best and gentlest lady! even thus, As that fair planet in the sky above, Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, And from thy darkened window fades the light.

Many of you out there will have encountered a world of calamity and ruin with one last gasp at the end of it and clearly labelled the instructions: “this Day the Suprise Transport” “port Saild from this” and so on. Not on our planet yet still that destination lingers – terminus, “animae viles, a sort of excrementitious mass, that could be projected, and accordingly was projected – ” as detritus, cast “from the depth of a shipwreck” floundering in the blast of an abandoned broadcast – “Sudden effluvial aftermath here. Have encountered daze without number...” – doomed emission, vast dump “which departs from itself” as a wheezed, unavoidable, looming exhalation – insidious galactic bloom whose drift is a swift mutation aboard that soundtrack lumbering in the background, strange clank or muffled boom heralding a dank impending cloudbank possibly or black-and-white photograph taken on the moon, featuring I, quaint blip, feinted relic ’mid dim reverberations e.g. ghost in portalled tomb whose blundered destination plunges on – old death throes rattle in the deep, where the dice cup heaves up sleep I’m leaving. Denizens, sensitive as always, I remain captain of the spaceship “Isle of Destolation” creepily dotted about my photo – where it roams, approximations of despair breathing malice pass by in the wake of an interest I no longer maintain, who fondly recall how to comb myself and shave my hair and park my coat and hat in the hall. Sincerely I resemble all those who have written to me with letters of condolence, whether edifice or orifice, bit or whole. “Though alien drones and foreign hums within me thrive... ” strange feeling of sudden distinction was creeping upon me convinced of its authenticity, spurting up like a hideous gas and the whole mass imploding into its own brief fumes. Oddly, I began my radio career as a swarm of bees. Some still speak of it and I go on and on about it, as befits my condition. For example, this transmission explains why someone of approximately my own age and intelligence suddenly led me across the large laboratory, Firkon, Zuhl and the others all following. Frankly I could have disintegrated in a pilot’s suit of the same style “whereby hangs an immense bridge” chomping away at the background as we reached the platform. Firkon suggested looking down into the elevator shaft “Notice anything? ” and when I did, saw three more floors or deck levels below. “At each level a bridge or balcony...” projected into the shaft contra-indicating the gap dome of saucer between “analogy of the abyss” and his tautology hovered outrageously above it. “We use rudder-post technology to detach the post and reinser it on a short staff carried by a frame – Welcome, 260 thousand cubic centimetres.” At once, I clambered aboard and found that taste of his butthole strangely hypnotic whine of the motor gained in pitch like a twanging ’cello string. Spike took up the “How long must I wait? I mean – ” ... A tremor ran through the hull of the Moonraker... A pencil fell from the instrument ta... “I – I’m not sure... Always together in this darned silence, midground hard to determine between both and neither, column and house.” (I could see right away what these things had in common: they were all crap. I decided to demonstrate this by tying strings between various objects.) “My first close-up shot of the moon filled me with cold foreboding” – i.e. stillness, a lack of “Thank you” amid the harsh glare of remnants, bright greys and sooty blacks, the jagged, razor-sharp outlines of the crags – and no living thing but me, crater. “I? But I am an expert! I have so much to discover! My ‘shallow cell’ theory – ” a twelve-foot cylinder mounted on two pairs of caterpillar tracks glanced to the left, in the direction of the pit. From this I could disappear into a narrow, walled valley several miles away. Suddenly, there I was, ethereal vapour trails cut deep between the intermittent static dispatched amid stygian fumes his only glue then split.

bio

Input: [Form: bio] Poem: Many of you out there will have encountered a world of calamity and ruin with one last gasp at the end of it and clearly labelled the instructions: “this Day the Suprise Transport” “port Saild from this” and so on. Not on our planet yet still that destination lingers – terminus, “animae viles, a sort of excrementitious mass, that could be projected, and accordingly was projected – ” as detritus, cast “from the depth of a shipwreck” floundering in the blast of an abandoned broadcast – “Sudden effluvial aftermath here. Have encountered daze without number...” – doomed emission, vast dump “which departs from itself” as a wheezed, unavoidable, looming exhalation – insidious galactic bloom whose drift is a swift mutation aboard that soundtrack lumbering in the background, strange clank or muffled boom heralding a dank impending cloudbank possibly or black-and-white photograph taken on the moon, featuring I, quaint blip, feinted relic ’mid dim reverberations e.g. ghost in portalled tomb whose blundered destination plunges on – old death throes rattle in the deep, where the dice cup heaves up sleep I’m leaving. Denizens, sensitive as always, I remain captain of the spaceship “Isle of Destolation” creepily dotted about my photo – where it roams, approximations of despair breathing malice pass by in the wake of an interest I no longer maintain, who fondly recall how to comb myself and shave my hair and park my coat and hat in the hall. Sincerely I resemble all those who have written to me with letters of condolence, whether edifice or orifice, bit or whole. “Though alien drones and foreign hums within me thrive... ” strange feeling of sudden distinction was creeping upon me convinced of its authenticity, spurting up like a hideous gas and the whole mass imploding into its own brief fumes. Oddly, I began my radio career as a swarm of bees. Some still speak of it and I go on and on about it, as befits my condition. For example, this transmission explains why someone of approximately my own age and intelligence suddenly led me across the large laboratory, Firkon, Zuhl and the others all following. Frankly I could have disintegrated in a pilot’s suit of the same style “whereby hangs an immense bridge” chomping away at the background as we reached the platform. Firkon suggested looking down into the elevator shaft “Notice anything? ” and when I did, saw three more floors or deck levels below. “At each level a bridge or balcony...” projected into the shaft contra-indicating the gap dome of saucer between “analogy of the abyss” and his tautology hovered outrageously above it. “We use rudder-post technology to detach the post and reinser it on a short staff carried by a frame – Welcome, 260 thousand cubic centimetres.” At once, I clambered aboard and found that taste of his butthole strangely hypnotic whine of the motor gained in pitch like a twanging ’cello string. Spike took up the “How long must I wait? I mean – ” ... A tremor ran through the hull of the Moonraker... A pencil fell from the instrument ta... “I – I’m not sure... Always together in this darned silence, midground hard to determine between both and neither, column and house.” (I could see right away what these things had in common: they were all crap. I decided to demonstrate this by tying strings between various objects.) “My first close-up shot of the moon filled me with cold foreboding” – i.e. stillness, a lack of “Thank you” amid the harsh glare of remnants, bright greys and sooty blacks, the jagged, razor-sharp outlines of the crags – and no living thing but me, crater. “I? But I am an expert! I have so much to discover! My ‘shallow cell’ theory – ” a twelve-foot cylinder mounted on two pairs of caterpillar tracks glanced to the left, in the direction of the pit. From this I could disappear into a narrow, walled valley several miles away. Suddenly, there I was, ethereal vapour trails cut deep between the intermittent static dispatched amid stygian fumes his only glue then split.

A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook, That went to help the sea. Myself conjectured, Were they pearls, What necklaces could be! The dust replaced in hoisted roads, The birds jocoser sung; The sunshine threw his hat away, The orchards spangles hung. The breezes brought dejected lutes, And bathed them in the glee; The East put out a single flag, And signed the fete away.

summer

Input: [Topic: summer] Poem: A drop fell on the apple tree, Another on the roof; A half a dozen kissed the eaves, And made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook, That went to help the sea. Myself conjectured, Were they pearls, What necklaces could be! The dust replaced in hoisted roads, The birds jocoser sung; The sunshine threw his hat away, The orchards spangles hung. The breezes brought dejected lutes, And bathed them in the glee; The East put out a single flag, And signed the fete away.

In Lusher park I met a young woman in her early twenties maybe The sun was in her golden hair she said good day to me A happy smile lit up her face and warmth in her friendly hi And all around the sunlit park she spread her gift of joy. A woman happy in herself and of care she did seem free The brighter and happier side of life her type can only see A woman with a cheery smile and warmth in her hello She will spread her gift of happiness where ever she will go. The lories and rosellas chirped on the trees and white backed magpie sung And there was warmth in the breeze and the day was fresh and young As she walked on down the pathway the one with the inner glow And the brightness that is in her soul in her body language show. I was feeling in a neutral mood not happy or not sad Not feeling sorry for myself or angry with the World my life is not so bad Till a young woman with a cheerful smile greeted me with a good day And she spread her gift of happiness as she walked upon her way.

happiness

Input: [Topic: happiness] Poem: In Lusher park I met a young woman in her early twenties maybe The sun was in her golden hair she said good day to me A happy smile lit up her face and warmth in her friendly hi And all around the sunlit park she spread her gift of joy. A woman happy in herself and of care she did seem free The brighter and happier side of life her type can only see A woman with a cheery smile and warmth in her hello She will spread her gift of happiness where ever she will go. The lories and rosellas chirped on the trees and white backed magpie sung And there was warmth in the breeze and the day was fresh and young As she walked on down the pathway the one with the inner glow And the brightness that is in her soul in her body language show. I was feeling in a neutral mood not happy or not sad Not feeling sorry for myself or angry with the World my life is not so bad Till a young woman with a cheerful smile greeted me with a good day And she spread her gift of happiness as she walked upon her way.

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State, And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life, I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters. When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

death

Input: [Topic: death] Poem: From my mother's sleep I fell into the State, And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life, I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters. When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Entranced by the jewels of youth when mischief rules our minds, and hormones raging, so uncouth, our eyes upon behinds, I fell for you, in tender storms that swelled, beyond the fly, a promise of what might be, resting on the thigh, And yet As you raised your staff upward, towards the sky, the dawning of my vision cleared, and now I merely question... What was I thinking?

lust

Input: [Topic: lust] Poem: Entranced by the jewels of youth when mischief rules our minds, and hormones raging, so uncouth, our eyes upon behinds, I fell for you, in tender storms that swelled, beyond the fly, a promise of what might be, resting on the thigh, And yet As you raised your staff upward, towards the sky, the dawning of my vision cleared, and now I merely question... What was I thinking?

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay Taks up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some other way, I fear, the left-hand road. Stop! there he is, as sur's a gun, Poor, silly body, see him; Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, Observe wha's standing wi' him. Your brunstane devilship, I see, Has got him there before ye; But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, Till ance you've heard my story. Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye have nane; Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gane. But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, Look something to your credit; A coof like him wad stain your name, If it were kent ye did it.

epitaph

Input: [Form: epitaph] Poem: Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay Taks up its last abode; His saul has ta'en some other way, I fear, the left-hand road. Stop! there he is, as sur's a gun, Poor, silly body, see him; Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, Observe wha's standing wi' him. Your brunstane devilship, I see, Has got him there before ye; But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, Till ance you've heard my story. Your pity I will not implore, For pity ye have nane; Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, And mercy's day is gane. But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, Look something to your credit; A coof like him wad stain your name, If it were kent ye did it.

Every time “I” see people…, “I” feel great! “I” feel happy! “I” feel happy to be with them! “I” can see many people with many difference characters! When they feel sad, “I” will feel the same... When they are laughing, “I” will laugh too… But now, “I” only a pieces of an ugly mirror, All “my” beauty has change! “I” can see them anymore! “I” am alone now! Crying alone,

mirror

Input: [Topic: mirror] Poem: Every time “I” see people…, “I” feel great! “I” feel happy! “I” feel happy to be with them! “I” can see many people with many difference characters! When they feel sad, “I” will feel the same... When they are laughing, “I” will laugh too… But now, “I” only a pieces of an ugly mirror, All “my” beauty has change! “I” can see them anymore! “I” am alone now! Crying alone,

Here I am with my heart Giving what I can give Every peace moments whiles So much giving from their smiles I have you as you have me Inside love and outside out Everything most people talk about I don’t want to show loneliness Though it greets me every day Sometimes I feel all with pleasure inside While the shadows away will glide Every friend indeed needs a friend Giving their need and efforts lend Sometimes I feel all with pleasure inside While the shadows away will glide Every friend indeed needs a friend Giving their need and efforts lend Here I am with my heart Walking miles of inside roads Feeling something to do or start With every mood in down low loads All my friends are just like this Feelings lonely in what they miss Sometimes I feel all with pleasure inside While the shadows away will glide Every friend indeed needs a friend Giving their need and efforts lend Here I am with my heart Giving what I can give Here I am with my heart Walking miles of inside roads

sometimes

Input: [Topic: sometimes] Poem: Here I am with my heart Giving what I can give Every peace moments whiles So much giving from their smiles I have you as you have me Inside love and outside out Everything most people talk about I don’t want to show loneliness Though it greets me every day Sometimes I feel all with pleasure inside While the shadows away will glide Every friend indeed needs a friend Giving their need and efforts lend Sometimes I feel all with pleasure inside While the shadows away will glide Every friend indeed needs a friend Giving their need and efforts lend Here I am with my heart Walking miles of inside roads Feeling something to do or start With every mood in down low loads All my friends are just like this Feelings lonely in what they miss Sometimes I feel all with pleasure inside While the shadows away will glide Every friend indeed needs a friend Giving their need and efforts lend Here I am with my heart Giving what I can give Here I am with my heart Walking miles of inside roads

You open with the red sun with small petals that run over walls from tiny seeds in purple-blue small cups everywhere streaming up. People see you as a weed while in clusters you grow opening from the first glow, are very lovely indeed.

balassi-stanza

Input: [Form: balassi-stanza] Poem: You open with the red sun with small petals that run over walls from tiny seeds in purple-blue small cups everywhere streaming up. People see you as a weed while in clusters you grow opening from the first glow, are very lovely indeed.

When the herds were watching In the midnight chill, Came a spotless lambkin From the heavenly hill. Snow was on the mountains, And the wind was cold, When from God's own garden Dropped a rose of gold. ~~~~~ When 'twas bitter winter, Houseless and forlorn In a star-lit stable Christ the Babe was born. Welcome, heavenly lambkin; Welcome, golden rose; Alleluia, Baby, In the swaddling clothes!

carol

Input: [Form: carol] Poem: When the herds were watching In the midnight chill, Came a spotless lambkin From the heavenly hill. Snow was on the mountains, And the wind was cold, When from God's own garden Dropped a rose of gold. ~~~~~ When 'twas bitter winter, Houseless and forlorn In a star-lit stable Christ the Babe was born. Welcome, heavenly lambkin; Welcome, golden rose; Alleluia, Baby, In the swaddling clothes!

Cytherea, thy dainty Adonis is dying! Ah, what shall we do? O Nymphs, let it echo, the voice of your crying, The greenwood through! O Forest-maidens, smite on the breast, Rend ye the delicate-woven vest! Let the wail ring wild and high: 'Ah for Adonis!' cry. O Sappho, how canst thou chant the bliss Of Kypris — after such day as this? 'Oh Adonis, thou leavest me — woe for my lot! And Eros, my servant, availeth me not!' So wails Cytherea, grief-distraught. 'Who shall console me for thee? There is none — Not Ares my god-lover, passionate one Who sware in his jealousy forth to hale Hephaestus my spouse from his palace, if he Dared but to lift his eyes unto me. Not he can console me, Adonis, for thee!' Wail for Adonis, wail!

lament

Input: [Form: lament] Poem: Cytherea, thy dainty Adonis is dying! Ah, what shall we do? O Nymphs, let it echo, the voice of your crying, The greenwood through! O Forest-maidens, smite on the breast, Rend ye the delicate-woven vest! Let the wail ring wild and high: 'Ah for Adonis!' cry. O Sappho, how canst thou chant the bliss Of Kypris — after such day as this? 'Oh Adonis, thou leavest me — woe for my lot! And Eros, my servant, availeth me not!' So wails Cytherea, grief-distraught. 'Who shall console me for thee? There is none — Not Ares my god-lover, passionate one Who sware in his jealousy forth to hale Hephaestus my spouse from his palace, if he Dared but to lift his eyes unto me. Not he can console me, Adonis, for thee!' Wail for Adonis, wail!

when we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one another. A bit of grass held between the teeth for a moment, bright hair on the wind. What we were we did not know, nor even the grass or the flame of hair turning to ash on the wind. But they lied about that. From the beginning they lied. To the child, telling him that there was somewhere anger against him, and a hatred against him, and the only reason for his being in the world. But never did they tell him that the only evil and danger was in themselves; that they alone were the prisoners and the betrayers; that they - they alone - were responsible for what was being done in the world. And they told the child to starve and to kill the child that was within him; for only by doing this could he become a useful and adjusted member of the community which they had prepared for him. And this time, alas, they did not lie. And with the death of the child was born a thing that had neither the character of a man nor the character of a child, but was a horrible and monstrous parody of the two; and it is in this world now that the flesh of man’s spirit lies twisted and despoiled under the indifferent stars. When we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one another. O green the bit of warm grass between our teeth. O beautiful the hair of our mortal goddess on the indifferent wind.

together

Input: [Topic: together] Poem: when we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one another. A bit of grass held between the teeth for a moment, bright hair on the wind. What we were we did not know, nor even the grass or the flame of hair turning to ash on the wind. But they lied about that. From the beginning they lied. To the child, telling him that there was somewhere anger against him, and a hatred against him, and the only reason for his being in the world. But never did they tell him that the only evil and danger was in themselves; that they alone were the prisoners and the betrayers; that they - they alone - were responsible for what was being done in the world. And they told the child to starve and to kill the child that was within him; for only by doing this could he become a useful and adjusted member of the community which they had prepared for him. And this time, alas, they did not lie. And with the death of the child was born a thing that had neither the character of a man nor the character of a child, but was a horrible and monstrous parody of the two; and it is in this world now that the flesh of man’s spirit lies twisted and despoiled under the indifferent stars. When we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one another. O green the bit of warm grass between our teeth. O beautiful the hair of our mortal goddess on the indifferent wind.

When the road gets dark And you can no longer see Just let my love throw a spark And have a little faith in me And when the tears you cry Are all you can believe Just give these loving arms a try And have a little faith in me And Chorus: Have a little faith in me Have a little faith in me Have a little faith in me Have a little faith in me When your secret heart Cannot speak so easily Come here darlin’ From a whisper start To have a little faith in me And when your back’s against the wall Just turn around and you will see I will catch, I will catch your fall baby Just have a little faith in me ***This is a song thats one of my favorits of all time i heard it on the movie 'Benny and Joon' and have loved it ever since.***

faith

Input: [Topic: faith] Poem: When the road gets dark And you can no longer see Just let my love throw a spark And have a little faith in me And when the tears you cry Are all you can believe Just give these loving arms a try And have a little faith in me And Chorus: Have a little faith in me Have a little faith in me Have a little faith in me Have a little faith in me When your secret heart Cannot speak so easily Come here darlin’ From a whisper start To have a little faith in me And when your back’s against the wall Just turn around and you will see I will catch, I will catch your fall baby Just have a little faith in me ***This is a song thats one of my favorits of all time i heard it on the movie 'Benny and Joon' and have loved it ever since.***

THE dinner-bell, the dinner-bell Is ringing loud and clear; Through hill and plain, through street and lane, It echoes far and near; From curtained hall and whitewashed stall, Wherever men can hide, Like bursting waves from ocean caves, They float upon the tide. I smell the smell of roasted meat! I hear the hissing fry The beggars know where they can go, But where, oh where shall I? At twelve o'clock men took my hand, At two they only stare, And eye me with a fearful look, As if I were a bear! The poet lays his laurels down, And hastens to his greens; The happy tailor quits his goose, To riot on his beans; The weary cobbler snaps his thread, The printer leaves his pi; His very devil hath a home, But what, oh what have I? Methinks I hear an angel voice, That softly seems to say 'Pale stranger, all may yet be well, Then wipe thy tears away; Erect thy head, and cock thy hat, And follow me afar, And thou shalt have a jolly meal, And charge it at the bar.' I hear the voice! I go! I go! Prepare your meat and wine! They little heed their future need Who pay not when they dine. Give me to-day the rosy bowl, Give me one golden dream,-- To-morrow kick away the stool, And dangle from the beam!

lyric

Input: [Form: lyric] Poem: THE dinner-bell, the dinner-bell Is ringing loud and clear; Through hill and plain, through street and lane, It echoes far and near; From curtained hall and whitewashed stall, Wherever men can hide, Like bursting waves from ocean caves, They float upon the tide. I smell the smell of roasted meat! I hear the hissing fry The beggars know where they can go, But where, oh where shall I? At twelve o'clock men took my hand, At two they only stare, And eye me with a fearful look, As if I were a bear! The poet lays his laurels down, And hastens to his greens; The happy tailor quits his goose, To riot on his beans; The weary cobbler snaps his thread, The printer leaves his pi; His very devil hath a home, But what, oh what have I? Methinks I hear an angel voice, That softly seems to say 'Pale stranger, all may yet be well, Then wipe thy tears away; Erect thy head, and cock thy hat, And follow me afar, And thou shalt have a jolly meal, And charge it at the bar.' I hear the voice! I go! I go! Prepare your meat and wine! They little heed their future need Who pay not when they dine. Give me to-day the rosy bowl, Give me one golden dream,-- To-morrow kick away the stool, And dangle from the beam!

YE true "Loyal Natives" attend to my song In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; From Envy and Hatred your corps is exempt, But where is your shield from the darts of Contempt!

epigram

Input: [Form: epigram] Poem: YE true "Loyal Natives" attend to my song In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; From Envy and Hatred your corps is exempt, But where is your shield from the darts of Contempt!

Thoughts are jumbled in my mind as they roll and tumble undefined......CRAZY < br> Copyright 2009 OneLine Poet

crazy

Input: [Topic: crazy] Poem: Thoughts are jumbled in my mind as they roll and tumble undefined......CRAZY < br> Copyright 2009 OneLine Poet

I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.

night

Input: [Topic: night] Poem: I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.

I cry when I am hurting and sometimes when I'm sad. I cry when I get punished 'cause I've done something bad. I cry when I am angry (that means when I'm mad) , but grownups sure are funny... Mommy cries when she is glad.

children

Input: [Topic: children] Poem: I cry when I am hurting and sometimes when I'm sad. I cry when I get punished 'cause I've done something bad. I cry when I am angry (that means when I'm mad) , but grownups sure are funny... Mommy cries when she is glad.

Waxing Bodies, Waning Minds, Dried up Souls, Ha...America!

america

Input: [Topic: america] Poem: Waxing Bodies, Waning Minds, Dried up Souls, Ha...America!

Pleurez mes yeux, et vous fondez en eau, Toute ma joie est enclose au tombeau. Un jeune enfant, ma chère nourriture Vient d'être mis dans cette sépulture. Qui le croirait ! c'est le petit Rondeau. Je fus son père, et sa mère Isabeau. Ô vous jadis qui le vîtes si beau, Chaste Julie, après cette aventure, Pleurez. Et toi, Phébus, trace de ton pinceau Dessus sa tombe un superbe tableau, Où soient dépeints en moult belle figure Les plus hauts faits du feu petit Voiture ; Pour vous, passants, voyant cet écriteau, Pleurez.

rondeau

Input: [Form: rondeau] Poem: Pleurez mes yeux, et vous fondez en eau, Toute ma joie est enclose au tombeau. Un jeune enfant, ma chère nourriture Vient d'être mis dans cette sépulture. Qui le croirait ! c'est le petit Rondeau. Je fus son père, et sa mère Isabeau. Ô vous jadis qui le vîtes si beau, Chaste Julie, après cette aventure, Pleurez. Et toi, Phébus, trace de ton pinceau Dessus sa tombe un superbe tableau, Où soient dépeints en moult belle figure Les plus hauts faits du feu petit Voiture ; Pour vous, passants, voyant cet écriteau, Pleurez.

Silo straw piles Working there two guys, A young lad And an old chap, To make some straw feed For the cattle of their lord. Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │ 5 January,2018

bucolic

Input: [Form: bucolic] Poem: Silo straw piles Working there two guys, A young lad And an old chap, To make some straw feed For the cattle of their lord. Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │ 5 January,2018