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1
Lo dì che han detto a' dolci amici addio.
- Dante
Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!
- Petrarca
Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
Or come not yet, for it is over then,
And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest when:"
For one man is my world of all the men
This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
When life was sweet because you call'd them sweet?
2
Era già 1'ora che volge il desio.
- Dante
Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima.
- Petrarca
I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seem'd to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!
3
O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto!
- Dante
Immaginata guida la conduce.
- Petrarca
I dream of you to wake: would that I might
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As summer ended summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in sight,
I blush again who waking look so wan;
Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
Thus only in a dream we give and take
The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.
4
Poca favilla gran fliamma seconda.
- Dante
Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore,
E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore.
- Petrarca
I lov'd you first: but afterwards your love
Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
As drown'd the friendly cooings of my dove.
Which owes the other most? my love was long,
And yours one moment seem'd to wax more strong;
I lov'd and guess'd at you, you construed me--
And lov'd me for what might or might not be
Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.
For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;"
With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done,
For one is both and both are one in love:
Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;"
Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
Both of us, of the love which makes us one.
5
Amor che a nullo amato amar perdona.
- Dante
Amor m'addusse in sì gioiosa spene.
- Petrarca
O my heart's heart, and you who are to me
More than myself myself, God be with you,
Keep you in strong obedience leal and true
To Him whose noble service setteth free,
Give you all good we see or can foresee,
Make your joys many and your sorrows few,
Bless you in what you bear and what you do,
Yea, perfect you as He would have you be.
So much for you; but what for me, dear friend?
To love you without stint and all I can
Today, tomorrow, world without an end;
To love you much and yet to love you more,
As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore;
Since woman is the helpmeet made for man.
6
Or puoi la quantitate
Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda.
- Dante
Non vo' che da tal nodo mi scioglia.
- Petrarca
Trust me, I have not earn'd your dear rebuke,
I love, as you would have me, God the most;
Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost,
Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look
Unready to forego what I forsook;
This say I, having counted up the cost,
This, though I be the feeblest of God's host,
The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook.
Yet while I love my God the most, I deem
That I can never love you overmuch;
I love Him more, so let me love you too;
Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such
I cannot love you if I love not Him,
I cannot love Him if I love not you.
7
Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto.
- Dante
Ragionando con meco ed io con lui.
- Petrarca
"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me,
"Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand
As happy equals in the flowering land
Of love, that knows not a dividing sea.
Love builds the house on rock and not on sand,
Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately;
And who hath found love's citadel unmann'd?
And who hath held in bonds love's liberty?
My heart's a coward though my words are brave
We meet so seldom, yet we surely part
So often; there's a problem for your art!
Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith,
Though jealousy be cruel as the grave,
And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.
8
Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme.
- Dante
Spero trovar pietà non che perdono.
- Petrarca
"I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake:
And bride of life or death she made her fair
In all the lustre of her perfum'd hair
And smiles that kindle longing but to slake.
She put on pomp of loveliness, to take
Her husband through his eyes at unaware;
She spread abroad her beauty for a snare,
Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake.
She trapp'd him with one mesh of silken hair,
She vanquish'd him by wisdom of her wit,
And built her people's house that it should stand:--
If I might take my life so in my hand,
And for my love to Love put up my prayer,
And for love's sake by Love be granted it!
9
O dignitosa coscienza e netta!
- Dante
Spirto più acceso di virtuti ardenti.
- Petrarca
Thinking of you, and all that was, and all
That might have been and now can never be,
I feel your honour'd excellence, and see
Myself unworthy of the happier call:
For woe is me who walk so apt to fall,
So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee,
Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!)
Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall.
And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite,
Because not loveless; love may toil all night,
But take at morning; wrestle till the break
Of day, but then wield power with God and man:--
So take I heart of grace as best I can,
Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.
10
Con miglior corso e con migliore stella.
- Dante
La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora.
- Petrarca
Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing;
Death following hard on life gains ground apace;
Faith runs with each and rears an eager face,
Outruns the rest, makes light of everything,
Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing;
While love ahead of all uplifts his praise,
Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace,
Content with all day brings and night will bring.
Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above
Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse,
Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace:
A little while, and age and sorrow cease;
A little while, and life reborn annuls
Loss and decay and death, and all is love.
11
Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti.
- Dante
Contando i casi della vita nostra.
- Petrarca
Many in aftertimes will say of you
"He lov'd her"--while of me what will they say?
Not that I lov'd you more than just in play,
For fashion's sake as idle women do.
Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
My love of you was life and not a breath.
12
Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona.
- Dante
Amor vien nel bel viso di costei.
- Petrarca
If there be any one can take my place
And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve,
Think not that I can grudge it, but believe
I do commend you to that nobler grace,
That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face;
Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive
I too am crown'd, while bridal crowns I weave,
And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace.
For if I did not love you, it might be
That I should grudge you some one dear delight;
But since the heart is yours that was mine own,
Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right,
Your honourable freedom makes me free,
And you companion'd I am not alone.
13
E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore.
- Dante
Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia.
- Petrarca
If I could trust mine own self with your fate,
Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand?
Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand,
Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date;
Who numbereth the innumerable sand,
Who weighs the wind and water with a weight,
To Whom the world is neither small nor great,
Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we plann'd.
Searching my heart for all that touches you,
I find there only love and love's goodwill
Helpless to help and impotent to do,
Of understanding dull, of sight most dim;
And therefore I commend you back to Him
Whose love your love's capacity can fill.
14
E la Sua Volontade è nostra pace.
- Dante
Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome.
- Petrarca
Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there
Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this;
Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss?
I will not bind fresh roses in my hair,
To shame a cheek at best but little fair,--
Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,--
I will not seek for blossoms anywhere,
Except such common flowers as blow with corn.
Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain?
The longing of a heart pent up forlorn,
A silent heart whose silence loves and longs;
The silence of a heart which sang its songs
While youth and beauty made a summer morn,
Silence of love that cannot sing again. | sonnet | null | Input: [Form: sonnet]
Poem:
1
Lo dì che han detto a' dolci amici addio.
- Dante
Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!
- Petrarca
Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
Or come not yet, for it is over then,
And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest when:"
For one man is my world of all the men
This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
When life was sweet because you call'd them sweet?
2
Era già 1'ora che volge il desio.
- Dante
Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima.
- Petrarca
I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seem'd to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!
3
O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto!
- Dante
Immaginata guida la conduce.
- Petrarca
I dream of you to wake: would that I might
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As summer ended summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in sight,
I blush again who waking look so wan;
Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
Thus only in a dream we give and take
The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.
4
Poca favilla gran fliamma seconda.
- Dante
Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore,
E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore.
- Petrarca
I lov'd you first: but afterwards your love
Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
As drown'd the friendly cooings of my dove.
Which owes the other most? my love was long,
And yours one moment seem'd to wax more strong;
I lov'd and guess'd at you, you construed me--
And lov'd me for what might or might not be
Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.
For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;"
With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done,
For one is both and both are one in love:
Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;"
Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
Both of us, of the love which makes us one.
5
Amor che a nullo amato amar perdona.
- Dante
Amor m'addusse in sì gioiosa spene.
- Petrarca
O my heart's heart, and you who are to me
More than myself myself, God be with you,
Keep you in strong obedience leal and true
To Him whose noble service setteth free,
Give you all good we see or can foresee,
Make your joys many and your sorrows few,
Bless you in what you bear and what you do,
Yea, perfect you as He would have you be.
So much for you; but what for me, dear friend?
To love you without stint and all I can
Today, tomorrow, world without an end;
To love you much and yet to love you more,
As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore;
Since woman is the helpmeet made for man.
6
Or puoi la quantitate
Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda.
- Dante
Non vo' che da tal nodo mi scioglia.
- Petrarca
Trust me, I have not earn'd your dear rebuke,
I love, as you would have me, God the most;
Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost,
Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look
Unready to forego what I forsook;
This say I, having counted up the cost,
This, though I be the feeblest of God's host,
The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook.
Yet while I love my God the most, I deem
That I can never love you overmuch;
I love Him more, so let me love you too;
Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such
I cannot love you if I love not Him,
I cannot love Him if I love not you.
7
Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto.
- Dante
Ragionando con meco ed io con lui.
- Petrarca
"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me,
"Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand
As happy equals in the flowering land
Of love, that knows not a dividing sea.
Love builds the house on rock and not on sand,
Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately;
And who hath found love's citadel unmann'd?
And who hath held in bonds love's liberty?
My heart's a coward though my words are brave
We meet so seldom, yet we surely part
So often; there's a problem for your art!
Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith,
Though jealousy be cruel as the grave,
And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.
8
Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme.
- Dante
Spero trovar pietà non che perdono.
- Petrarca
"I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake:
And bride of life or death she made her fair
In all the lustre of her perfum'd hair
And smiles that kindle longing but to slake.
She put on pomp of loveliness, to take
Her husband through his eyes at unaware;
She spread abroad her beauty for a snare,
Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake.
She trapp'd him with one mesh of silken hair,
She vanquish'd him by wisdom of her wit,
And built her people's house that it should stand:--
If I might take my life so in my hand,
And for my love to Love put up my prayer,
And for love's sake by Love be granted it!
9
O dignitosa coscienza e netta!
- Dante
Spirto più acceso di virtuti ardenti.
- Petrarca
Thinking of you, and all that was, and all
That might have been and now can never be,
I feel your honour'd excellence, and see
Myself unworthy of the happier call:
For woe is me who walk so apt to fall,
So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee,
Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!)
Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall.
And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite,
Because not loveless; love may toil all night,
But take at morning; wrestle till the break
Of day, but then wield power with God and man:--
So take I heart of grace as best I can,
Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.
10
Con miglior corso e con migliore stella.
- Dante
La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora.
- Petrarca
Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing;
Death following hard on life gains ground apace;
Faith runs with each and rears an eager face,
Outruns the rest, makes light of everything,
Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing;
While love ahead of all uplifts his praise,
Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace,
Content with all day brings and night will bring.
Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above
Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse,
Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace:
A little while, and age and sorrow cease;
A little while, and life reborn annuls
Loss and decay and death, and all is love.
11
Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti.
- Dante
Contando i casi della vita nostra.
- Petrarca
Many in aftertimes will say of you
"He lov'd her"--while of me what will they say?
Not that I lov'd you more than just in play,
For fashion's sake as idle women do.
Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
My love of you was life and not a breath.
12
Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona.
- Dante
Amor vien nel bel viso di costei.
- Petrarca
If there be any one can take my place
And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve,
Think not that I can grudge it, but believe
I do commend you to that nobler grace,
That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face;
Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive
I too am crown'd, while bridal crowns I weave,
And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace.
For if I did not love you, it might be
That I should grudge you some one dear delight;
But since the heart is yours that was mine own,
Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right,
Your honourable freedom makes me free,
And you companion'd I am not alone.
13
E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore.
- Dante
Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia.
- Petrarca
If I could trust mine own self with your fate,
Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand?
Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand,
Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date;
Who numbereth the innumerable sand,
Who weighs the wind and water with a weight,
To Whom the world is neither small nor great,
Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we plann'd.
Searching my heart for all that touches you,
I find there only love and love's goodwill
Helpless to help and impotent to do,
Of understanding dull, of sight most dim;
And therefore I commend you back to Him
Whose love your love's capacity can fill.
14
E la Sua Volontade è nostra pace.
- Dante
Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome.
- Petrarca
Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there
Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this;
Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss?
I will not bind fresh roses in my hair,
To shame a cheek at best but little fair,--
Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,--
I will not seek for blossoms anywhere,
Except such common flowers as blow with corn.
Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain?
The longing of a heart pent up forlorn,
A silent heart whose silence loves and longs;
The silence of a heart which sang its songs
While youth and beauty made a summer morn,
Silence of love that cannot sing again. |
The feel of your teeth
On my ear lobe,
Your nails
Raking a trail of red
On my back.
The slippery tango
Of our tongues.
Our nips and nibbles
All over,
Leaving no spot
A virgin
My hungry mouth
Ravishing,
The source
Of your elixir.
The not so gentle
Assault
Of your tongue
On my pride,
Pushing me to the edge…
As you pull me
Into you
Like a predator
Your eyes
Dilate
Like a victim’s.
Hard,
Soft;
Holding back,
Letting go;
Pleasure,
Pain;
Satiation,
Hunger….
The paradox
Of lust –
An eternal enigma. | null | lust | Input: [Topic: lust]
Poem:
The feel of your teeth
On my ear lobe,
Your nails
Raking a trail of red
On my back.
The slippery tango
Of our tongues.
Our nips and nibbles
All over,
Leaving no spot
A virgin
My hungry mouth
Ravishing,
The source
Of your elixir.
The not so gentle
Assault
Of your tongue
On my pride,
Pushing me to the edge…
As you pull me
Into you
Like a predator
Your eyes
Dilate
Like a victim’s.
Hard,
Soft;
Holding back,
Letting go;
Pleasure,
Pain;
Satiation,
Hunger….
The paradox
Of lust –
An eternal enigma. |
Carnations grow lovely,
perfect beauty I see
in vivid colours of white
red, pink, some are yellow
with loveliness they glow,
are usually quite bright,
they smell somewhat like cloves,
have purity of doves,
they are flowers drawing sight. | balassi-stanza | null | Input: [Form: balassi-stanza]
Poem:
Carnations grow lovely,
perfect beauty I see
in vivid colours of white
red, pink, some are yellow
with loveliness they glow,
are usually quite bright,
they smell somewhat like cloves,
have purity of doves,
they are flowers drawing sight. |
Music I love - but never strain
Could kindle raptures so divine,
So grief assuage, so conquer pain,
And rouse this pensive heart of mine -
As that we hear on Christmas morn,
Upon the wintry breezes borne.
Though Darkness still her empire keep,
And hours must pass, ere morning break;
From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,
That music kindly bids us wake:
It calls us, with an angel's voice,
To wake, and worship, and rejoice;
To greet with joy the glorious morn,
Which angels welcomed long ago,
When our redeeming Lord was born,
To bring the light of Heaven below;
The Powers of Darkness to dispel,
And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.
While listening to that sacred strain,
My raptured spirit soars on high;
I seem to hear those songs again
Resounding through the open sky,
That kindled such divine delight,
In those who watched their flocks by night.
With them, I celebrate His birth -
Glory to God, in highest Heaven,
Good-will to men, and peace on Earth,
To us a Saviour-king is given;
Our God is come to claim His own,
And Satan's power is overthrown!
A sinless God, for sinful men,
Descends to suffer and to bleed;
Hell must renounce its empire then;
The price is paid, the world is freed,
And Satan's self must now confess,
That Christ has earned a Right to bless:
Now holy Peace may smile from heaven,
And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring:
The captive's galling bonds are riven,
For our Redeemer is our king;
And He that gave his blood for men
Will lead us home to God again.
Acton | null | music | Input: [Topic: music]
Poem:
Music I love - but never strain
Could kindle raptures so divine,
So grief assuage, so conquer pain,
And rouse this pensive heart of mine -
As that we hear on Christmas morn,
Upon the wintry breezes borne.
Though Darkness still her empire keep,
And hours must pass, ere morning break;
From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,
That music kindly bids us wake:
It calls us, with an angel's voice,
To wake, and worship, and rejoice;
To greet with joy the glorious morn,
Which angels welcomed long ago,
When our redeeming Lord was born,
To bring the light of Heaven below;
The Powers of Darkness to dispel,
And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.
While listening to that sacred strain,
My raptured spirit soars on high;
I seem to hear those songs again
Resounding through the open sky,
That kindled such divine delight,
In those who watched their flocks by night.
With them, I celebrate His birth -
Glory to God, in highest Heaven,
Good-will to men, and peace on Earth,
To us a Saviour-king is given;
Our God is come to claim His own,
And Satan's power is overthrown!
A sinless God, for sinful men,
Descends to suffer and to bleed;
Hell must renounce its empire then;
The price is paid, the world is freed,
And Satan's self must now confess,
That Christ has earned a Right to bless:
Now holy Peace may smile from heaven,
And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring:
The captive's galling bonds are riven,
For our Redeemer is our king;
And He that gave his blood for men
Will lead us home to God again.
Acton |
nine minutes and thirty seven seconds
was the time it took for her to fire up her temper and car
while deciding how she was going to end her life or his
the sex had been good for a while but not good enough
that he would keep his promised vows to her
she knew he was going to be with the other woman
she had smelled her all over him at dinner
cheap perfume....he was always a sucker
for lots of lipstick and cheap perfumes...
deep in the mayhem and turmoil of very female emotions
she lunged with a left turn and then hung a wide right
into a highly distracted intersection of cat and mouse
where her small vulnerable car was yonically impacted
by that of his brute Hummer's phallic killer instincts
nine minutes and thirty seven seconds
was the time it took for them to be forever.....joined at the hip | null | together | Input: [Topic: together]
Poem:
nine minutes and thirty seven seconds
was the time it took for her to fire up her temper and car
while deciding how she was going to end her life or his
the sex had been good for a while but not good enough
that he would keep his promised vows to her
she knew he was going to be with the other woman
she had smelled her all over him at dinner
cheap perfume....he was always a sucker
for lots of lipstick and cheap perfumes...
deep in the mayhem and turmoil of very female emotions
she lunged with a left turn and then hung a wide right
into a highly distracted intersection of cat and mouse
where her small vulnerable car was yonically impacted
by that of his brute Hummer's phallic killer instincts
nine minutes and thirty seven seconds
was the time it took for them to be forever.....joined at the hip |
I greet the burden of your soul
and wonder if your heart is whole
when one can hold it out to share
beware of love, beware.
From all this wretched hardship take
a lesson for your wisdom's sake
the future holds its sorrow's share
beware of love, beware.
A last and thoughtful parting word
to one whose broken dreams are heard
take comfort in the moment here
where you can love without the fear.
Fear not to love, Fear not! | null | fear | Input: [Topic: fear]
Poem:
I greet the burden of your soul
and wonder if your heart is whole
when one can hold it out to share
beware of love, beware.
From all this wretched hardship take
a lesson for your wisdom's sake
the future holds its sorrow's share
beware of love, beware.
A last and thoughtful parting word
to one whose broken dreams are heard
take comfort in the moment here
where you can love without the fear.
Fear not to love, Fear not! |
At Christmas i have been listening to it since i was knee height
And i cannot say it fills me with a sense of delight
The carol singers in the park are singing silent night
And among the congregation not an atheist in sight
From generation to generation of Christians this carol has been passed down
And at Christmas sung in every language Worldwide in every village and city and town
And though the sentiments in the words and the music in the carol one can only admire
Of listening to it repeatedly sung over Christmas i for one tend to tire
But we all look at things in a different way
And it is each to their own as the wise one does say
With the carol singers the audience Silent Night sing along
In a show of harmony for peace there can be nothing wrong
The carol singers in the park are singing Silent Night
And among the congregation not an atheist in sight. | carol | null | Input: [Form: carol]
Poem:
At Christmas i have been listening to it since i was knee height
And i cannot say it fills me with a sense of delight
The carol singers in the park are singing silent night
And among the congregation not an atheist in sight
From generation to generation of Christians this carol has been passed down
And at Christmas sung in every language Worldwide in every village and city and town
And though the sentiments in the words and the music in the carol one can only admire
Of listening to it repeatedly sung over Christmas i for one tend to tire
But we all look at things in a different way
And it is each to their own as the wise one does say
With the carol singers the audience Silent Night sing along
In a show of harmony for peace there can be nothing wrong
The carol singers in the park are singing Silent Night
And among the congregation not an atheist in sight. |
Twas the hour before my suicide
Sitting in my room holding a knife
Thinking of family and friends
Contemplating my life
I thought of hanging
But as the knife came closer to my throat
I knew it was quicker
I quickly wrote my farewell note
Nothing was or went right
Anything that could go wrong did
I am often depressed
People treat me like alittle kid
This maybe easy way out
But I don't care
Does anybody love me? I don't know
People seem to hate me everywhere | null | suicide | Input: [Topic: suicide]
Poem:
Twas the hour before my suicide
Sitting in my room holding a knife
Thinking of family and friends
Contemplating my life
I thought of hanging
But as the knife came closer to my throat
I knew it was quicker
I quickly wrote my farewell note
Nothing was or went right
Anything that could go wrong did
I am often depressed
People treat me like alittle kid
This maybe easy way out
But I don't care
Does anybody love me? I don't know
People seem to hate me everywhere |
CALM on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod,
His seal was on thy brow.
Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its place on high!
They that have seen thy look in death
No more may fear to die. | dirge | null | Input: [Form: dirge]
Poem:
CALM on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now!
E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod,
His seal was on thy brow.
Dust, to its narrow house beneath!
Soul, to its place on high!
They that have seen thy look in death
No more may fear to die. |
AH! think no more that Life's delusive joys,
Can charm my thoughts from FRIENDSHIP'S dearer claim;
Or wound a heart, that scarce a wish employs,
For age to censure, or discretion blame.
Tir'd of the world, my weary mind recoils
From splendid scenes, and transitory joys;
From fell Ambition's false and fruitless toils,
From hope that flatters, and from bliss that cloys.
With THEE, above the taunts of empty pride,
The rigid frowns to youthful error given;
Content in solitude my griefs I'll hide,
Thy voice my counsellorthy smiles my Heaven.
With thee I'll hail the morn's returning ray,
Or climb the dewy mountain bleak and cold;
On the smooth lake observe the sun-beams play,
Or mark the infant flow'rs their buds unfold.
Pleas'd will I watch the glitt'ring queen of Night
Spread her white mantle o'er the face of Heaven;
And from thy converse snatch the pure delight,
By truth sublime to MENTAL feeling given.
And as the varying seasons glide away,
This moral lesson shall my bosom learn,
How TIME steals on, while blissful hours decay
Like fleeting shadows;NEVER to return.
And when I see thy warm unspotted mind,
Torn with the wound of broken FRIENDSHIP'S dart;
When sickness chills thy breast with pangs unkind,
Or ruthless sorrow preys upon thy heart;
The task be MINE to soothe thee to repose,
To check the sigh, and wipe the trickling tear,
Or with soft SYMPATHY to share thy woes;
O, proudest rapture of the soul sincere !
And ye who flutter thro' the vacant hour,
Where tasteless Apathy's empoison'd wand
Arrests the vagrant sense with numbing pow'r,
While vanquish'd REASON bows at her command.
O say, what bliss can transient Life bestow,
What balm so grateful to the social mind,
As FRIENDSHIP'S voicewhere gentle precepts flow
From the blest source of sentiment refin'd?
When FATE'S stern hand shall close my weeping eye,
And seal, at length, my wand'ring spirit's doom;
Oh! may kind FRIENDSHIP catch my parting sigh,
And cheer with HOPE the terrors of the TOMB. | null | friend | Input: [Topic: friend]
Poem:
AH! think no more that Life's delusive joys,
Can charm my thoughts from FRIENDSHIP'S dearer claim;
Or wound a heart, that scarce a wish employs,
For age to censure, or discretion blame.
Tir'd of the world, my weary mind recoils
From splendid scenes, and transitory joys;
From fell Ambition's false and fruitless toils,
From hope that flatters, and from bliss that cloys.
With THEE, above the taunts of empty pride,
The rigid frowns to youthful error given;
Content in solitude my griefs I'll hide,
Thy voice my counsellorthy smiles my Heaven.
With thee I'll hail the morn's returning ray,
Or climb the dewy mountain bleak and cold;
On the smooth lake observe the sun-beams play,
Or mark the infant flow'rs their buds unfold.
Pleas'd will I watch the glitt'ring queen of Night
Spread her white mantle o'er the face of Heaven;
And from thy converse snatch the pure delight,
By truth sublime to MENTAL feeling given.
And as the varying seasons glide away,
This moral lesson shall my bosom learn,
How TIME steals on, while blissful hours decay
Like fleeting shadows;NEVER to return.
And when I see thy warm unspotted mind,
Torn with the wound of broken FRIENDSHIP'S dart;
When sickness chills thy breast with pangs unkind,
Or ruthless sorrow preys upon thy heart;
The task be MINE to soothe thee to repose,
To check the sigh, and wipe the trickling tear,
Or with soft SYMPATHY to share thy woes;
O, proudest rapture of the soul sincere !
And ye who flutter thro' the vacant hour,
Where tasteless Apathy's empoison'd wand
Arrests the vagrant sense with numbing pow'r,
While vanquish'd REASON bows at her command.
O say, what bliss can transient Life bestow,
What balm so grateful to the social mind,
As FRIENDSHIP'S voicewhere gentle precepts flow
From the blest source of sentiment refin'd?
When FATE'S stern hand shall close my weeping eye,
And seal, at length, my wand'ring spirit's doom;
Oh! may kind FRIENDSHIP catch my parting sigh,
And cheer with HOPE the terrors of the TOMB. |
Hope is forever dreaming
Faith is forever pure
While charity weighs up its lot
So its life it can endure.
Hope is forever youthful
Faith has no greying hair
While charity is ageless
So it is forever there.
For faith and hope and charity
Are of each of us a part
The measures there between them
Are what balances our heart. | null | hope | Input: [Topic: hope]
Poem:
Hope is forever dreaming
Faith is forever pure
While charity weighs up its lot
So its life it can endure.
Hope is forever youthful
Faith has no greying hair
While charity is ageless
So it is forever there.
For faith and hope and charity
Are of each of us a part
The measures there between them
Are what balances our heart. |
At Rajputana, in a religious meet
Swamiji came to participate,
But none cared for his rest,
Or for his food at least.
A poor low caste man
Gave him with hesitation
Some uncooked food
As cooked one was prohibited.
As he was an untouchable,
The high class people,
Kept him at a distance
In all the functions.
Taking pity on him,
Swamiji then told him
“Bring your cooked food,
For me, it’s good.”
On seeing his kindness,
The poor man shed tears,
And gave him cooked meal,
That, in fact, tasted well
Swamiji felt, “The poor people
Who’re so good and simple,
Live in huts as untouchables.
And such people, we despise.”
For many days, with no food,
At some places, he remained.
He stayed then with sweepers
Who were treated as outcastes.
They were very simple,
As well as more humble,
And possessed many virtues
Of true spiritual values.
Many times, Swamiji wept.
“Why such men are kept
At the feet of our society
Without any kind of mercy? ”
For them, Swamiji prayed,
Wherever he had stayed,
For their speedy deliverance
From this unpardonable injustice. | null | sympathy | Input: [Topic: sympathy]
Poem:
At Rajputana, in a religious meet
Swamiji came to participate,
But none cared for his rest,
Or for his food at least.
A poor low caste man
Gave him with hesitation
Some uncooked food
As cooked one was prohibited.
As he was an untouchable,
The high class people,
Kept him at a distance
In all the functions.
Taking pity on him,
Swamiji then told him
“Bring your cooked food,
For me, it’s good.”
On seeing his kindness,
The poor man shed tears,
And gave him cooked meal,
That, in fact, tasted well
Swamiji felt, “The poor people
Who’re so good and simple,
Live in huts as untouchables.
And such people, we despise.”
For many days, with no food,
At some places, he remained.
He stayed then with sweepers
Who were treated as outcastes.
They were very simple,
As well as more humble,
And possessed many virtues
Of true spiritual values.
Many times, Swamiji wept.
“Why such men are kept
At the feet of our society
Without any kind of mercy? ”
For them, Swamiji prayed,
Wherever he had stayed,
For their speedy deliverance
From this unpardonable injustice. |
On this thy natal day permit a friend -
A brother - with thy joys his own to blend:
In all gladness he would wish to share
As willing in thy griefs a part to bear.
Meekly attend the ways of higher heav'n!
Is much deny'd? Yet much my dear is giv'n.
Thy health, thy reason unimpaired remain
And while as new fal'n snows thy spotless fame
The partner of thy life, attentive - kind -
And blending e'en the interests of the mind.
What bliss is thine when fore thy glistring eye
Thy lovely infant train pass jocund by!
The ruddy cheek, the smiling morning face
Denote a healthy undegenerate race:
In them renew'd, you'll live and live again,
And children's children's children lisp thy name.
Bright be the skies where'er my sister goes
Nor scowling tempests injure her repose -
The field of life with roses thick be strow'd
Nor one sharp thorn lie lurking in the road.
Thy ev'ry path be still a path of peace
And each revolving year thy joys increase;
Till hours and years of time itself be o'er
And one eternal day around thee pour. | null | sister | Input: [Topic: sister]
Poem:
On this thy natal day permit a friend -
A brother - with thy joys his own to blend:
In all gladness he would wish to share
As willing in thy griefs a part to bear.
Meekly attend the ways of higher heav'n!
Is much deny'd? Yet much my dear is giv'n.
Thy health, thy reason unimpaired remain
And while as new fal'n snows thy spotless fame
The partner of thy life, attentive - kind -
And blending e'en the interests of the mind.
What bliss is thine when fore thy glistring eye
Thy lovely infant train pass jocund by!
The ruddy cheek, the smiling morning face
Denote a healthy undegenerate race:
In them renew'd, you'll live and live again,
And children's children's children lisp thy name.
Bright be the skies where'er my sister goes
Nor scowling tempests injure her repose -
The field of life with roses thick be strow'd
Nor one sharp thorn lie lurking in the road.
Thy ev'ry path be still a path of peace
And each revolving year thy joys increase;
Till hours and years of time itself be o'er
And one eternal day around thee pour. |
What ails the modern world’s community?
Men live without peace, love and harmony;
The root cause of all evils is money;
Human life has lost its bare dignity.
Human labor has become very cheap;
Forgotten is the brotherhood of nations;
Humanity survives on small rations;
Prices of commodities are all steep.
Richer nations accrue wealth, keeping fine;
Scarcity of things is wholly manmade;
Most people live below poverty-line;
Poor nations survive just on World Bank’s aid!
Who will to reset the world into order?
When every man truly loves his neighbor! | null | today | Input: [Topic: today]
Poem:
What ails the modern world’s community?
Men live without peace, love and harmony;
The root cause of all evils is money;
Human life has lost its bare dignity.
Human labor has become very cheap;
Forgotten is the brotherhood of nations;
Humanity survives on small rations;
Prices of commodities are all steep.
Richer nations accrue wealth, keeping fine;
Scarcity of things is wholly manmade;
Most people live below poverty-line;
Poor nations survive just on World Bank’s aid!
Who will to reset the world into order?
When every man truly loves his neighbor! |
Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough
The land and not the sea,
And leave the soldiers at their drill,
And all about the idle hill
Shepherd your sheep with me.
Oh stay with company and mirth
And daylight and the air;
Too full already is the grave
Of fellows that were good and brave
And died bacause they were. | null | home | Input: [Topic: home]
Poem:
Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough
The land and not the sea,
And leave the soldiers at their drill,
And all about the idle hill
Shepherd your sheep with me.
Oh stay with company and mirth
And daylight and the air;
Too full already is the grave
Of fellows that were good and brave
And died bacause they were. |
OF Lordly acquaintance you boast,
And the Dukes that you dined wi' yestreen,
Yet an insect's an insect at most,
Tho' it crawl on the curl of a Queen! | epigram | null | Input: [Form: epigram]
Poem:
OF Lordly acquaintance you boast,
And the Dukes that you dined wi' yestreen,
Yet an insect's an insect at most,
Tho' it crawl on the curl of a Queen! |
moonlit pond...
a frog penetrates
itself
One of selected haiku
Simply Haiku's 'TOP TEN LIST' of the World's Finest Living English language Haiku Poets for the Year 2011 (Simply Haiku,9: 3,4, Autumn/Winter 2011)
http: //simplyhaiku.theartofhaiku.com/autumnwinter-2011 /simply-haiku.html | null | frog | Input: [Topic: frog]
Poem:
moonlit pond...
a frog penetrates
itself
One of selected haiku
Simply Haiku's 'TOP TEN LIST' of the World's Finest Living English language Haiku Poets for the Year 2011 (Simply Haiku,9: 3,4, Autumn/Winter 2011)
http: //simplyhaiku.theartofhaiku.com/autumnwinter-2011 /simply-haiku.html |
Through airy roads he wings his instant flight
To purer regions of celestial light;
Enlarg'd he sees unnumber'd systems roll,
Beneath him sees the universal whole,
Planets on planets run their destin'd round,
And circling wonders fill the vast profound.
Th' ethereal now, and now th' empyreal skies
With growing splendors strike his wond'ring eyes:
The angels view him with delight unknown,
Press his soft hand, and seat him on his throne;
Then smilling thus: 'To this divine abode,
'The seat of saints, of seraphs, and of God,
'Thrice welcome thou.' The raptur'd babe replies,
'Thanks to my God, who snatch'd me to the skies,
'E'er vice triumphant had possess'd my heart,
'E'er yet the tempter had beguil d my heart,
'E'er yet on sin's base actions I was bent,
'E'er yet I knew temptation's dire intent;
'E'er yet the lash for horrid crimes I felt,
'E'er vanity had led my way to guilt,
'But, soon arriv'd at my celestial goal,
'Full glories rush on my expanding soul.'
Joyful he spoke: exulting cherubs round
Clapt their glad wings, the heav'nly vaults resound.
Say, parents, why this unavailing moan?
Why heave your pensive bosoms with the groan?
To Charles, the happy subject of my song,
A brighter world, and nobler strains belong.
Say would you tear him from the realms above
By thoughtless wishes, and prepost'rous love?
Doth his felicity increase your pain?
Or could you welcome to this world again
The heir of bliss? with a superior air
Methinks he answers with a smile severe,
'Thrones and dominions cannot tempt me there.'
But still you cry, 'Can we the sigh borbear,
'And still and still must we not pour the tear?
'Our only hope, more dear than vital breath,
'Twelve moons revolv'd, becomes the prey of death;
'Delightful infant, nightly visions give
'Thee to our arms, and we with joy receive,
'We fain would clasp the Phantom to our breast,
'The Phantom flies, and leaves the soul unblest.'
To yon bright regions let your faith ascend,
Prepare to join your dearest infant friend
In pleasures without measure, without end. | null | funeral | Input: [Topic: funeral]
Poem:
Through airy roads he wings his instant flight
To purer regions of celestial light;
Enlarg'd he sees unnumber'd systems roll,
Beneath him sees the universal whole,
Planets on planets run their destin'd round,
And circling wonders fill the vast profound.
Th' ethereal now, and now th' empyreal skies
With growing splendors strike his wond'ring eyes:
The angels view him with delight unknown,
Press his soft hand, and seat him on his throne;
Then smilling thus: 'To this divine abode,
'The seat of saints, of seraphs, and of God,
'Thrice welcome thou.' The raptur'd babe replies,
'Thanks to my God, who snatch'd me to the skies,
'E'er vice triumphant had possess'd my heart,
'E'er yet the tempter had beguil d my heart,
'E'er yet on sin's base actions I was bent,
'E'er yet I knew temptation's dire intent;
'E'er yet the lash for horrid crimes I felt,
'E'er vanity had led my way to guilt,
'But, soon arriv'd at my celestial goal,
'Full glories rush on my expanding soul.'
Joyful he spoke: exulting cherubs round
Clapt their glad wings, the heav'nly vaults resound.
Say, parents, why this unavailing moan?
Why heave your pensive bosoms with the groan?
To Charles, the happy subject of my song,
A brighter world, and nobler strains belong.
Say would you tear him from the realms above
By thoughtless wishes, and prepost'rous love?
Doth his felicity increase your pain?
Or could you welcome to this world again
The heir of bliss? with a superior air
Methinks he answers with a smile severe,
'Thrones and dominions cannot tempt me there.'
But still you cry, 'Can we the sigh borbear,
'And still and still must we not pour the tear?
'Our only hope, more dear than vital breath,
'Twelve moons revolv'd, becomes the prey of death;
'Delightful infant, nightly visions give
'Thee to our arms, and we with joy receive,
'We fain would clasp the Phantom to our breast,
'The Phantom flies, and leaves the soul unblest.'
To yon bright regions let your faith ascend,
Prepare to join your dearest infant friend
In pleasures without measure, without end. |
Richard strained his eyes
and watched his deliverer
merge into misty shadows.
Never would he know
whose strong arms had dragged him
from twisted metal and flames
that used to be his Ford.
At first screaming sirens
and glaring lights
the stranger had risen, smiled
and hastened up the hill.
Haloed in photo flashes
Richard shoved the mike aside.
The lady in a blazer asked again, who?
but Richard only shrugged.
Had he known he wouldn’t have said.
July, 2006 | null | hero | Input: [Topic: hero]
Poem:
Richard strained his eyes
and watched his deliverer
merge into misty shadows.
Never would he know
whose strong arms had dragged him
from twisted metal and flames
that used to be his Ford.
At first screaming sirens
and glaring lights
the stranger had risen, smiled
and hastened up the hill.
Haloed in photo flashes
Richard shoved the mike aside.
The lady in a blazer asked again, who?
but Richard only shrugged.
Had he known he wouldn’t have said.
July, 2006 |
ELLISLAND, 21st Oct., 1789.WOW, but your letter made me vauntie!
And are ye hale, and weel and cantie?
I ken'd it still, your wee bit jauntie
Wad bring ye to:
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye!
And then ye'll do.
The ill-thief blaw the Heron south!
And never drink be near his drouth!
He tauld myself by word o' mouth,
He'd tak my letter;
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth,
And bade nae better.
But aiblins, honest Master Heron
Had, at the time, some dainty fair one
To ware this theologic care on,
And holy study;
And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on,
E'en tried the body.
But what d'ye think, my trusty fere,
I'm turned a gauger—Peace be here!
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear,
Ye'll now disdain me!
And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me.
Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies,
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin streamies,
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,
That strang necessity supreme is
'Mang sons o' men.
I hae a wife and twa wee laddies;
They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies;
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is—
I need na vaunt
But I'll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies,
Before they want.
Lord help me thro' this warld o' care!
I'm weary sick o't late and air!
Not but I hae a richer share
Than mony ithers;
But why should ae man better fare,
And a' men brithers?
Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
A lady fair:
Wha does the utmost that he can,
Will whiles do mair.
But to conclude my silly rhyme
(I'm scant o' verse and scant o' time),
To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.
My compliments to sister Beckie,
And eke the same to honest Lucky;
I wat she is a daintie chuckie,
As e'er tread clay;
And gratefully, my gude auld cockie,
I'm yours for aye.ROBERT BURNS. | epistle | null | Input: [Form: epistle]
Poem:
ELLISLAND, 21st Oct., 1789.WOW, but your letter made me vauntie!
And are ye hale, and weel and cantie?
I ken'd it still, your wee bit jauntie
Wad bring ye to:
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye!
And then ye'll do.
The ill-thief blaw the Heron south!
And never drink be near his drouth!
He tauld myself by word o' mouth,
He'd tak my letter;
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth,
And bade nae better.
But aiblins, honest Master Heron
Had, at the time, some dainty fair one
To ware this theologic care on,
And holy study;
And tired o' sauls to waste his lear on,
E'en tried the body.
But what d'ye think, my trusty fere,
I'm turned a gauger—Peace be here!
Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear,
Ye'll now disdain me!
And then my fifty pounds a year
Will little gain me.
Ye glaikit, gleesome, dainty damies,
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin streamies,
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies,
Ye ken, ye ken,
That strang necessity supreme is
'Mang sons o' men.
I hae a wife and twa wee laddies;
They maun hae brose and brats o' duddies;
Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is—
I need na vaunt
But I'll sned besoms, thraw saugh woodies,
Before they want.
Lord help me thro' this warld o' care!
I'm weary sick o't late and air!
Not but I hae a richer share
Than mony ithers;
But why should ae man better fare,
And a' men brithers?
Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van,
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man!
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan
A lady fair:
Wha does the utmost that he can,
Will whiles do mair.
But to conclude my silly rhyme
(I'm scant o' verse and scant o' time),
To make a happy fireside clime
To weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life.
My compliments to sister Beckie,
And eke the same to honest Lucky;
I wat she is a daintie chuckie,
As e'er tread clay;
And gratefully, my gude auld cockie,
I'm yours for aye.ROBERT BURNS. |
the cold emotion of a species
fuming in rage against God
who allowed colour to appear
and multiplied races among nations
in a spectrum of light
where colours merge and dissolve
into one human species
the cold emotion of a species
with clouded eyes
that sees only black and white
declaring war against a species
that thrives in the diversity of its colours
the flowers that shape nations
blossoming in their millions
into one human species
the cold emotion of a species
with no logical explanation
with no religious extrapolation
with no physical justification
with no spiritual destination | null | racism | Input: [Topic: racism]
Poem:
the cold emotion of a species
fuming in rage against God
who allowed colour to appear
and multiplied races among nations
in a spectrum of light
where colours merge and dissolve
into one human species
the cold emotion of a species
with clouded eyes
that sees only black and white
declaring war against a species
that thrives in the diversity of its colours
the flowers that shape nations
blossoming in their millions
into one human species
the cold emotion of a species
with no logical explanation
with no religious extrapolation
with no physical justification
with no spiritual destination |
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. | null | lost | Input: [Topic: lost]
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. |
I
The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.
II
Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer's cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.
III
Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O'er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer. | null | summer | Input: [Topic: summer]
Poem:
I
The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.
II
Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer's cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.
III
Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O'er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer. |
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be -
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us, -
For would they not fair terms concede us?
- If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be! | triolet | null | Input: [Form: triolet]
Poem:
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be -
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us, -
For would they not fair terms concede us?
- If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be! |
The heavens shimmer with points of light
They poke their image through a canopy of dark
raging and churning with awesome might
They burn themselves a wondrous mark
They poke their way through a canopy of dark
to shine upon our imagination
They burn themselves a wondrous mark
For countless eons will they occupy their station
To shine upon our imagination
it is a goal for which they do not strive
For countless eons will they occupy their station
reminding man it is a mystery to be alive
It is a goal for which they do not strive
Raging and churning with awesome might
Reminding man it is a mystery to be alive
The heavens shimmer with points of light | pantoum | null | Input: [Form: pantoum]
Poem:
The heavens shimmer with points of light
They poke their image through a canopy of dark
raging and churning with awesome might
They burn themselves a wondrous mark
They poke their way through a canopy of dark
to shine upon our imagination
They burn themselves a wondrous mark
For countless eons will they occupy their station
To shine upon our imagination
it is a goal for which they do not strive
For countless eons will they occupy their station
reminding man it is a mystery to be alive
It is a goal for which they do not strive
Raging and churning with awesome might
Reminding man it is a mystery to be alive
The heavens shimmer with points of light |
My sister holds me tight
My sister kisses me goodnight
My sister knows when I’m mad
My sister helps me when I’m sad
My sister is so smart
My sister has my heart
My sister loves me lots
My sister ties the knots
My sister is here to stay
My sister I have until this very day
My sister I wish you well
My sister yes I can tell
My sister asked if I lied
My sister knows if I’ve cried
My sister has moved away
My sister is in my heart to and will always stay | null | sister | Input: [Topic: sister]
Poem:
My sister holds me tight
My sister kisses me goodnight
My sister knows when I’m mad
My sister helps me when I’m sad
My sister is so smart
My sister has my heart
My sister loves me lots
My sister ties the knots
My sister is here to stay
My sister I have until this very day
My sister I wish you well
My sister yes I can tell
My sister asked if I lied
My sister knows if I’ve cried
My sister has moved away
My sister is in my heart to and will always stay |
SUNG BY GUIDERUS AND ARVIGARUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.
TO fair Fidele's grassy tomb
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen;
No goblins lead their nightly crew;
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew!
The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake thy sylvan cell;
Or 'midst the chase, on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell;
Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Belov'd till life can charm no more,
And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead. | dirge | null | Input: [Form: dirge]
Poem:
SUNG BY GUIDERUS AND ARVIGARUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.
TO fair Fidele's grassy tomb
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen;
No goblins lead their nightly crew;
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew!
The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake thy sylvan cell;
Or 'midst the chase, on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell;
Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Belov'd till life can charm no more,
And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead. |
A dead crow lay still
A flock of crows gathered soon
Cries of sympathy floated. | null | sympathy | Input: [Topic: sympathy]
Poem:
A dead crow lay still
A flock of crows gathered soon
Cries of sympathy floated. |
I found an old country Cowboy Valentine
that was made so very long ago.
It was signed at the bottom in crayon
by a young boy who's name was, Buffalo Joe.
You could tell it was all hand made
some of the glitter and bangles have fallen off.
Colored with bright colors so neatly
Better than any in a store, one could have bought.
Tried to picture the face that made it
tried as hard as I could ever do.
But for as hard as I had tried to remember
I couldn't grasp that vision of you.
Those were the days of less worries
and a childs heart now just memories.
'Will Ya be My Valentines Partner? '
In that Valentines card you made for me. | null | school | Input: [Topic: school]
Poem:
I found an old country Cowboy Valentine
that was made so very long ago.
It was signed at the bottom in crayon
by a young boy who's name was, Buffalo Joe.
You could tell it was all hand made
some of the glitter and bangles have fallen off.
Colored with bright colors so neatly
Better than any in a store, one could have bought.
Tried to picture the face that made it
tried as hard as I could ever do.
But for as hard as I had tried to remember
I couldn't grasp that vision of you.
Those were the days of less worries
and a childs heart now just memories.
'Will Ya be My Valentines Partner? '
In that Valentines card you made for me. |
The thorns of a rose
Distract not from its beauty,
But causes the hand
To caress with tenderness,
And offer so carefully
To the recipient
The petals
And the pricks.
Such is the nature of truth
For it’s glory is beautiful, no doubt,
But can cause the hearer to wince
Lest with love and light
'Tis offered betwixt.
8-25-06 | null | truth | Input: [Topic: truth]
Poem:
The thorns of a rose
Distract not from its beauty,
But causes the hand
To caress with tenderness,
And offer so carefully
To the recipient
The petals
And the pricks.
Such is the nature of truth
For it’s glory is beautiful, no doubt,
But can cause the hearer to wince
Lest with love and light
'Tis offered betwixt.
8-25-06 |
How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. | sonnet | null | Input: [Form: sonnet]
Poem:
How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. |
A quatrain
Time is floating away along the tide of a river
Precious life is drowned in an unwanted anger
Diamond heart can be broken by a little humiliation
A little misunderstanding breaks up a good relation. | quatrain | null | Input: [Form: quatrain]
Poem:
A quatrain
Time is floating away along the tide of a river
Precious life is drowned in an unwanted anger
Diamond heart can be broken by a little humiliation
A little misunderstanding breaks up a good relation. |
I
If seasons all were summers,
And leaves would never fall,
And hopping casement-comers
Were foodless not at all,
And fragile folk might be here
That white winds bid depart;
Then one I used to see here
Would warm my wasted heart!
II
One frail, who, bravely tilling
Long hours in gripping gusts,
Was mastered by their chilling,
And now his ploughshare rusts.
So savage winter catches
The breath of limber things,
And what I love he snatches,
And what I love not, brings. | null | winter | Input: [Topic: winter]
Poem:
I
If seasons all were summers,
And leaves would never fall,
And hopping casement-comers
Were foodless not at all,
And fragile folk might be here
That white winds bid depart;
Then one I used to see here
Would warm my wasted heart!
II
One frail, who, bravely tilling
Long hours in gripping gusts,
Was mastered by their chilling,
And now his ploughshare rusts.
So savage winter catches
The breath of limber things,
And what I love he snatches,
And what I love not, brings. |
She'd sent me stars, two handfuls in that myst'ry package.
And when I opened to unpack they came like swarms
of silver insects, bright and ready to invade.
A silver touch, I thought, the carpet was a-glitter,
I picked them up, so slowly, one by one
with lingering movements, 'cause her hands had known them.
There was a storm that came, without much warning.
It took my love and whirled it into spheres
that could not nourish it and breathing had to cease.
While I was searching for the force of evil
that sent this devil of a murderer and thief,
all other life went on without consideration
of devastation that had plunged in misery
my very soul, its spirit had been breached.
Just like the hurt that tends to linger,
in nerves of amputated limbs of man,
this phantom pain can safely be dismissed.
It would take time, I knew to lose the memories,
and storms are really, don't you know, just acts of God.
Back to my reading now, which had been pushed
onto back burners, there was never any time .
When I perceived the slightest, softest touch upon my leg,
a star had fallen on a wound that she had healed.
This silver, little, recalcitrant and noticeable,
this twinkling and obnoxious bitty star,
it did just sit there, twinkling like a hooligan.
Until two teardrops fell upon it from above.
This story ends here as it has not been determined,
if too much time has gone for any hope of rescue.
It is well known that love must, like any living matter,
maintain a breath or face a certain, final death.
What if, I ask with anxious trepidation,
a surrogate has been up in those clouds.
Could it just be the life of love was spared?
And would you tell me, show me, kindly, then,
I plead with all you Gods, by Dawn's first light? | null | star | Input: [Topic: star]
Poem:
She'd sent me stars, two handfuls in that myst'ry package.
And when I opened to unpack they came like swarms
of silver insects, bright and ready to invade.
A silver touch, I thought, the carpet was a-glitter,
I picked them up, so slowly, one by one
with lingering movements, 'cause her hands had known them.
There was a storm that came, without much warning.
It took my love and whirled it into spheres
that could not nourish it and breathing had to cease.
While I was searching for the force of evil
that sent this devil of a murderer and thief,
all other life went on without consideration
of devastation that had plunged in misery
my very soul, its spirit had been breached.
Just like the hurt that tends to linger,
in nerves of amputated limbs of man,
this phantom pain can safely be dismissed.
It would take time, I knew to lose the memories,
and storms are really, don't you know, just acts of God.
Back to my reading now, which had been pushed
onto back burners, there was never any time .
When I perceived the slightest, softest touch upon my leg,
a star had fallen on a wound that she had healed.
This silver, little, recalcitrant and noticeable,
this twinkling and obnoxious bitty star,
it did just sit there, twinkling like a hooligan.
Until two teardrops fell upon it from above.
This story ends here as it has not been determined,
if too much time has gone for any hope of rescue.
It is well known that love must, like any living matter,
maintain a breath or face a certain, final death.
What if, I ask with anxious trepidation,
a surrogate has been up in those clouds.
Could it just be the life of love was spared?
And would you tell me, show me, kindly, then,
I plead with all you Gods, by Dawn's first light? |
Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping. | null | spring | Input: [Topic: spring]
Poem:
Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping. |
isn't it funny,
how the world likes to be?
isn't it funny,
how much you don't mean to me?
isn't it funny,
how much i care?
it really isn't funny,
when you're not there.
isn't it funny,
how we used to be?
isn't it interesting,
what you meant to me?
isn't it strange,
how we fell apart?
isn't it great,
we both miss our hearts?
one last thing,
before i throw this ring,
wasn't it funny...
to see what i'd do?
isn't it laughable,
how i still love you? | null | funny | Input: [Topic: funny]
Poem:
isn't it funny,
how the world likes to be?
isn't it funny,
how much you don't mean to me?
isn't it funny,
how much i care?
it really isn't funny,
when you're not there.
isn't it funny,
how we used to be?
isn't it interesting,
what you meant to me?
isn't it strange,
how we fell apart?
isn't it great,
we both miss our hearts?
one last thing,
before i throw this ring,
wasn't it funny...
to see what i'd do?
isn't it laughable,
how i still love you? |
I lost everything when i lost you.
I lost my life when i lost you.
I lost my senses when I find my self in a deep misery.
I lost my pride when I lost my potency of loving you.
I never stop my self to love you.
I apart my self from your loving thought.
I lost everything when I lost you.
I am lost in my own world.
I am looking at you in my blur eyes.
I know you will come to me.
And I will get everything I wanted.
I will not lose anything because you are not lost for me.
Your sweet and tender smile gives me the pleasure of this world.
It’s a gift from heaven when I will find you in my arm
But I just lost my way to get back to you.
I lost everything when I lost you. | null | lost | Input: [Topic: lost]
Poem:
I lost everything when i lost you.
I lost my life when i lost you.
I lost my senses when I find my self in a deep misery.
I lost my pride when I lost my potency of loving you.
I never stop my self to love you.
I apart my self from your loving thought.
I lost everything when I lost you.
I am lost in my own world.
I am looking at you in my blur eyes.
I know you will come to me.
And I will get everything I wanted.
I will not lose anything because you are not lost for me.
Your sweet and tender smile gives me the pleasure of this world.
It’s a gift from heaven when I will find you in my arm
But I just lost my way to get back to you.
I lost everything when I lost you. |
I was a child then
Living in a rural place
In close communion
With nature-the sea and sky
The earth, the trees and mountains
Nature surrounded
My existence as a child
A sight I beheld
Most constantly as I grew
In our little home sweet home
In those early years
Life was so simple, idyllic
So different from now
Everything seemed so perfect
To an innocent, young child
In a coastal town
Away from urbanity
Nature provided
Most of the needs, from basic
To a child's entertainment
The rain was a joy
When it came to visit and pour
It was the best time
To jump and swim in the sea
After school, on rainy days
The russet hued earth
Baked by the sun to hardness
Was a child's playground
Where my tender feet galloped
And run free during playtime
How beautiful 'twas
To have lived in such a way
In simplicity
Far from the noise and chaos
From the hub of city life
The water was drawn
From the rocky and deep wells
Dugged from rocky earth
By the old people in town
It nourished life in the coast
At night the moonlight
Seemed to glow brighter, mirrored
In the sleepy sea
Its sparkling beams danced and moved
In the gently lapping waves
Children play hide and seek
On moonlit nights, their laughter
Pealed like tiny bells
While I gazed at the moon's face
Admiring its radiant glow
I remember well
How father would go fishing
On most nights, alone
Riding a sturdy banca
And mother would wait at home
At dawn, when the moon
Had faded and sunrise came
The vast horizon
Glowed, dazzling with colors
Of burning fire, bright, reddish
The sun was amber
In the days of my childhood
Ever burning bright
Warm happy days in the sun
I will always remember
The nights of stargazing
When the sky was without moon
And of moonlit nights
As I listened to dreamy
Lullabies of the blue sea
Those were the best days
A time of my life that shaped
Who I am today
A time of blooming, growing
A time of learning to fly
So much memories
I had as a child growing
A season of life
When everything was simple
When love was not so complex | narrative | null | Input: [Form: narrative]
Poem:
I was a child then
Living in a rural place
In close communion
With nature-the sea and sky
The earth, the trees and mountains
Nature surrounded
My existence as a child
A sight I beheld
Most constantly as I grew
In our little home sweet home
In those early years
Life was so simple, idyllic
So different from now
Everything seemed so perfect
To an innocent, young child
In a coastal town
Away from urbanity
Nature provided
Most of the needs, from basic
To a child's entertainment
The rain was a joy
When it came to visit and pour
It was the best time
To jump and swim in the sea
After school, on rainy days
The russet hued earth
Baked by the sun to hardness
Was a child's playground
Where my tender feet galloped
And run free during playtime
How beautiful 'twas
To have lived in such a way
In simplicity
Far from the noise and chaos
From the hub of city life
The water was drawn
From the rocky and deep wells
Dugged from rocky earth
By the old people in town
It nourished life in the coast
At night the moonlight
Seemed to glow brighter, mirrored
In the sleepy sea
Its sparkling beams danced and moved
In the gently lapping waves
Children play hide and seek
On moonlit nights, their laughter
Pealed like tiny bells
While I gazed at the moon's face
Admiring its radiant glow
I remember well
How father would go fishing
On most nights, alone
Riding a sturdy banca
And mother would wait at home
At dawn, when the moon
Had faded and sunrise came
The vast horizon
Glowed, dazzling with colors
Of burning fire, bright, reddish
The sun was amber
In the days of my childhood
Ever burning bright
Warm happy days in the sun
I will always remember
The nights of stargazing
When the sky was without moon
And of moonlit nights
As I listened to dreamy
Lullabies of the blue sea
Those were the best days
A time of my life that shaped
Who I am today
A time of blooming, growing
A time of learning to fly
So much memories
I had as a child growing
A season of life
When everything was simple
When love was not so complex |
Let 'em come, by gum! That's all I say.
Let me see one of 'em up this way,
With their sacks a-back an' their walkin' boots
Low neck, short-panted hikin' coots
Flingin' their fags in the brambles here,
Same as that other one done last year.
He might just once; but he won't no more.
I'll nail his hide to the cow-shed door.
A mile o' fencin' and two good hust
All thro' them an' their lighted butts.
Patronisin'? You're too dead right.
These city fellers is awful bright
Three good huts an' a mile o' fence!
'Tisn't so much me own expense;
Three mile o' forest gone up in smoke!
Well, ain't it enough to nark a bloke?
The worst they done was in ninety-five.
Poor ole Ben Bray, he'd still be alive
It if wasn't for that camp-fire they left.
But a burnt-out-home an' the kids bereft
Of their dad. Yes; that was the toll that day;
An' the fellers what done it miles away.
Oh, there's fools in the forest as well as town.
I ain't lettin' none o' me neighbors down.
There's fools in the forests, as well I knows;
Chancin' a burn when the north wind blows.
An' they oughter be pinched . . . But them city skites,
Suckin' their fags an' strikin' their lights!
Just let me catch 'em! Vindictive? Me?
Ropeable, am I? Well, wouldn't you be
If you suffered the same from their smokin' butts?
Three mile o' fencin' an' four good huts! | null | warning | Input: [Topic: warning]
Poem:
Let 'em come, by gum! That's all I say.
Let me see one of 'em up this way,
With their sacks a-back an' their walkin' boots
Low neck, short-panted hikin' coots
Flingin' their fags in the brambles here,
Same as that other one done last year.
He might just once; but he won't no more.
I'll nail his hide to the cow-shed door.
A mile o' fencin' and two good hust
All thro' them an' their lighted butts.
Patronisin'? You're too dead right.
These city fellers is awful bright
Three good huts an' a mile o' fence!
'Tisn't so much me own expense;
Three mile o' forest gone up in smoke!
Well, ain't it enough to nark a bloke?
The worst they done was in ninety-five.
Poor ole Ben Bray, he'd still be alive
It if wasn't for that camp-fire they left.
But a burnt-out-home an' the kids bereft
Of their dad. Yes; that was the toll that day;
An' the fellers what done it miles away.
Oh, there's fools in the forest as well as town.
I ain't lettin' none o' me neighbors down.
There's fools in the forests, as well I knows;
Chancin' a burn when the north wind blows.
An' they oughter be pinched . . . But them city skites,
Suckin' their fags an' strikin' their lights!
Just let me catch 'em! Vindictive? Me?
Ropeable, am I? Well, wouldn't you be
If you suffered the same from their smokin' butts?
Three mile o' fencin' an' four good huts! |
In this age of science yet you are spreading ancient deep dark
That none can get a single ray of light to be enlightened
Yet many are trying to remove your ugly and cursed darkness.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza | 6 November,2017 | sijo | null | Input: [Form: sijo]
Poem:
In this age of science yet you are spreading ancient deep dark
That none can get a single ray of light to be enlightened
Yet many are trying to remove your ugly and cursed darkness.
Copyright © Muzahidul Reza | 6 November,2017 |
The nocturnal animal who feels alright to move
Into the middle of nowhere,
Underneath the bridge, the canal the cradle
For the lost bicycle—
As words ship out for other loves,
As I think about drinking again—Florida rum
In the sunlight of this new cold front—
My pregnant wife wants to sleep,
Like a fairy in the forest—
As I dream of a muse that doesn't exist—
My emotions becoming lost
In the cantankerous graveyards that look like
The rest of my relatives—
Until the simple thoughts beckon and all at once
Nothing has to be given or taken anymore. | null | animal | Input: [Topic: animal]
Poem:
The nocturnal animal who feels alright to move
Into the middle of nowhere,
Underneath the bridge, the canal the cradle
For the lost bicycle—
As words ship out for other loves,
As I think about drinking again—Florida rum
In the sunlight of this new cold front—
My pregnant wife wants to sleep,
Like a fairy in the forest—
As I dream of a muse that doesn't exist—
My emotions becoming lost
In the cantankerous graveyards that look like
The rest of my relatives—
Until the simple thoughts beckon and all at once
Nothing has to be given or taken anymore. |
And some time later in the lingering
blaze of summer, in the first days
after September 11th you phoned –
if I don’t tell anyone my name I’ll
pass for an African American.
And suddenly, this seemed a sensible solution –
the best protection: to be a black man
born in America, more invisible than
Somalian, Muslim, asylum seeker –
Others stayed away that first Friday
but your uncle insisted that you pray.
How fortunes change so swiftly
I hear you say. And as you parallel
park across from the Tukwila
mosque, a young woman cries out –
her fears unfurling beside your battered car
go back where you came from!
You stand, both of you, dazzling there
in the mid-day light, her pavement
facing off along your parking strip.
You tell me she is only trying
to protect her lawn, her trees,
her untended heart – already
alarmed by its directive.
And when the neighborhood
policeman appears, asks
you, asks her, asks the others –
So what seems to be the problem
He actually expects an answer,
as if any of us could name it –
as if perhaps your prayers
chanted as this cop stands guard
watching over your windshield
during the entire service
might hold back the world
we did not want to know. | null | graduation | Input: [Topic: graduation]
Poem:
And some time later in the lingering
blaze of summer, in the first days
after September 11th you phoned –
if I don’t tell anyone my name I’ll
pass for an African American.
And suddenly, this seemed a sensible solution –
the best protection: to be a black man
born in America, more invisible than
Somalian, Muslim, asylum seeker –
Others stayed away that first Friday
but your uncle insisted that you pray.
How fortunes change so swiftly
I hear you say. And as you parallel
park across from the Tukwila
mosque, a young woman cries out –
her fears unfurling beside your battered car
go back where you came from!
You stand, both of you, dazzling there
in the mid-day light, her pavement
facing off along your parking strip.
You tell me she is only trying
to protect her lawn, her trees,
her untended heart – already
alarmed by its directive.
And when the neighborhood
policeman appears, asks
you, asks her, asks the others –
So what seems to be the problem
He actually expects an answer,
as if any of us could name it –
as if perhaps your prayers
chanted as this cop stands guard
watching over your windshield
during the entire service
might hold back the world
we did not want to know. |
My children planned a visit to a zoo,
They invited me, I replied with a shoo,
I already have a zoo inside, within me,
I cannot show and you cannot see.
All the animals are present in a man,
You can see them with an honest scan.
Both for the friends and their enemies,
They have long, very long memories.
Like funny camels, like large elephants,
Whether old or youths or innocent infants.
They often behave like a beast so wild,
They don't hesitate to abuse a child.
For many centuries they've been killing fellow men,
They have misused their sword and their pen,
Most of their killings were in His religion and name,
Man was never shy of this bloody game.
Men cast their thinking in a too old mold.
Those adventurists seeking silver and gold,
Left footprints of animals in fact,
I see in the prints many criminals in fact.
On the other hand like birds they twit,
Under blue moons are lovely and sweet,
Loyal and faithful like horses and dogs,
Swim and jump just like the frogs,
Entertain the children like a dolphin or a monkey,
Before pretty women they flirt like a donkey,
Like a peacock they dance in a hall,
Like a sweet cuckoo, girlfriends they call.
They are handsome when they love fellow men,
Praise them with their words and use their pen.
I don't need to watch a zoo,
I am a man but an animal too. | null | animal | Input: [Topic: animal]
Poem:
My children planned a visit to a zoo,
They invited me, I replied with a shoo,
I already have a zoo inside, within me,
I cannot show and you cannot see.
All the animals are present in a man,
You can see them with an honest scan.
Both for the friends and their enemies,
They have long, very long memories.
Like funny camels, like large elephants,
Whether old or youths or innocent infants.
They often behave like a beast so wild,
They don't hesitate to abuse a child.
For many centuries they've been killing fellow men,
They have misused their sword and their pen,
Most of their killings were in His religion and name,
Man was never shy of this bloody game.
Men cast their thinking in a too old mold.
Those adventurists seeking silver and gold,
Left footprints of animals in fact,
I see in the prints many criminals in fact.
On the other hand like birds they twit,
Under blue moons are lovely and sweet,
Loyal and faithful like horses and dogs,
Swim and jump just like the frogs,
Entertain the children like a dolphin or a monkey,
Before pretty women they flirt like a donkey,
Like a peacock they dance in a hall,
Like a sweet cuckoo, girlfriends they call.
They are handsome when they love fellow men,
Praise them with their words and use their pen.
I don't need to watch a zoo,
I am a man but an animal too. |
Why were you born when the snow was falling?
You should have come to the cuckoo's calling
Or when grapes are green in the cluster,
Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster
For their far off flying
From summer dying.
Why did you die when the lambs were cropping?
You should have died at the apples' dropping,
When the grasshopper comes to trouble,
And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble,
And all winds go sighing
For sweet things dying. | dirge | null | Input: [Form: dirge]
Poem:
Why were you born when the snow was falling?
You should have come to the cuckoo's calling
Or when grapes are green in the cluster,
Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster
For their far off flying
From summer dying.
Why did you die when the lambs were cropping?
You should have died at the apples' dropping,
When the grasshopper comes to trouble,
And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble,
And all winds go sighing
For sweet things dying. |
What you read is all there is
If you cannot relate
Then no problem
If you are not that woman
Wriggling in my poem
Then let it be another woman
Another woman that
You mock
That you think is
So unreal
A woman who is not you
A woman who cannot be you
Is still the real woman
That I hold and love and cherish
She is still the woman that I love very much
She is still the woman that I can die for
She is the weak woman in my arms
She is the woman hiding in my embraces
She is the woman longing for my love
She is the woman who cannot live without my love
She is the woman who is by my side
She is the woman lovable to me
We made a vow
And I will be with her forever
Without me she is incomplete
Without her I am incomplete
We will always be together
Will you hate the woman that I love?
Drop her. She is mine. I’ll catch her. | null | passion | Input: [Topic: passion]
Poem:
What you read is all there is
If you cannot relate
Then no problem
If you are not that woman
Wriggling in my poem
Then let it be another woman
Another woman that
You mock
That you think is
So unreal
A woman who is not you
A woman who cannot be you
Is still the real woman
That I hold and love and cherish
She is still the woman that I love very much
She is still the woman that I can die for
She is the weak woman in my arms
She is the woman hiding in my embraces
She is the woman longing for my love
She is the woman who cannot live without my love
She is the woman who is by my side
She is the woman lovable to me
We made a vow
And I will be with her forever
Without me she is incomplete
Without her I am incomplete
We will always be together
Will you hate the woman that I love?
Drop her. She is mine. I’ll catch her. |
Here alone with all I profess
A faith, a belief in some systems of thought
Professors and priests, mystics and bards
All were often one I confess.
There were some unlettered men
Who knew more than the savants, then
There were bards who could sing and swear
And find their way to your heart there.
There were wild poppies dancing
Wild horses prancing
The teacher of all I know
Came for a few seasons
Then went for his own benighted reasons.
There was life’s blood and show
The poetry and pain and pageantry's stream
Whirled around in a fevered dream
Life was what it did not seem
Thus taught the teacher of all I know. | null | teacher | Input: [Topic: teacher]
Poem:
Here alone with all I profess
A faith, a belief in some systems of thought
Professors and priests, mystics and bards
All were often one I confess.
There were some unlettered men
Who knew more than the savants, then
There were bards who could sing and swear
And find their way to your heart there.
There were wild poppies dancing
Wild horses prancing
The teacher of all I know
Came for a few seasons
Then went for his own benighted reasons.
There was life’s blood and show
The poetry and pain and pageantry's stream
Whirled around in a fevered dream
Life was what it did not seem
Thus taught the teacher of all I know. |
Alexander of Macedon
Became gloomy and taciturn
When they told him at the 'Blue Lion'
That he couldn't have any more Chian. | clerihew | null | Input: [Form: clerihew]
Poem:
Alexander of Macedon
Became gloomy and taciturn
When they told him at the 'Blue Lion'
That he couldn't have any more Chian. |
The best possible words,
with the best possible meaning,
in the best possible order,
with the best possible structure,
in the best possible way.
That’s what I was once told poetry is.
But I pushed those boundaries,
and wrote in many different ways.
We should do poetry our own way,
no matter what anyone says. | null | teacher | Input: [Topic: teacher]
Poem:
The best possible words,
with the best possible meaning,
in the best possible order,
with the best possible structure,
in the best possible way.
That’s what I was once told poetry is.
But I pushed those boundaries,
and wrote in many different ways.
We should do poetry our own way,
no matter what anyone says. |
It's Saturday Night Live.....
I mean come on. It’s Chicago’s South side.
Admittedly, there is no evidence of that,
but on the other hand,
there is no convincing evidence
to the contrary and this is just one
of the lingering questions
about Senator Barrack Obama…. | null | family | Input: [Topic: family]
Poem:
It's Saturday Night Live.....
I mean come on. It’s Chicago’s South side.
Admittedly, there is no evidence of that,
but on the other hand,
there is no convincing evidence
to the contrary and this is just one
of the lingering questions
about Senator Barrack Obama…. |
WHILE, born to bring the Muse's happier days,
A patriot's hand protects a poet's lays,
While nurs'd by you she sees her myrtles bloom,
Green and unwither'd o'er his honour'd tomb;
Excuse her doubts, if yet she fears to tell
What secret transports in her bosom swell.
With conscious awe she hears the critic's fame,
And blushing hides her wreath at Shakespeare's name.
Hard was the lot those injur'd strains endur'd,
Unown'd by Science, and by years obscur'd;
Fair Fancy wept; and echoing sighs confess'd
A fixt despair in every tuneful breast.
Not with more grief the afflicted swains appear,
When wintry winds deform the plenteous year;
When ling'ring frosts the ruin'd seats invade
Where Peace resorted, and the Graces play'd.
Each rising art by just gradation moves,
Toil builds on toil and age on age improves:
The Muse alone unequal dealt her rage,
And grac'd with noblest pomp her earliest stage.
Preserv'd through time, the speaking scenes impart
Each changeful wish of Phædra's tortured heart;
Or paint the curse that mark'd the Theban's (1) reign,
A bed incestuous, and a father slain.
With kind concern our pitying eyes o'erflow;
Trace the sad tale and own another's woe.
To Rome remov'd, with wit secure to please,
The comic Sisters kept their native ease;
With jealous fear, declining Greece beheld
Her own Menander's art almost excell'd;
But every Muse essay'd to raise in vain
Some labour'd rival of her tragic strain:
Illyssus' laurels, though transferr'd with toil,
Droop'd their fair leaves, nor knew the unfriendly soil.
As Arts expir'd, resistless Dullness rose;
Goths, priests, or Vandals—all were Learning's foes,
Till Julius (2) first recall'd each exil'd maid;
And Cosmo owned them in the Etrurian shade:
Then, deeply skill'd in love's engaging theme,
The soft Provençal pass'd to Arno's stream:
With graceful ease the wanton lyre he strung;
Sweet flow'd the lays—but love was all he sung.
The gay description could not fail to move;
For, led by Nature, all are friends to love.
But Heaven, still various in its works, decreed
The perfect boast of time should last succeed.
The beauteous union must appear at length,
Of Tuscan fancy, and Athenian strength:
One greater Muse Eliza's reign adorn,
And even a Shakespeare to her fame be born!
Yet ah! so bright her morning's opening ray,
In vain our Britain hop'd an equal day!
No second growth the western isle could bear,
At once exhausted with too rich a year.
Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part;
Nature in him was almost lost in art.
Of softer mould the gentle Fletcher came,
The next in order as the next in name.
With pleas'd attention, 'midst his scenes we find
Each glowing thought that warms the female mind;
Each melting sigh, and every tender tear;
The lover's wishes, and the virgin's fear.
His (3) every strain the Smiles and Graces own;
But stronger Shakespeare felt for man alone:
Drawn by his pen, our ruder passions stand
The unrivall'd picture of his early hand.
With (4) gradual steps and slow, exacter France
Saw Art's fair empire o'er her shores advance:
By length of toil a bright perfection knew,
Correctly bold, and just in all she drew:
Till late Corneille, with Lucan's (5) spirit fir'd,
Breath'd the free strain, as Rome and he inspir'd:
And classic judgment gain'd to sweet Racine,
The temperate strength of Maro's chaster line.
But wilder far the British laurel spread,
And wreaths less artful crown our Poet's head.
Yet he alone to every scene could give
The historian's truth, and bid the manners live.
Wak'd at his call I view, with glad surprise,
Majestic forms of mighty monarchs rise.
There Henry's trumpets spread their loud alarms;
And laurell'd Conquest waits her hero's arms.
Here gentle Edward claims a pitying sigh,
Scarce born to honours, and so soon to die!
Yet shall thy throne, unhappy infant, bring
No beam of comfort to the guilty king:
The time (6) shall come when Glo'ster's heart shall bleed,
In life's last hours, with horror of the deed;
When dreary visions shall at last present
Thy vengeful image in the midnight tent:
Thy hand unseen the secret death shall bear;
Blunt the weak sword, and break th' oppressive spear!
Where'er we turn, by Fancy charm'd, we find
Some sweet illusion of the cheated mind.
Oft, wild of wing, she calls the soul to rove
With humbler nature, in the rural grove;
Where swains contented own the quiet scene,
And twilight fairies tread the circled green:
Dress'd by her hand, the woods and valleys smile;
And Spring diffusive decks th' enchanted isle.
O more than all in powerful genius blest,
Come, take thine empire o'er the willing breast!
Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart shall feel,
Thy songs support me, and thy morals heal!
There every thought the Poet's warmth may raise;
There native music dwells in all the lays.
O might some verse with happiest skill persuade,
Expressive picture to adopt thine aid!
What wondrous draught might rise from every page!
What other Raphaels charm a distant age!
Methinks e'en now I view some free design
Where breathing Nature lives in every line;
Chaste and subdu'd the modest lights decay,
Steal into shades, and mildly melt away.
And see where Antony, (7) in tears approv'd,
Guards the pale relics of the chief he lov'd;
O'er the cold corse the warrior seems to bend,
Deep sunk in grief, and mourns his murder'd friend!
Still as they press, he calls on all around,
Lifts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound.
But who (8) is he whose brows exalted bear
A wrath impatient and a fiercer air?
Awake to all that injur'd worth can feel,
On his own Rome he turns th' avenging steel;
Yet shall not war's insatiate fury fall
(So heaven ordains it) on the destin'd wall.
See the fond mother, 'midst the plaintive train,
Hung on his knees, and prostrate on the plain!
Touch'd to the soul, in vain he strives to hide
The son's affection, in the Roman's pride;
O'er all the man conflicting passions rise;
Rage grasps the sword, while Pity melts the eyes.
Thus generous Critic, as thy Bard inspires,
The sister Arts shall nurse their drooping fires;
Each from his scenes their stores alternate bring;
Blend the fair tint, or wake the vocal string;
Those Sibyl-leaves, the sport of every wind,
(For Poets ever were a careless kind)
By thee dispos'd, no farther toil demand,
But, just to Nature, own thy forming hand.
So spread o'er Greece, the harmonious whole unknown,
E'en Homer's numbers charmed by parts alone.
Their own Ulysses scarce had wander'd more,
By winds and waters cast on every shore:
When, rais'd by fate, some former Hanmer join'd
Each beauteous image of the boundless mind;
And bade, like thee, his Athens ever claim
A fond alliance with the Poet's name.
1 The Oedipus of Sophocles.
2 Julius II, the immediate predecessor of Leo X.
3 Their characters are thus distinguished by Mr. Dryden.
4 About the time of Shakspeare, the poet Hardy was in great repute in France. He wrote, according to Fontenelle, six hundred plays. The French poets after him applied themselves in general to the correct improvement of the stage, which was almost totally disregarded by those
of our own country, Jonson excepted.
5 The favourite author of the elder Corneille.
6 Turno tempus erit, magno cum optaverit emptum
Intactum Pallanta, &c. Virg.
7 See the Tragedy of Julius Cæsar.
8 Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's Dialogue on the Odyssey. | epistle | null | Input: [Form: epistle]
Poem:
WHILE, born to bring the Muse's happier days,
A patriot's hand protects a poet's lays,
While nurs'd by you she sees her myrtles bloom,
Green and unwither'd o'er his honour'd tomb;
Excuse her doubts, if yet she fears to tell
What secret transports in her bosom swell.
With conscious awe she hears the critic's fame,
And blushing hides her wreath at Shakespeare's name.
Hard was the lot those injur'd strains endur'd,
Unown'd by Science, and by years obscur'd;
Fair Fancy wept; and echoing sighs confess'd
A fixt despair in every tuneful breast.
Not with more grief the afflicted swains appear,
When wintry winds deform the plenteous year;
When ling'ring frosts the ruin'd seats invade
Where Peace resorted, and the Graces play'd.
Each rising art by just gradation moves,
Toil builds on toil and age on age improves:
The Muse alone unequal dealt her rage,
And grac'd with noblest pomp her earliest stage.
Preserv'd through time, the speaking scenes impart
Each changeful wish of Phædra's tortured heart;
Or paint the curse that mark'd the Theban's (1) reign,
A bed incestuous, and a father slain.
With kind concern our pitying eyes o'erflow;
Trace the sad tale and own another's woe.
To Rome remov'd, with wit secure to please,
The comic Sisters kept their native ease;
With jealous fear, declining Greece beheld
Her own Menander's art almost excell'd;
But every Muse essay'd to raise in vain
Some labour'd rival of her tragic strain:
Illyssus' laurels, though transferr'd with toil,
Droop'd their fair leaves, nor knew the unfriendly soil.
As Arts expir'd, resistless Dullness rose;
Goths, priests, or Vandals—all were Learning's foes,
Till Julius (2) first recall'd each exil'd maid;
And Cosmo owned them in the Etrurian shade:
Then, deeply skill'd in love's engaging theme,
The soft Provençal pass'd to Arno's stream:
With graceful ease the wanton lyre he strung;
Sweet flow'd the lays—but love was all he sung.
The gay description could not fail to move;
For, led by Nature, all are friends to love.
But Heaven, still various in its works, decreed
The perfect boast of time should last succeed.
The beauteous union must appear at length,
Of Tuscan fancy, and Athenian strength:
One greater Muse Eliza's reign adorn,
And even a Shakespeare to her fame be born!
Yet ah! so bright her morning's opening ray,
In vain our Britain hop'd an equal day!
No second growth the western isle could bear,
At once exhausted with too rich a year.
Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part;
Nature in him was almost lost in art.
Of softer mould the gentle Fletcher came,
The next in order as the next in name.
With pleas'd attention, 'midst his scenes we find
Each glowing thought that warms the female mind;
Each melting sigh, and every tender tear;
The lover's wishes, and the virgin's fear.
His (3) every strain the Smiles and Graces own;
But stronger Shakespeare felt for man alone:
Drawn by his pen, our ruder passions stand
The unrivall'd picture of his early hand.
With (4) gradual steps and slow, exacter France
Saw Art's fair empire o'er her shores advance:
By length of toil a bright perfection knew,
Correctly bold, and just in all she drew:
Till late Corneille, with Lucan's (5) spirit fir'd,
Breath'd the free strain, as Rome and he inspir'd:
And classic judgment gain'd to sweet Racine,
The temperate strength of Maro's chaster line.
But wilder far the British laurel spread,
And wreaths less artful crown our Poet's head.
Yet he alone to every scene could give
The historian's truth, and bid the manners live.
Wak'd at his call I view, with glad surprise,
Majestic forms of mighty monarchs rise.
There Henry's trumpets spread their loud alarms;
And laurell'd Conquest waits her hero's arms.
Here gentle Edward claims a pitying sigh,
Scarce born to honours, and so soon to die!
Yet shall thy throne, unhappy infant, bring
No beam of comfort to the guilty king:
The time (6) shall come when Glo'ster's heart shall bleed,
In life's last hours, with horror of the deed;
When dreary visions shall at last present
Thy vengeful image in the midnight tent:
Thy hand unseen the secret death shall bear;
Blunt the weak sword, and break th' oppressive spear!
Where'er we turn, by Fancy charm'd, we find
Some sweet illusion of the cheated mind.
Oft, wild of wing, she calls the soul to rove
With humbler nature, in the rural grove;
Where swains contented own the quiet scene,
And twilight fairies tread the circled green:
Dress'd by her hand, the woods and valleys smile;
And Spring diffusive decks th' enchanted isle.
O more than all in powerful genius blest,
Come, take thine empire o'er the willing breast!
Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart shall feel,
Thy songs support me, and thy morals heal!
There every thought the Poet's warmth may raise;
There native music dwells in all the lays.
O might some verse with happiest skill persuade,
Expressive picture to adopt thine aid!
What wondrous draught might rise from every page!
What other Raphaels charm a distant age!
Methinks e'en now I view some free design
Where breathing Nature lives in every line;
Chaste and subdu'd the modest lights decay,
Steal into shades, and mildly melt away.
And see where Antony, (7) in tears approv'd,
Guards the pale relics of the chief he lov'd;
O'er the cold corse the warrior seems to bend,
Deep sunk in grief, and mourns his murder'd friend!
Still as they press, he calls on all around,
Lifts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound.
But who (8) is he whose brows exalted bear
A wrath impatient and a fiercer air?
Awake to all that injur'd worth can feel,
On his own Rome he turns th' avenging steel;
Yet shall not war's insatiate fury fall
(So heaven ordains it) on the destin'd wall.
See the fond mother, 'midst the plaintive train,
Hung on his knees, and prostrate on the plain!
Touch'd to the soul, in vain he strives to hide
The son's affection, in the Roman's pride;
O'er all the man conflicting passions rise;
Rage grasps the sword, while Pity melts the eyes.
Thus generous Critic, as thy Bard inspires,
The sister Arts shall nurse their drooping fires;
Each from his scenes their stores alternate bring;
Blend the fair tint, or wake the vocal string;
Those Sibyl-leaves, the sport of every wind,
(For Poets ever were a careless kind)
By thee dispos'd, no farther toil demand,
But, just to Nature, own thy forming hand.
So spread o'er Greece, the harmonious whole unknown,
E'en Homer's numbers charmed by parts alone.
Their own Ulysses scarce had wander'd more,
By winds and waters cast on every shore:
When, rais'd by fate, some former Hanmer join'd
Each beauteous image of the boundless mind;
And bade, like thee, his Athens ever claim
A fond alliance with the Poet's name.
1 The Oedipus of Sophocles.
2 Julius II, the immediate predecessor of Leo X.
3 Their characters are thus distinguished by Mr. Dryden.
4 About the time of Shakspeare, the poet Hardy was in great repute in France. He wrote, according to Fontenelle, six hundred plays. The French poets after him applied themselves in general to the correct improvement of the stage, which was almost totally disregarded by those
of our own country, Jonson excepted.
5 The favourite author of the elder Corneille.
6 Turno tempus erit, magno cum optaverit emptum
Intactum Pallanta, &c. Virg.
7 See the Tragedy of Julius Cæsar.
8 Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's Dialogue on the Odyssey. |
A billion mouths has India to now feed,
And provide them with all that they may need;
To shelter, clothe them- what a great number!
And showing them the way to good slumber!
New millennium has brought on a new hype!
Ignorance makes them smoke tho’ not a pipe;
Day by day scarce resources become scant;
But none prefer to work hard like an ant.
The country’s heritage is in peril;
The rush for Big-Money is the devil;
Most people ignore life’s sense of values;
Our country can’t afford to repay dues.
Rededication is the one answer;
Keeping this goal, let Indians endeavor.
22-7-2000 | null | today | Input: [Topic: today]
Poem:
A billion mouths has India to now feed,
And provide them with all that they may need;
To shelter, clothe them- what a great number!
And showing them the way to good slumber!
New millennium has brought on a new hype!
Ignorance makes them smoke tho’ not a pipe;
Day by day scarce resources become scant;
But none prefer to work hard like an ant.
The country’s heritage is in peril;
The rush for Big-Money is the devil;
Most people ignore life’s sense of values;
Our country can’t afford to repay dues.
Rededication is the one answer;
Keeping this goal, let Indians endeavor.
22-7-2000 |
A POEM OF FRUSTRATION, RAGE, BITTERNESS, RESENTMENT, DISAPPOINTMENT, ENVY, SADNESS, SICKNESS, DEPRESSION, FEAR
A poem of frustration, rage, bitterness, resentment, disappointment, envy, sadness, sickness, despair, depression, fear-
All feelings of down and darkness and shame and lust and emptiness
A poem of ugliness inside and anger which has no goodness in it
A poem to blame myself and the world
A poem of guilt and loneliness and nothingness and sadness again and again
A poem no one ever needs to feel
A bad poem on bad things
Ugly ugly ugly
As if even the earth were made in the image of darkness and death
Such a sad bad poem and such inner anger and sickness and sadness
What can it all mean?
When I am a person of such good intention
Who wants the best for us all?
What can it all mean
When God wants us to be better and better and good?
I don’t know.
I am just a little complaining discontent not yet at the end of my road perhaps.
God help me out of this again, please. | null | depression | Input: [Topic: depression]
Poem:
A POEM OF FRUSTRATION, RAGE, BITTERNESS, RESENTMENT, DISAPPOINTMENT, ENVY, SADNESS, SICKNESS, DEPRESSION, FEAR
A poem of frustration, rage, bitterness, resentment, disappointment, envy, sadness, sickness, despair, depression, fear-
All feelings of down and darkness and shame and lust and emptiness
A poem of ugliness inside and anger which has no goodness in it
A poem to blame myself and the world
A poem of guilt and loneliness and nothingness and sadness again and again
A poem no one ever needs to feel
A bad poem on bad things
Ugly ugly ugly
As if even the earth were made in the image of darkness and death
Such a sad bad poem and such inner anger and sickness and sadness
What can it all mean?
When I am a person of such good intention
Who wants the best for us all?
What can it all mean
When God wants us to be better and better and good?
I don’t know.
I am just a little complaining discontent not yet at the end of my road perhaps.
God help me out of this again, please. |
im running out things to say
[im running out of lies]
im running out trust
[im running out of spies]
im running out of love
[im running out of hopes]
im running out of dreams
[im running out of silent screams]
im starting to get tired of running toward you
so i guess ill just start running away | null | running | Input: [Topic: running]
Poem:
im running out things to say
[im running out of lies]
im running out trust
[im running out of spies]
im running out of love
[im running out of hopes]
im running out of dreams
[im running out of silent screams]
im starting to get tired of running toward you
so i guess ill just start running away |
Sit down with me awhile, my Love
Let's leave the world behind;
This hour belongs to us alone:
Our moment etched in time.
Lean upon my shoulder, Sweet
And press your cheek to mine.
Let's set our eyes to spy upon
Our promised
ever after
, find.
Rest your arm upon my knee
And hold that smile again.
Another spot is next in line
On our wedding photography. | null | wedding | Input: [Topic: wedding]
Poem:
Sit down with me awhile, my Love
Let's leave the world behind;
This hour belongs to us alone:
Our moment etched in time.
Lean upon my shoulder, Sweet
And press your cheek to mine.
Let's set our eyes to spy upon
Our promised
ever after
, find.
Rest your arm upon my knee
And hold that smile again.
Another spot is next in line
On our wedding photography. |
His thoughts went back to how it once had been,
to the last kiss,
a kind of mockery in her laughter
to times of bliss,
then to the final deceit with a friend
and then now this:
her language and body did her deeds vouch,
her arm hairs did rise at his very touch.
Pain had brought senselessness it was too much,
madness some say,
he then doubted if she had loved him,
a step away
some dazing heights brought him to no return,
a judgement day,
at the very edge he was lingering
as if still waiting there for something. | cavatina | null | Input: [Form: cavatina]
Poem:
His thoughts went back to how it once had been,
to the last kiss,
a kind of mockery in her laughter
to times of bliss,
then to the final deceit with a friend
and then now this:
her language and body did her deeds vouch,
her arm hairs did rise at his very touch.
Pain had brought senselessness it was too much,
madness some say,
he then doubted if she had loved him,
a step away
some dazing heights brought him to no return,
a judgement day,
at the very edge he was lingering
as if still waiting there for something. |
960
As plan for Noon and plan for Night
So differ Life and Death
In positive Prospective—
The Foot upon the Earth
At Distance, and Achievement, strains,
The Foot upon the Grave
Makes effort at conclusion
Assisted faint of Love. | null | night | Input: [Topic: night]
Poem:
960
As plan for Noon and plan for Night
So differ Life and Death
In positive Prospective—
The Foot upon the Earth
At Distance, and Achievement, strains,
The Foot upon the Grave
Makes effort at conclusion
Assisted faint of Love. |
They went home and told their wives,
that never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
But... They went home.
They said my house was licking clean,
no word I spoke was ever mean,
I had an air of mystery,
But... They went home.
My praises were on all men's lips,
they liked my smile, my wit, my hips,
they'd spend one night, or two or three.
But... | null | home | Input: [Topic: home]
Poem:
They went home and told their wives,
that never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
But... They went home.
They said my house was licking clean,
no word I spoke was ever mean,
I had an air of mystery,
But... They went home.
My praises were on all men's lips,
they liked my smile, my wit, my hips,
they'd spend one night, or two or three.
But... |
Sweet sweet my love
Come close now
And give my heart one more try
Each cloud above
Its lowbrow
Shall else fill my sorrow's sky
Sweet sweet my true
You still are
Like the summer sky in glow
Its azure blue
Afar star
That only true lover know
Sweet sweet the one
Never lost
You bring my passions high
Till love is done
Away tossed
When the years will say goodbye
(Inspiration: John Wilbye, Madrigal: Adieu, Sweet Amaryllis:
Adieu, adieu
Sweet amaryllis.
For since to part your will is.
O heavy tiding
Here is for me no biding.
Yet once again
Ere that I part with you.
Amaryllis, amaryllis,
Sweet Adieu. | madrigal | null | Input: [Form: madrigal]
Poem:
Sweet sweet my love
Come close now
And give my heart one more try
Each cloud above
Its lowbrow
Shall else fill my sorrow's sky
Sweet sweet my true
You still are
Like the summer sky in glow
Its azure blue
Afar star
That only true lover know
Sweet sweet the one
Never lost
You bring my passions high
Till love is done
Away tossed
When the years will say goodbye
(Inspiration: John Wilbye, Madrigal: Adieu, Sweet Amaryllis:
Adieu, adieu
Sweet amaryllis.
For since to part your will is.
O heavy tiding
Here is for me no biding.
Yet once again
Ere that I part with you.
Amaryllis, amaryllis,
Sweet Adieu. |
To make a glass cup
It takes few minutes,
But to break it up,
It takes split seconds.
We smell the rose
Not by crushing it,
But thro' the nose,
By handling it soft.
The baby with care
Her mother fondles
As she wants to share
Her love with kisses.
Likewise, a marriage
That's made in Heaven,
Confirms a life bondage
Between man and woman.
Marriage's a sacred institution,
A bachelor wants to get in
But feeling it a great burden,
Thereafter, out he wants to run.
The wife's like a rose
The husband should feel,
And he is like a glass
With care she should handle.
Any divorce, will there be
If each one respects,
Whatever any difference be,
The other one's feelings?
Will the Heaven pardon
If they break their ties,
Violating its sanction,
For few silly reasons? | null | heaven | Input: [Topic: heaven]
Poem:
To make a glass cup
It takes few minutes,
But to break it up,
It takes split seconds.
We smell the rose
Not by crushing it,
But thro' the nose,
By handling it soft.
The baby with care
Her mother fondles
As she wants to share
Her love with kisses.
Likewise, a marriage
That's made in Heaven,
Confirms a life bondage
Between man and woman.
Marriage's a sacred institution,
A bachelor wants to get in
But feeling it a great burden,
Thereafter, out he wants to run.
The wife's like a rose
The husband should feel,
And he is like a glass
With care she should handle.
Any divorce, will there be
If each one respects,
Whatever any difference be,
The other one's feelings?
Will the Heaven pardon
If they break their ties,
Violating its sanction,
For few silly reasons? |
Daddy, I hate you
Daddy, I love you
Daddy, I really don't have a clue
But, that one time I flew
But, you didn't care
It isn't fair
You never share
What is with you? ?
Do I need to hit you with my shoe?
That is covered with dog doo
You never made me happy
You always said my hair was nappy
Don't you love me
I love you
Wait, no I don't!
I hate you
You made me feel blue
Please, go away
I'm not even gonna play
Or, i'll make you out of clay
Don't delay
Just go away | null | hate | Input: [Topic: hate]
Poem:
Daddy, I hate you
Daddy, I love you
Daddy, I really don't have a clue
But, that one time I flew
But, you didn't care
It isn't fair
You never share
What is with you? ?
Do I need to hit you with my shoe?
That is covered with dog doo
You never made me happy
You always said my hair was nappy
Don't you love me
I love you
Wait, no I don't!
I hate you
You made me feel blue
Please, go away
I'm not even gonna play
Or, i'll make you out of clay
Don't delay
Just go away |
I should have stayed with my first instincts
for when I saw you
in the back of my head an alarm went off
it screamed evil
pure evil
but I ignored it
you changed before my eyes
but I didn’t pay attention
I ignored all the warning signs
until it was to late
I should have turned and ran
but instead i stood there like a sheep waiting at the slaughter
I just stood there
before I realized what you planned on doing
I as trapped
I was cornered
and there was your chance
and you took it
you attacked | null | evil | Input: [Topic: evil]
Poem:
I should have stayed with my first instincts
for when I saw you
in the back of my head an alarm went off
it screamed evil
pure evil
but I ignored it
you changed before my eyes
but I didn’t pay attention
I ignored all the warning signs
until it was to late
I should have turned and ran
but instead i stood there like a sheep waiting at the slaughter
I just stood there
before I realized what you planned on doing
I as trapped
I was cornered
and there was your chance
and you took it
you attacked |
It comes upon me, time and time again.
It's the grand finally my friend.
A Wicked poker game with all decadent men.
All holding out till the last minute.
Oh who's gonna win?
Is it another bluff?
Fiction or fantasy.
Oh baby rolling with the ecstasy.
Trial by the nights of pitch black sky.
Some say suicide,
Some say you never wanted to die.
Only god truly knows' why.
Denial and prejudice at the same time.
The judge and jury in a flurry attack.
The poor man had no time to react.
26 stab wounds creates a bloody mess.
You try to clean it up to your best, but with out success.
Vengeance for life.
No one will come see you.
Not this time you've done yourself in.
Let the punishment fit the crime.
Passionate or not,
a plea of temporary insanity with not an ounce dignity.
Cigarettes burns to the eye.
Pissing on the body as it burns and getting pleasure out of it.
A socially path, a sick son of a b*tch in which their no cure for.
Your keeping score after each murder.
Some would call you a serial killer.
I call you a soul stealer. | null | murder | Input: [Topic: murder]
Poem:
It comes upon me, time and time again.
It's the grand finally my friend.
A Wicked poker game with all decadent men.
All holding out till the last minute.
Oh who's gonna win?
Is it another bluff?
Fiction or fantasy.
Oh baby rolling with the ecstasy.
Trial by the nights of pitch black sky.
Some say suicide,
Some say you never wanted to die.
Only god truly knows' why.
Denial and prejudice at the same time.
The judge and jury in a flurry attack.
The poor man had no time to react.
26 stab wounds creates a bloody mess.
You try to clean it up to your best, but with out success.
Vengeance for life.
No one will come see you.
Not this time you've done yourself in.
Let the punishment fit the crime.
Passionate or not,
a plea of temporary insanity with not an ounce dignity.
Cigarettes burns to the eye.
Pissing on the body as it burns and getting pleasure out of it.
A socially path, a sick son of a b*tch in which their no cure for.
Your keeping score after each murder.
Some would call you a serial killer.
I call you a soul stealer. |
a tender breeze touches my skin
a horrible pain it's bringing
and I wanna go running
but I know I’ve got to let it in
it's so hard to face it all
cause I know tonight I'll fall
don't drag on me cause I can't keep strong
cause tomorrow I'll move on
but today, oh today
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow will bring back my sun
but today it all feels wrong
oooh today, yeah today,
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow with eyes dry
I'll be ready for another try
go walking in the wood
it's suppose to make me feel good
but today it hurts even more
than I'll go try out a shore
but the sand make my eyes tear
every time another spear
who makes the burden even harder
but I'll be fine one day farther
but today, oh today
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow will bring back my sun
but today it all feels wrong
oooh today, yeah today,
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow with eyes dry
I'll be ready for another try
it's just a blast
comes so fast
but I know
it will gow
over tomorrow
but today, oh today
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow will bring back my sun
but today it all feels wrong
oooh today, yeah today,
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow with eyes dry
I'll be ready for another try | null | today | Input: [Topic: today]
Poem:
a tender breeze touches my skin
a horrible pain it's bringing
and I wanna go running
but I know I’ve got to let it in
it's so hard to face it all
cause I know tonight I'll fall
don't drag on me cause I can't keep strong
cause tomorrow I'll move on
but today, oh today
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow will bring back my sun
but today it all feels wrong
oooh today, yeah today,
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow with eyes dry
I'll be ready for another try
go walking in the wood
it's suppose to make me feel good
but today it hurts even more
than I'll go try out a shore
but the sand make my eyes tear
every time another spear
who makes the burden even harder
but I'll be fine one day farther
but today, oh today
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow will bring back my sun
but today it all feels wrong
oooh today, yeah today,
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow with eyes dry
I'll be ready for another try
it's just a blast
comes so fast
but I know
it will gow
over tomorrow
but today, oh today
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow will bring back my sun
but today it all feels wrong
oooh today, yeah today,
I've got to cry it all away
and tomorrow with eyes dry
I'll be ready for another try |
She’s a joy she’s an angel’ well that’s what she thinks
She clings on to your heart like a plug to a sink
She drives you all crazy with make believe games
She’ll have you believe that fairies fly planes
She often comes in with imaginary friends
And can draw on their dads with permanent pens
She has pretty parties with dolls as her mates
But then runs straight out and she swings on the gate
She listens to stories of love and romance
Then shoves a live frog in her best friends pants
At night when asleep the angels go quiet
I often do think that she could start a riot
She looks like a princess all said and done
And Uses mums lipstick to draw a big sun
All over the walls and down the settee
Her face is alive and she giggles with glee
Its then that you have to be strong and quite firm
For if you stand back she will never quite learn
And learn things she does most every day
She learns how to get thing her very own way
She came into your life and captured your heart
And then from that time you won’t stay apart
You may keep your son till he finds a good wife
But your daughters your daughter for all of her life | null | daughter | Input: [Topic: daughter]
Poem:
She’s a joy she’s an angel’ well that’s what she thinks
She clings on to your heart like a plug to a sink
She drives you all crazy with make believe games
She’ll have you believe that fairies fly planes
She often comes in with imaginary friends
And can draw on their dads with permanent pens
She has pretty parties with dolls as her mates
But then runs straight out and she swings on the gate
She listens to stories of love and romance
Then shoves a live frog in her best friends pants
At night when asleep the angels go quiet
I often do think that she could start a riot
She looks like a princess all said and done
And Uses mums lipstick to draw a big sun
All over the walls and down the settee
Her face is alive and she giggles with glee
Its then that you have to be strong and quite firm
For if you stand back she will never quite learn
And learn things she does most every day
She learns how to get thing her very own way
She came into your life and captured your heart
And then from that time you won’t stay apart
You may keep your son till he finds a good wife
But your daughters your daughter for all of her life |
Prelude to "Stalky & Co."
"Let us now praise famous men"--
Men of little showing--
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continues,
Greater then their knowing!
Western wind and open surge
Took us from our mothers--
Flung us on a naked shore
(Twelve bleak houses by the shore.
Seven summers by the shore! )
'Mid two hundred brothers.
There we met with famous men
Set in office o'er us;
And they beat on us with rods--
Faithfully with many rods--
Daily beat us on with rods,
For the love they bore us!
Out of Egypt unto Troy--
Over Himalaya--
Far and sure our bands have gone--
Hy-Brazil or Babylon,
Islands of the Southern Run,
And Cities of Cathaia!
And we all praise famous men--
Ancients of the College;
For they taught us common sense--
Tried to teach us common sense--
Truth and God's Own Common Sense,
Which is more than knowledge!
Each degree of Latitude
Strung about Creation
Seeth one or more of us
(Of one muster each of us),
Diligent in that he does,
Keen in his vocation.
This we learned from famous men,
Knowing not its uses,
When they showed, in daily work--
Man must finish off his work--
Right or wrong, his daily work--
And without excuses.
Servant of the Staff and chain,
Mine and fuse and grapnel--
Some, before the face of Kings,
Stand before the face of Kings;
Bearing gifts to divers Kings--
Gifts of case and shrapnel.
This we learned from famous men
Teaching in our borders,
Who declared it was best,
Safest, easiest, and best--
Expeditious, wise, and best--
To obey your orders.
Some beneath the further stars
Bear the greater burden:
Set to serve the lands they rule,
(Save he serve no man may rule),
Serve and love the lands they rule;
Seeking praise nor guerdon.
This we learned from famous men,
Knowing not we learned it.
Only, as the years went by--
Lonely, as the years went by--
Far from help as years went by,
Plainer we discerned it.
Wherefore praise we famous men
From whose bays we borrow--
They that put aside To-day--
All the joys of their To-day--
And with toil of their To-day
Bought for us To-morrow!
Bless and praise we famous men--
Men of little showing--
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continueth,
Great beyond their knowing! | null | school | Input: [Topic: school]
Poem:
Prelude to "Stalky & Co."
"Let us now praise famous men"--
Men of little showing--
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continues,
Greater then their knowing!
Western wind and open surge
Took us from our mothers--
Flung us on a naked shore
(Twelve bleak houses by the shore.
Seven summers by the shore! )
'Mid two hundred brothers.
There we met with famous men
Set in office o'er us;
And they beat on us with rods--
Faithfully with many rods--
Daily beat us on with rods,
For the love they bore us!
Out of Egypt unto Troy--
Over Himalaya--
Far and sure our bands have gone--
Hy-Brazil or Babylon,
Islands of the Southern Run,
And Cities of Cathaia!
And we all praise famous men--
Ancients of the College;
For they taught us common sense--
Tried to teach us common sense--
Truth and God's Own Common Sense,
Which is more than knowledge!
Each degree of Latitude
Strung about Creation
Seeth one or more of us
(Of one muster each of us),
Diligent in that he does,
Keen in his vocation.
This we learned from famous men,
Knowing not its uses,
When they showed, in daily work--
Man must finish off his work--
Right or wrong, his daily work--
And without excuses.
Servant of the Staff and chain,
Mine and fuse and grapnel--
Some, before the face of Kings,
Stand before the face of Kings;
Bearing gifts to divers Kings--
Gifts of case and shrapnel.
This we learned from famous men
Teaching in our borders,
Who declared it was best,
Safest, easiest, and best--
Expeditious, wise, and best--
To obey your orders.
Some beneath the further stars
Bear the greater burden:
Set to serve the lands they rule,
(Save he serve no man may rule),
Serve and love the lands they rule;
Seeking praise nor guerdon.
This we learned from famous men,
Knowing not we learned it.
Only, as the years went by--
Lonely, as the years went by--
Far from help as years went by,
Plainer we discerned it.
Wherefore praise we famous men
From whose bays we borrow--
They that put aside To-day--
All the joys of their To-day--
And with toil of their To-day
Bought for us To-morrow!
Bless and praise we famous men--
Men of little showing--
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Broad and deep continueth,
Great beyond their knowing! |
Need is a desire; greed is a desire.
Desires denied, sufferings surface.
Need is met at ease but not the greed
Which is boundless with sufferings profound.
Need and greed aren’t in water tight cells.
Need might restrict to physical wants.
Greed is for ego’s gratification.
Possessiveness is the sign of the greed.
To earn by wrongful means is from greed.
To exploit and hoard is an act of greed.
To garner and flaunt all you have is greed.
Greedless, though penny-less, you’re loveable.
To sedate the pride is to tame the greed.
To kindle the pride is to fuel the greed.
Having got money, power and possession,
As the result of greed, you will lose peace.
Remove the greed; jealousy is gone.
Remove the greed; no feeling of revenge.
Hail the poor and condemn the greedy.
Then the tendency to grow rich will wane.
Live simple; live humble; then need is less.
Be proud to own a bicycle, not a car.
Value one who owns a bicycle, not a car.
You will have saved energy and the nature.
Don’t embrace comforts, which will weaken you.
Don’t enthuse with ego, which will make loss big.
Unlike the cheat, being poor is not a shame.
Less wants; less sufferings, more happiness. | null | greed | Input: [Topic: greed]
Poem:
Need is a desire; greed is a desire.
Desires denied, sufferings surface.
Need is met at ease but not the greed
Which is boundless with sufferings profound.
Need and greed aren’t in water tight cells.
Need might restrict to physical wants.
Greed is for ego’s gratification.
Possessiveness is the sign of the greed.
To earn by wrongful means is from greed.
To exploit and hoard is an act of greed.
To garner and flaunt all you have is greed.
Greedless, though penny-less, you’re loveable.
To sedate the pride is to tame the greed.
To kindle the pride is to fuel the greed.
Having got money, power and possession,
As the result of greed, you will lose peace.
Remove the greed; jealousy is gone.
Remove the greed; no feeling of revenge.
Hail the poor and condemn the greedy.
Then the tendency to grow rich will wane.
Live simple; live humble; then need is less.
Be proud to own a bicycle, not a car.
Value one who owns a bicycle, not a car.
You will have saved energy and the nature.
Don’t embrace comforts, which will weaken you.
Don’t enthuse with ego, which will make loss big.
Unlike the cheat, being poor is not a shame.
Less wants; less sufferings, more happiness. |
_Jack._ Seest thou not yon farmer's son?
He hath stoln my love from me, alas!
What shall I do? I am undone;
My heart will ne'er be as it was.
O, but he gives her gay gold rings,
And tufted gloves [for] holiday,
And many other goodly things,
That hath stoln my love away.
_Friend._ Let him give her gay gold rings
Or tufted gloves, were they ne'er so [gay];
[F]or were her lovers lords or kings,
They should not carry the wench away.
_Jack._ But 'a dances wonders well,
And with his dances stole her love from me:
Yet she wont to say, I bore the bell
For dancing and for courtesy.
_Dick._ Fie, lusty younker, what do you here,
Not dancing on the green to-day?
For Pierce, the farmer's son, I fear,
Is like to carry your wench away.
_Jack._ Good Dick, bid them all come hither,
And tell Pierce from me beside,
That, if he thinks to have the wench,
Here he stands shall lie with the bride.
_Dick._ Fie, Nan, why use thy old lover so,
For any other new-come guest?
Thou long time his love did know;
Why shouldst thou not use him best?
_Nan._ Bonny Dick, I will not forsake
My bonny Rowland for any gold:
If he can dance as well as Pierce,
He shall have my heart in hold.
_Pierce._ Why, then, my hearts, let's to this gear;
And by dancing I may won
My Nan, whose love I hold so dear
As any realm under the sun.
_Gentleman._ Then, gentles, ere I speed from hence,
I will be so bold to dance
A turn or two without offence;
For, as I was walking along by chance,
I was told you did agree.
_Friend._ 'Tis true, good sir; and this is she
Hopes your worship comes not to crave her;
For she hath lovers two or three,
And he that dances best must have her.
_Gentleman._ How say you, sweet, will you dance with me?
And you [shall] have both land and [hill];
My love shall want nor gold nor fee.
_Nan._ I thank you, sir, for your good will;
But one of these my love must be:
I'm but a homely country maid,
And far unfit for your degree;
[To dance with you I am afraid.]
_Friend._ Take her, good sir, by the hand,
As she is fairest: were she fairer,
By this dance, you shall understand,
He that can win her is like to wear her.
_Fool._ And saw you not [my] Nan to-day,
My mother's maid have you not seen?
My pretty Nan is gone away
To seek her love upon the green.
[I cannot see her 'mong so many:]
She shall have me, if she have any.
_Nan._ Welcome, sweetheart, and welcome here,
Welcome, my [true] love, now to me.
This is my love [and my darling dear],
And that my husband [soon] must be.
And, boy, when thou com'st home, thou'lt see
Thou art as welcome home as he.
_Gentleman._ Why, how now, sweet Nan! I hope you jest.
_Nan._ No, by my troth, I love the fool the best:
And, if you be jealous, God give you good-night!
I fear you're a gelding, you caper so light.
_Gentleman._ I thought she had jested and meant but a fable,
But now do I see she hath play['d] with his bable.
I wish all my friends by me to take heed,
That a fool come not near you when you mean to speed. | verse | null | Input: [Form: verse]
Poem:
_Jack._ Seest thou not yon farmer's son?
He hath stoln my love from me, alas!
What shall I do? I am undone;
My heart will ne'er be as it was.
O, but he gives her gay gold rings,
And tufted gloves [for] holiday,
And many other goodly things,
That hath stoln my love away.
_Friend._ Let him give her gay gold rings
Or tufted gloves, were they ne'er so [gay];
[F]or were her lovers lords or kings,
They should not carry the wench away.
_Jack._ But 'a dances wonders well,
And with his dances stole her love from me:
Yet she wont to say, I bore the bell
For dancing and for courtesy.
_Dick._ Fie, lusty younker, what do you here,
Not dancing on the green to-day?
For Pierce, the farmer's son, I fear,
Is like to carry your wench away.
_Jack._ Good Dick, bid them all come hither,
And tell Pierce from me beside,
That, if he thinks to have the wench,
Here he stands shall lie with the bride.
_Dick._ Fie, Nan, why use thy old lover so,
For any other new-come guest?
Thou long time his love did know;
Why shouldst thou not use him best?
_Nan._ Bonny Dick, I will not forsake
My bonny Rowland for any gold:
If he can dance as well as Pierce,
He shall have my heart in hold.
_Pierce._ Why, then, my hearts, let's to this gear;
And by dancing I may won
My Nan, whose love I hold so dear
As any realm under the sun.
_Gentleman._ Then, gentles, ere I speed from hence,
I will be so bold to dance
A turn or two without offence;
For, as I was walking along by chance,
I was told you did agree.
_Friend._ 'Tis true, good sir; and this is she
Hopes your worship comes not to crave her;
For she hath lovers two or three,
And he that dances best must have her.
_Gentleman._ How say you, sweet, will you dance with me?
And you [shall] have both land and [hill];
My love shall want nor gold nor fee.
_Nan._ I thank you, sir, for your good will;
But one of these my love must be:
I'm but a homely country maid,
And far unfit for your degree;
[To dance with you I am afraid.]
_Friend._ Take her, good sir, by the hand,
As she is fairest: were she fairer,
By this dance, you shall understand,
He that can win her is like to wear her.
_Fool._ And saw you not [my] Nan to-day,
My mother's maid have you not seen?
My pretty Nan is gone away
To seek her love upon the green.
[I cannot see her 'mong so many:]
She shall have me, if she have any.
_Nan._ Welcome, sweetheart, and welcome here,
Welcome, my [true] love, now to me.
This is my love [and my darling dear],
And that my husband [soon] must be.
And, boy, when thou com'st home, thou'lt see
Thou art as welcome home as he.
_Gentleman._ Why, how now, sweet Nan! I hope you jest.
_Nan._ No, by my troth, I love the fool the best:
And, if you be jealous, God give you good-night!
I fear you're a gelding, you caper so light.
_Gentleman._ I thought she had jested and meant but a fable,
But now do I see she hath play['d] with his bable.
I wish all my friends by me to take heed,
That a fool come not near you when you mean to speed. |
There was an Old Man on a hill,
Who seldom, if ever, stood still;
He ran up and down,
In his Grandmother's gown,
Which adorned that Old Man on a hill. | limerick | null | Input: [Form: limerick]
Poem:
There was an Old Man on a hill,
Who seldom, if ever, stood still;
He ran up and down,
In his Grandmother's gown,
Which adorned that Old Man on a hill. |
Remember thee! remember thee!
Till Lethe quench life's burning stream
Remorse and shame shall cling to thee,
And haunt thee like a feverish dream!
Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.
Thy husband too shall think of thee:
By neither shalt thou be forgot,
Thou false to him, thou fiend to me! | null | remember | Input: [Topic: remember]
Poem:
Remember thee! remember thee!
Till Lethe quench life's burning stream
Remorse and shame shall cling to thee,
And haunt thee like a feverish dream!
Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.
Thy husband too shall think of thee:
By neither shalt thou be forgot,
Thou false to him, thou fiend to me! |
Too soon comes Autumn, as nipping the heels
Of unwary Summer, it stealthily seals
Small changes in heavily leaf-laden trees.
Summer fruits begin dropping, balanced astride
Branches festooned, in which Autumn takes hide
Before battle commences it's shivery breeze
Which scatters browned leaves, to bring to their knees
Beaten down Summer days of warm ease.
Autumn comes running, nor waits to abide
While brave Summer blooms adjust to it's ride.
It tosses, relentless, all 'Summer' it sees
Havocing treetops, nor does it allay
It's mischievous goadings for yet one more day.
Scurrying birds sense each warning of chill.
Consistently peck around my window-sill,
Fattening on seeds before temperatures freeze.
Autumn comes running
To stay. | null | running | Input: [Topic: running]
Poem:
Too soon comes Autumn, as nipping the heels
Of unwary Summer, it stealthily seals
Small changes in heavily leaf-laden trees.
Summer fruits begin dropping, balanced astride
Branches festooned, in which Autumn takes hide
Before battle commences it's shivery breeze
Which scatters browned leaves, to bring to their knees
Beaten down Summer days of warm ease.
Autumn comes running, nor waits to abide
While brave Summer blooms adjust to it's ride.
It tosses, relentless, all 'Summer' it sees
Havocing treetops, nor does it allay
It's mischievous goadings for yet one more day.
Scurrying birds sense each warning of chill.
Consistently peck around my window-sill,
Fattening on seeds before temperatures freeze.
Autumn comes running
To stay. |
I am beyond the help of prayer...I am in the abyss of a double life
One which I brought upon myself and another Fate has dealt me
I was preyed upon and cast into the belly of the Beast
Its lies and deceit washed me in a digestive saliva
Breaking down all of my defenses and leaving me ready
To become nothing more than excrement...
Prayers can't help that kind of shit....
(2007) | null | power | Input: [Topic: power]
Poem:
I am beyond the help of prayer...I am in the abyss of a double life
One which I brought upon myself and another Fate has dealt me
I was preyed upon and cast into the belly of the Beast
Its lies and deceit washed me in a digestive saliva
Breaking down all of my defenses and leaving me ready
To become nothing more than excrement...
Prayers can't help that kind of shit....
(2007) |
Im sorry for all the mean things I said
Im sorry for ever time I yelled at you.
Im sorry for leaving the house when Im mad.
Im sorry for not being there for you.
You shuldent be the one thats sick.
If I could, Id take away all the pain.
All the Meds, and the Doctors visits.
If I had the choice, I would rather be sick.
You have all your life to live
And all the time left.
You dont deserve this
No one does.
To my little sister,
Im sorry
And
I love you. | null | sister | Input: [Topic: sister]
Poem:
Im sorry for all the mean things I said
Im sorry for ever time I yelled at you.
Im sorry for leaving the house when Im mad.
Im sorry for not being there for you.
You shuldent be the one thats sick.
If I could, Id take away all the pain.
All the Meds, and the Doctors visits.
If I had the choice, I would rather be sick.
You have all your life to live
And all the time left.
You dont deserve this
No one does.
To my little sister,
Im sorry
And
I love you. |
poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
damned things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can't find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:
a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a jock guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant's fart in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a dirty joke
anything
anything
but
these. | null | poetry | Input: [Topic: poetry]
Poem:
poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
damned things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year
after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can't find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.
I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.
if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:
a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a jock guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant's fart in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a dirty joke
anything
anything
but
these. |
Listen, The wind is still,
And far away in the night --
See! The uplands fill
With a running light.
Open the doors. It is warm;
And where the sky was clear--
Look! The head of a storm
That marches here!
Come under the trembling hedge--
Fast, although you fumble...
There! Did you hear the edge
of winter crumble | null | spring | Input: [Topic: spring]
Poem:
Listen, The wind is still,
And far away in the night --
See! The uplands fill
With a running light.
Open the doors. It is warm;
And where the sky was clear--
Look! The head of a storm
That marches here!
Come under the trembling hedge--
Fast, although you fumble...
There! Did you hear the edge
of winter crumble |
With great pain my heart does rage on this night,
while it feels as if in my life there will never again be a happy day,
as if all hope and new tomorrows are slowly fading with the light
and done a thousand times are all the things that I might do right,
crushed like the shelling of eons and on the beach while children laugh and play.
With great pain my heart does rage on this night,
full of new horizons at a time the future was something bright
with hopes and dreams in a sea of faith on a tranquil milk-white bay;
as if all hope and new tomorrows are slowly fading with the light,
I see a swarm of doves in an alarmed fluttering turning flight
while like a paper caravel my life sails sluggishly away.
With great pain my heart does rage on this night,
while in the angry sea in the banks of fog nothing is in sight
just the rushing tidal wave and its oncoming spray,
as if all hope and new tomorrows are slowly fading with the light
while down God might be looking from his great height
and constantly countless prayers I do pray.
With great pain my heart does rage on this night,
as if all hope and new tomorrows are slowly fading with the light.
© Gert Strydom | villanelle | null | Input: [Form: villanelle]
Poem:
With great pain my heart does rage on this night,
while it feels as if in my life there will never again be a happy day,
as if all hope and new tomorrows are slowly fading with the light
and done a thousand times are all the things that I might do right,
crushed like the shelling of eons and on the beach while children laugh and play.
With great pain my heart does rage on this night,
full of new horizons at a time the future was something bright
with hopes and dreams in a sea of faith on a tranquil milk-white bay;
as if all hope and new tomorrows are slowly fading with the light,
I see a swarm of doves in an alarmed fluttering turning flight
while like a paper caravel my life sails sluggishly away.
With great pain my heart does rage on this night,
while in the angry sea in the banks of fog nothing is in sight
just the rushing tidal wave and its oncoming spray,
as if all hope and new tomorrows are slowly fading with the light
while down God might be looking from his great height
and constantly countless prayers I do pray.
With great pain my heart does rage on this night,
as if all hope and new tomorrows are slowly fading with the light.
© Gert Strydom |
Why do you why,
never bending, over it?
Could you not simply,
as you would and should
with it?
And comes the blame,
does it not often help lay
windblown there,
some where,
lost in the middle of it?
Whisper then each kiss,
and moreover it wading
after running out of water. | null | running | Input: [Topic: running]
Poem:
Why do you why,
never bending, over it?
Could you not simply,
as you would and should
with it?
And comes the blame,
does it not often help lay
windblown there,
some where,
lost in the middle of it?
Whisper then each kiss,
and moreover it wading
after running out of water. |
THAT which eludes this verse and any verse,
Unheard by sharpest ear, unform'd in clearest eye or cunningest mind,
Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth,
And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world
incessantly,
Which you and I and all pursuing ever ever miss,
Open but still a secret, the real of the real, an illusion,
Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never man the owner,
Which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme, historians in prose,
Which sculptor never chisel'd yet, nor painter painted,
Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter'd, 10
Invoking here and now I challenge for my song.
Indifferently, 'mid public, private haunts, in solitude,
Behind the mountain and the wood,
Companion of the city's busiest streets, through the assemblage,
It and its radiations constantly glide.
In looks of fair unconscious babes,
Or strangely in the coffin'd dead,
Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night,
As some dissolving delicate film of dreams,
Hiding yet lingering. 20
Two little breaths of words comprising it.
Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it.
How ardently for it!
How many ships have sail'd and sunk for it!
How many travelers started from their homes and ne'er return'd!
How much of genius boldly staked and lost for it!
What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur'd for it!
How all superbest deeds since Time began are traceable to it--and
shall be to the end!
How all heroic martyrdoms to it!
How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth! 30
How the bright fascinating lambent flames of it, in every age and
land, have drawn men's eyes,
Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands, and the
cliffs,
Or midnight's silent glowing northern lights unreachable.
Haply God's riddle it, so vague and yet so certain,
The soul for it, and all the visible universe for it,
And heaven at last for it. | riddle | song | Input: [Form: riddle, Topic: song]
Poem:
THAT which eludes this verse and any verse,
Unheard by sharpest ear, unform'd in clearest eye or cunningest mind,
Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth,
And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world
incessantly,
Which you and I and all pursuing ever ever miss,
Open but still a secret, the real of the real, an illusion,
Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never man the owner,
Which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme, historians in prose,
Which sculptor never chisel'd yet, nor painter painted,
Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter'd, 10
Invoking here and now I challenge for my song.
Indifferently, 'mid public, private haunts, in solitude,
Behind the mountain and the wood,
Companion of the city's busiest streets, through the assemblage,
It and its radiations constantly glide.
In looks of fair unconscious babes,
Or strangely in the coffin'd dead,
Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night,
As some dissolving delicate film of dreams,
Hiding yet lingering. 20
Two little breaths of words comprising it.
Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it.
How ardently for it!
How many ships have sail'd and sunk for it!
How many travelers started from their homes and ne'er return'd!
How much of genius boldly staked and lost for it!
What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur'd for it!
How all superbest deeds since Time began are traceable to it--and
shall be to the end!
How all heroic martyrdoms to it!
How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth! 30
How the bright fascinating lambent flames of it, in every age and
land, have drawn men's eyes,
Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands, and the
cliffs,
Or midnight's silent glowing northern lights unreachable.
Haply God's riddle it, so vague and yet so certain,
The soul for it, and all the visible universe for it,
And heaven at last for it. |
traffic-lights pause haste—an angelic face
radiates exuberance
with open smiles waves
we wish life
to Life | syllabic-verse | null | Input: [Form: syllabic-verse]
Poem:
traffic-lights pause haste—an angelic face
radiates exuberance
with open smiles waves
we wish life
to Life |
The sun has burst the sky
Because I love you
And the river its banks.
The sea laps the great rocks
Because I love you
And takes no heed of the moon dragging it away
And saying coldly 'Constancy is not for you'.
The blackbird fills the air
Because I love you
With spring and lawns and shadows falling on lawns.
The people walk in the street and laugh
I love you
And far down the river ships sound their hooters
Crazy with joy because I love you. | null | sky | Input: [Topic: sky]
Poem:
The sun has burst the sky
Because I love you
And the river its banks.
The sea laps the great rocks
Because I love you
And takes no heed of the moon dragging it away
And saying coldly 'Constancy is not for you'.
The blackbird fills the air
Because I love you
With spring and lawns and shadows falling on lawns.
The people walk in the street and laugh
I love you
And far down the river ships sound their hooters
Crazy with joy because I love you. |
Oh happy days, we chide the voluptuous
memories began by youthful inclinations
the gleeful hours not wasted beyond,
easy way nor hard-knocked plays.
The temblor matters not, terribly
shaken by promiscuous advances:
the lust within not abandoned
by whims burst into ventured array!
Ah! It sets out free the weight bounded
on and on, closer than it were old.
On days of labor, she cried the unwilling
song began by moans and censures-
but, it was too late looking back
behind the closed curtains of woes.
The pains never cease at will nor ordered
by the command of nature or so-
thus, the expected cried hard
and embroiled ceasing silence by cant.
Oh, why this beauty of procreation
hound every way of living days beyond!
On days of growth and trimming by
the whims began to show alluring-
the painful days forgotten and faded
another plant cropped in tow...
When will this trade of angels come not
this material world turning and glow?
Even those at odds giving their share
and every thing are tremored disarray!
No wonder, the plentiful harvest drained
no share given nor share to behold.
On days of compunction, we chant by
the hyperbole of songs and praises-
and hysterious hygiene of woes
stalked the hustles and panting prays...
Thence, the culprit of it all shied away
hostily humming in cheerful quest
and tearing down the torrid walls
with a pinch of dusts blown instead!
No reasons of thoughts can allure
the nature's gallows, a galant stand fall. | null | birth | Input: [Topic: birth]
Poem:
Oh happy days, we chide the voluptuous
memories began by youthful inclinations
the gleeful hours not wasted beyond,
easy way nor hard-knocked plays.
The temblor matters not, terribly
shaken by promiscuous advances:
the lust within not abandoned
by whims burst into ventured array!
Ah! It sets out free the weight bounded
on and on, closer than it were old.
On days of labor, she cried the unwilling
song began by moans and censures-
but, it was too late looking back
behind the closed curtains of woes.
The pains never cease at will nor ordered
by the command of nature or so-
thus, the expected cried hard
and embroiled ceasing silence by cant.
Oh, why this beauty of procreation
hound every way of living days beyond!
On days of growth and trimming by
the whims began to show alluring-
the painful days forgotten and faded
another plant cropped in tow...
When will this trade of angels come not
this material world turning and glow?
Even those at odds giving their share
and every thing are tremored disarray!
No wonder, the plentiful harvest drained
no share given nor share to behold.
On days of compunction, we chant by
the hyperbole of songs and praises-
and hysterious hygiene of woes
stalked the hustles and panting prays...
Thence, the culprit of it all shied away
hostily humming in cheerful quest
and tearing down the torrid walls
with a pinch of dusts blown instead!
No reasons of thoughts can allure
the nature's gallows, a galant stand fall. |
I was a grovelling creature once,
And basely cleaved to earth:
I wanted spirit to renounce
The clod that gave me birth.
But God hath breathed upon a worm,
And sent me from above
Wings such as clothe an angel's form,
The wings of joy and love.
With these to Pisgah's top I fly
And there delighted stand,
To view, beneath a shining sky,
The spacious promised land.
The Lord of all the vast domain
Has promised it to me,
The length and breadth of all the plain
As far as faith can see.
How glorious is my privilege!
To Thee for help I call;
I stand upon a mountain's edge,
O save me, lest I fall!
Though much exalted in the Lord,
My strength is not my own;
Then let me tremble at His word,
And none shall cast me down. | null | hope | Input: [Topic: hope]
Poem:
I was a grovelling creature once,
And basely cleaved to earth:
I wanted spirit to renounce
The clod that gave me birth.
But God hath breathed upon a worm,
And sent me from above
Wings such as clothe an angel's form,
The wings of joy and love.
With these to Pisgah's top I fly
And there delighted stand,
To view, beneath a shining sky,
The spacious promised land.
The Lord of all the vast domain
Has promised it to me,
The length and breadth of all the plain
As far as faith can see.
How glorious is my privilege!
To Thee for help I call;
I stand upon a mountain's edge,
O save me, lest I fall!
Though much exalted in the Lord,
My strength is not my own;
Then let me tremble at His word,
And none shall cast me down. |
I.
Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!
Sit and watch by her side an hour.
That is her book-shelf, this her bed;
She plucked that piece of geranium-flower,
Beginning to die too, in the glass;
Little has yet been changed, I think:
The shutters are shut, no light may pass
Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink.
II.
Sixteen years old, when she died!
Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name;
It was not her time to love; beside,
Her life had many a hope and aim,
Duties enough and little cares,
And now was quiet, now astir,
Till God's hand beckoned unawares,---
And the sweet white brow is all of her.
III.
Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope?
What, your soul was pure and true,
The good stars met in your horoscope,
Made you of spirit, fire and dew---
And, just because I was thrice as old
And our paths in the world diverged so wide,
Each was nought to each, must I be told?
We were fellow mortals, nought beside?
IV.
No, indeed! for God above
Is great to grant, as mighty to make,
And creates the love to reward the love:
I claim you still, for my own love's sake!
Delayed it may be for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few:
Much is to learn, much to forget
Ere the time be come for taking you.
V.
But the time will come,---at last it will,
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say)
In the lower earth, in the years long still,
That body and soul so pure and gay?
Why your hair was amber, I shall divine,
And your mouth of your own geranium's red---
And what you would do with me, in fine,
In the new life come in the old one's stead.
VI.
I have lived (I shall say) so much since then,
Given up myself so many times,
Gained me the gains of various men,
Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes;
Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope,
Either I missed or itself missed me:
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope!
What is the issue? let us see!
VII.
I loved you, Evelyn, all the while.
My heart seemed full as it could hold?
There was place and to spare for the frank young smile,
And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold.
So, hush,---I will give you this leaf to keep:
See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand!
There, that is our secret: go to sleep!
You will wake, and remember, and understand. | null | hope | Input: [Topic: hope]
Poem:
I.
Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!
Sit and watch by her side an hour.
That is her book-shelf, this her bed;
She plucked that piece of geranium-flower,
Beginning to die too, in the glass;
Little has yet been changed, I think:
The shutters are shut, no light may pass
Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink.
II.
Sixteen years old, when she died!
Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name;
It was not her time to love; beside,
Her life had many a hope and aim,
Duties enough and little cares,
And now was quiet, now astir,
Till God's hand beckoned unawares,---
And the sweet white brow is all of her.
III.
Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope?
What, your soul was pure and true,
The good stars met in your horoscope,
Made you of spirit, fire and dew---
And, just because I was thrice as old
And our paths in the world diverged so wide,
Each was nought to each, must I be told?
We were fellow mortals, nought beside?
IV.
No, indeed! for God above
Is great to grant, as mighty to make,
And creates the love to reward the love:
I claim you still, for my own love's sake!
Delayed it may be for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few:
Much is to learn, much to forget
Ere the time be come for taking you.
V.
But the time will come,---at last it will,
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say)
In the lower earth, in the years long still,
That body and soul so pure and gay?
Why your hair was amber, I shall divine,
And your mouth of your own geranium's red---
And what you would do with me, in fine,
In the new life come in the old one's stead.
VI.
I have lived (I shall say) so much since then,
Given up myself so many times,
Gained me the gains of various men,
Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes;
Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope,
Either I missed or itself missed me:
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope!
What is the issue? let us see!
VII.
I loved you, Evelyn, all the while.
My heart seemed full as it could hold?
There was place and to spare for the frank young smile,
And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold.
So, hush,---I will give you this leaf to keep:
See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand!
There, that is our secret: go to sleep!
You will wake, and remember, and understand. |
So good being a happy kid,
playing with your kit,
even producing sound in a pot,
when the country's in peace actually.
having someone to rely on,
Elder ones tells you come on,
you feel like flying on,
you with confidence of protection.
Dreams of being high,
everything becomes possible,
even escaping to die,
fighting Ghost your capable.
Dreaming being in the middle of every things,
sometimes on merry-go-round,
or in the middle of the foods you like to eat,
even finding money on every step you're stepping.
Acting your Father if he isn't scary,
running to mama when you are scared,
hiding you body putting your hands on your eyes
every thing's possible with simple formula r. | null | childhood | Input: [Topic: childhood]
Poem:
So good being a happy kid,
playing with your kit,
even producing sound in a pot,
when the country's in peace actually.
having someone to rely on,
Elder ones tells you come on,
you feel like flying on,
you with confidence of protection.
Dreams of being high,
everything becomes possible,
even escaping to die,
fighting Ghost your capable.
Dreaming being in the middle of every things,
sometimes on merry-go-round,
or in the middle of the foods you like to eat,
even finding money on every step you're stepping.
Acting your Father if he isn't scary,
running to mama when you are scared,
hiding you body putting your hands on your eyes
every thing's possible with simple formula r. |
All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
Threats of being traded
cuts and wounds
--all this pleases you.
O my god! you say at breakfast
reading the sports page over the Alpen
as another player breaks his ankle
or assaults the coach.
When I thought of daughters
I wasn't expecting this
but I like this more.
I like all your faults
even your purple moods
when you retreat from everyone
to sit in bed under a quilt.
And when I say 'like'
I mean of course 'love'
but that embarrasses you.
You who feel superior to black and white movies
(coaxed for hours to see Casablanca)
though you were moved
by Creature from the Black Lagoon.
One day I'll come swimming
beside your ship or someone will
and if you hear the siren
listen to it. For if you close your ears
only nothing happens. You will never change.
I don't care if you risk
your life to angry goalies
creatures with webbed feet.
You can enter their caves and castles
their glass laboratories. Just
don't be fooled by anyone but yourself.
This is the first lecture I've given you.
You're 'sweet sixteen' you said.
I'd rather be your closest friend
than your father. I'm not good at advice
you know that, but ride
the ceremonies
until they grow dark.
Sometimes you are so busy
discovering your friends
I ache with loss
--but that is greed.
And sometimes I've gone
into my purple world
and lost you.
One afternoon I stepped
into your room. You were sitting
at the desk where I now write this.
Forsythia outside the window
and sun spilled over you
like a thick yellow miracle
as if another planet
was coaxing you out of the house
--all those possible worlds!--
and you, meanwhile, busy with mathematics.
I cannot look at forsythia now
without loss, or joy for you.
You step delicately
into the wild world
and your real prize will be
the frantic search.
Want everything. If you break
break going out not in.
How you live your life I don't care
but I'll sell my arms for you,
hold your secrets forever.
If I speak of death
which you fear now, greatly,
it is without answers.
except that each
one we know is
in our blood.
Don't recall graves.
Memory is permanent.
Remember the afternoon's
yellow suburban annunciation.
Your goalie
in his frightening mask
dreams perhaps
of gentleness. | null | daughter | Input: [Topic: daughter]
Poem:
All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
Threats of being traded
cuts and wounds
--all this pleases you.
O my god! you say at breakfast
reading the sports page over the Alpen
as another player breaks his ankle
or assaults the coach.
When I thought of daughters
I wasn't expecting this
but I like this more.
I like all your faults
even your purple moods
when you retreat from everyone
to sit in bed under a quilt.
And when I say 'like'
I mean of course 'love'
but that embarrasses you.
You who feel superior to black and white movies
(coaxed for hours to see Casablanca)
though you were moved
by Creature from the Black Lagoon.
One day I'll come swimming
beside your ship or someone will
and if you hear the siren
listen to it. For if you close your ears
only nothing happens. You will never change.
I don't care if you risk
your life to angry goalies
creatures with webbed feet.
You can enter their caves and castles
their glass laboratories. Just
don't be fooled by anyone but yourself.
This is the first lecture I've given you.
You're 'sweet sixteen' you said.
I'd rather be your closest friend
than your father. I'm not good at advice
you know that, but ride
the ceremonies
until they grow dark.
Sometimes you are so busy
discovering your friends
I ache with loss
--but that is greed.
And sometimes I've gone
into my purple world
and lost you.
One afternoon I stepped
into your room. You were sitting
at the desk where I now write this.
Forsythia outside the window
and sun spilled over you
like a thick yellow miracle
as if another planet
was coaxing you out of the house
--all those possible worlds!--
and you, meanwhile, busy with mathematics.
I cannot look at forsythia now
without loss, or joy for you.
You step delicately
into the wild world
and your real prize will be
the frantic search.
Want everything. If you break
break going out not in.
How you live your life I don't care
but I'll sell my arms for you,
hold your secrets forever.
If I speak of death
which you fear now, greatly,
it is without answers.
except that each
one we know is
in our blood.
Don't recall graves.
Memory is permanent.
Remember the afternoon's
yellow suburban annunciation.
Your goalie
in his frightening mask
dreams perhaps
of gentleness. |
To Mohács
in the marshlands, still in the pouring rain,
August 29th, 1526, where those summoned
and hastily gathered died in thousands
in the space of a moment the chronicler
scribbles, in the safety of distance,
cruel panthers in a moment to hell's pit.
That day the guns chained wheel to wheel,
smoke and the cries of men and horses,
the knights shot from their saddles, armour
dragging them into the mire, the hooves
stamping them in, the infantry butchered,
in the space of a moment the swift
routine of retreat, slaughter and rout,
the space of a moment. No prisoners,
the wails of the wounded, the dying, becks
brimmed with blood, and the young king
thrown from his horse, drowned in his breastplate.
Thereafter Suleyman recalls he sat on the field
in the pouring rain on his glittering throne
to the long applause of his army: I am
Sultan Suleyman Han, son of Sultan Selim Han,
son of Sultan Bayezid Han. The shadow of God.
And they butcher the captives, dig the pits,
to bury their own brave dead, horses and men,
30 thousand whose last rainy day was this,
and the other dead lie in the rain, or scatter
their bones in the wetlands and the reedgrass.
Whatever birds pecked out their eyes
their names are no matter nor the stream
they drowned in nor the name of the planet
whose soft brown body they shovelled in after.
Thereafter the land burns and the churches,
thereafter women and slaves and silver.
And thereafter, pronounces the historian,
his quill's tip brushing his cheek, his point
squeaking over the page, the lamp's glint
on his inkhorn: the long Turkish night,
the tomb of the nation, dug in the rain.
In the space of a moment, in the centuries
moments pile into, leaf over leaf,
season by season as the winters pass
and the wars roll over and the borders shift
it is ploughland, old bones surfacing
at the hoe's edge and the plough's iron,
scapulae and vertebrae rising in a flat
wide fenced country laid open to the wind,
prowled by the tractors of the collectives
and the same wandering birds, black earth
through white snow, wind beaten scarecrow
and the white silence of another winter.
It is a museum of bones in the thick boney
stew of each other, where some bird sings
in the evergreens and a boy rings a bell
in the long white silence that follows.
It is a field of poles upright at a pit's rim,
carved into cruel faces, chiselled in grimaces,
spiked, helmeted, horned, a ragged line of posts
that are totems of men straggling off into trees,
some aslant, the long necks of horses
rearing from snow. They are flail and bludgeon
and battleaxe, calvaries of yokes and the bows
of the swift horsemen, the trailed arms
of the willow tree. They are the crescent moon
and the star, the cross, the crown, the turban
and the tarboosh, gnarled glances of soldiers,
the figures of dead men rising from the earth,
Suleyman with a basket of heads at his pommel
and the dead king Lajos in his blue bonnet.
Overhead the high jets in the clear blue
corridor of cloudless sky above Serbia,
flying the line of the great rivers
whose names are the same though the names
of the empires and the nations shift
on the maps. South of here, not far,
in the debateable lands of the warring states
the bones are again rising in the mud.
[...]
Very fast very slow the music
a lament from the villages
a music come down from the mountains
called across rivers across plains:
ah no joking and no joking
a gift for the kolo, bridegroom
the thieves they are singing
dance my love dance faster
faster till we fall down.
The reedgrass that will be thatch
first snowy fields turned in the plough.
A line of trucks in a white field
waiting for grain not yet sown:
end of the winter quarter
end of the season of craving
the river's ice drifting south
snow collapsing from the buildings:
the days of the death of King Winter.
The Busójárás.
Time to take to the streets
wearing the skins of beasts
masks years in the making offspring
of the old whisperers in the hearth
kin to the devotees of trees
and certain stones and all rivers
lord of the vines and beasts
our lady of the wild things the old gods
who never made it into heaven.
Busós.
They step out of the unwritten
the unremembered out of Illyria
out of the south the dark the flight
and the distant remembrance of panic
the horned hoof footed hard drinking
god of the shepherds. They step out
through the winter streets in masks
horns in sheepskins and bandoliers
with their bells and their rattles.
Busós.
With their antlers tall in the skins
of beasts belled shaggy moustache men
huge with their clubs and horns
wild in their tall wooden masks
coming on from the distance
all the years they have travelled
out of the unwritten the agrapha
the history of the forgotten
the long shadows of the lost gods.
At noon they have crossed the river
they have taken the streets
filled with organized riot
the ruckus of men in the male dance
the clatter and rattle of flails
the interminable clanging of bells
rain clanking into buckets
in mockery taking their ways
through the orders of anarchy.
Busós.
Fierce and yet not fierce
joking and yet not joking
this is the management of chaos:
the war of the great ratchets
the battle of the bells upright animals
striding through the streets
through the cold falling sunlight
in a wild skirling music
bearing the skulls of animals.
Busós.
Others come as veiled hooded women
a brown friar another the devil
a joker in a Russian tank mask
a Groucho Marx an Austrian helmet.
And these others ghosts in dirty sheets
rags sackcloth and ashes and stocking masks
bunched in knots of impudent silence
young men scattering the girls
the dead risen from the dead.
Centuries ago the traveller
Evliya Çelebi warned his far flung
wandering countrymen of the masked
madmen of Mohács in the marshland
in their shaggy jackets and bells
and their faceless faces:
they are devils devils
in the place of devils
no-one should go there.
In their own legend of themselves
they chased the Turks out of town
in terror. In the ill-disciplined
shaggy masked half-drunk ranks
among pitchforks and whirling clubs
the carved severed head on a stick
of a janissary, moustache top knot skull
goes round and round in the racket
and the gathering fire and the dusk.
How years ago they were fearless
in the place of defeat and rose again
how years ago a pig's blood painted
a cross in the town square and how
the masks stained in animal blood
and the wild cries and the kolo
was their resistance. How once
they were one with the beasts
one with men one with the gods.
Rutting and butting as beasts
sticks for pricks bells balls
and under the mask is another
and another they are Busós
three days of the year Busós
parading their ragged squads
to the square where the cannon
from that year of the rain
thunders mud and rags and smoke.
Busós.
Come nightfall on the third day
of marching and mayhem and music
that is Shrovetide the fire's lit
in the square. King Winter is dead
carted off in a coffin and burned.
On the coffin in flowery
Hungarian script: it's sold,
our country, it's sold, we have
nothing left but our fathers' pricks.
Where does this music come from,
an old woman asks. From all round her
from everywhere from earth
from the wind from the long turned
furrows of defeat the old sorrow
the old joy the songs
of the long gone into the dark.
It's sold, our country,
and all the thieves are laughing.
Time to march one last time
on the town and burn winter
with bells and cannon and fire
round and around the tottering square
masked men and horses the music
round and round the kolo
the dancing of the hairy men
and winter goes up in the flames
the tall smoke climbing the sky.
Busós.
The sliver of moon the first star
on the pale blue flag of the sky
as the sparks flare and die. At the edge
of the embers of memory the borders
of hearing: bells laughter a child
a cough girls singing the swift music
in the ashes of the evening
whisps of voices at a distance
in that far off language. | null | god | Input: [Topic: god]
Poem:
To Mohács
in the marshlands, still in the pouring rain,
August 29th, 1526, where those summoned
and hastily gathered died in thousands
in the space of a moment the chronicler
scribbles, in the safety of distance,
cruel panthers in a moment to hell's pit.
That day the guns chained wheel to wheel,
smoke and the cries of men and horses,
the knights shot from their saddles, armour
dragging them into the mire, the hooves
stamping them in, the infantry butchered,
in the space of a moment the swift
routine of retreat, slaughter and rout,
the space of a moment. No prisoners,
the wails of the wounded, the dying, becks
brimmed with blood, and the young king
thrown from his horse, drowned in his breastplate.
Thereafter Suleyman recalls he sat on the field
in the pouring rain on his glittering throne
to the long applause of his army: I am
Sultan Suleyman Han, son of Sultan Selim Han,
son of Sultan Bayezid Han. The shadow of God.
And they butcher the captives, dig the pits,
to bury their own brave dead, horses and men,
30 thousand whose last rainy day was this,
and the other dead lie in the rain, or scatter
their bones in the wetlands and the reedgrass.
Whatever birds pecked out their eyes
their names are no matter nor the stream
they drowned in nor the name of the planet
whose soft brown body they shovelled in after.
Thereafter the land burns and the churches,
thereafter women and slaves and silver.
And thereafter, pronounces the historian,
his quill's tip brushing his cheek, his point
squeaking over the page, the lamp's glint
on his inkhorn: the long Turkish night,
the tomb of the nation, dug in the rain.
In the space of a moment, in the centuries
moments pile into, leaf over leaf,
season by season as the winters pass
and the wars roll over and the borders shift
it is ploughland, old bones surfacing
at the hoe's edge and the plough's iron,
scapulae and vertebrae rising in a flat
wide fenced country laid open to the wind,
prowled by the tractors of the collectives
and the same wandering birds, black earth
through white snow, wind beaten scarecrow
and the white silence of another winter.
It is a museum of bones in the thick boney
stew of each other, where some bird sings
in the evergreens and a boy rings a bell
in the long white silence that follows.
It is a field of poles upright at a pit's rim,
carved into cruel faces, chiselled in grimaces,
spiked, helmeted, horned, a ragged line of posts
that are totems of men straggling off into trees,
some aslant, the long necks of horses
rearing from snow. They are flail and bludgeon
and battleaxe, calvaries of yokes and the bows
of the swift horsemen, the trailed arms
of the willow tree. They are the crescent moon
and the star, the cross, the crown, the turban
and the tarboosh, gnarled glances of soldiers,
the figures of dead men rising from the earth,
Suleyman with a basket of heads at his pommel
and the dead king Lajos in his blue bonnet.
Overhead the high jets in the clear blue
corridor of cloudless sky above Serbia,
flying the line of the great rivers
whose names are the same though the names
of the empires and the nations shift
on the maps. South of here, not far,
in the debateable lands of the warring states
the bones are again rising in the mud.
[...]
Very fast very slow the music
a lament from the villages
a music come down from the mountains
called across rivers across plains:
ah no joking and no joking
a gift for the kolo, bridegroom
the thieves they are singing
dance my love dance faster
faster till we fall down.
The reedgrass that will be thatch
first snowy fields turned in the plough.
A line of trucks in a white field
waiting for grain not yet sown:
end of the winter quarter
end of the season of craving
the river's ice drifting south
snow collapsing from the buildings:
the days of the death of King Winter.
The Busójárás.
Time to take to the streets
wearing the skins of beasts
masks years in the making offspring
of the old whisperers in the hearth
kin to the devotees of trees
and certain stones and all rivers
lord of the vines and beasts
our lady of the wild things the old gods
who never made it into heaven.
Busós.
They step out of the unwritten
the unremembered out of Illyria
out of the south the dark the flight
and the distant remembrance of panic
the horned hoof footed hard drinking
god of the shepherds. They step out
through the winter streets in masks
horns in sheepskins and bandoliers
with their bells and their rattles.
Busós.
With their antlers tall in the skins
of beasts belled shaggy moustache men
huge with their clubs and horns
wild in their tall wooden masks
coming on from the distance
all the years they have travelled
out of the unwritten the agrapha
the history of the forgotten
the long shadows of the lost gods.
At noon they have crossed the river
they have taken the streets
filled with organized riot
the ruckus of men in the male dance
the clatter and rattle of flails
the interminable clanging of bells
rain clanking into buckets
in mockery taking their ways
through the orders of anarchy.
Busós.
Fierce and yet not fierce
joking and yet not joking
this is the management of chaos:
the war of the great ratchets
the battle of the bells upright animals
striding through the streets
through the cold falling sunlight
in a wild skirling music
bearing the skulls of animals.
Busós.
Others come as veiled hooded women
a brown friar another the devil
a joker in a Russian tank mask
a Groucho Marx an Austrian helmet.
And these others ghosts in dirty sheets
rags sackcloth and ashes and stocking masks
bunched in knots of impudent silence
young men scattering the girls
the dead risen from the dead.
Centuries ago the traveller
Evliya Çelebi warned his far flung
wandering countrymen of the masked
madmen of Mohács in the marshland
in their shaggy jackets and bells
and their faceless faces:
they are devils devils
in the place of devils
no-one should go there.
In their own legend of themselves
they chased the Turks out of town
in terror. In the ill-disciplined
shaggy masked half-drunk ranks
among pitchforks and whirling clubs
the carved severed head on a stick
of a janissary, moustache top knot skull
goes round and round in the racket
and the gathering fire and the dusk.
How years ago they were fearless
in the place of defeat and rose again
how years ago a pig's blood painted
a cross in the town square and how
the masks stained in animal blood
and the wild cries and the kolo
was their resistance. How once
they were one with the beasts
one with men one with the gods.
Rutting and butting as beasts
sticks for pricks bells balls
and under the mask is another
and another they are Busós
three days of the year Busós
parading their ragged squads
to the square where the cannon
from that year of the rain
thunders mud and rags and smoke.
Busós.
Come nightfall on the third day
of marching and mayhem and music
that is Shrovetide the fire's lit
in the square. King Winter is dead
carted off in a coffin and burned.
On the coffin in flowery
Hungarian script: it's sold,
our country, it's sold, we have
nothing left but our fathers' pricks.
Where does this music come from,
an old woman asks. From all round her
from everywhere from earth
from the wind from the long turned
furrows of defeat the old sorrow
the old joy the songs
of the long gone into the dark.
It's sold, our country,
and all the thieves are laughing.
Time to march one last time
on the town and burn winter
with bells and cannon and fire
round and around the tottering square
masked men and horses the music
round and round the kolo
the dancing of the hairy men
and winter goes up in the flames
the tall smoke climbing the sky.
Busós.
The sliver of moon the first star
on the pale blue flag of the sky
as the sparks flare and die. At the edge
of the embers of memory the borders
of hearing: bells laughter a child
a cough girls singing the swift music
in the ashes of the evening
whisps of voices at a distance
in that far off language. |
I am not like you,
And you are just like that.
How can you demand,
When I've asked from you something?
I don't think I should command.
Or expect respect.
That should be given.
Of that I do not neglect.
And you expect it?
When you neglect it?
I am not like you,
And you are just like that.
I try to be hospitable.
I don't welcome with attacks.
To bite and then regret.
To greet and meet to leave upset.
I am not like you.
I welcome not condescend.
Nor do I solicit attention,
To be focused on me.
Using that as a forum,
To exploit me on the scene.
I am not like you.
I could never be like that.
But I can be quite indignant,
When I learn I've been scandalized...
Behind my back,
By you.
I am not like you,
And you are just like that.
Bitter.
And unable to forgive.
Baiting to become the center of attention.
And using me as the subject,
Of your sorrows.
I am not you,
But you are just like that.
And that is why you and I,
Have no tomorrows...
To await for apologies to soothe.
With alibis and excuses too.
I am not you,
But you are just like that.
And that is why you and I,
Could never experience another forever,
Ever together,
Again. | null | together | Input: [Topic: together]
Poem:
I am not like you,
And you are just like that.
How can you demand,
When I've asked from you something?
I don't think I should command.
Or expect respect.
That should be given.
Of that I do not neglect.
And you expect it?
When you neglect it?
I am not like you,
And you are just like that.
I try to be hospitable.
I don't welcome with attacks.
To bite and then regret.
To greet and meet to leave upset.
I am not like you.
I welcome not condescend.
Nor do I solicit attention,
To be focused on me.
Using that as a forum,
To exploit me on the scene.
I am not like you.
I could never be like that.
But I can be quite indignant,
When I learn I've been scandalized...
Behind my back,
By you.
I am not like you,
And you are just like that.
Bitter.
And unable to forgive.
Baiting to become the center of attention.
And using me as the subject,
Of your sorrows.
I am not you,
But you are just like that.
And that is why you and I,
Have no tomorrows...
To await for apologies to soothe.
With alibis and excuses too.
I am not you,
But you are just like that.
And that is why you and I,
Could never experience another forever,
Ever together,
Again. |
The innocence of childhood it is a marvellous thing
And all children are untainted in their life's early Spring
But by the time they've reached their teens their innocence they've lost
And the experience that we gain from age always comes at a cost.
When children lose their innocence they lose their gift of joy
The joy that comes from innocence in every young girl and boy
Compared to us young children see life quite differently
Of the guilt of corruption they are completely free.
I have such happy memories of when I was a boy
My childhood years were happy years but time just seemed to fly
And the experience that I've gained from life it came at a great cost
For I lost something beautiful when innocence I lost. | null | innocence | Input: [Topic: innocence]
Poem:
The innocence of childhood it is a marvellous thing
And all children are untainted in their life's early Spring
But by the time they've reached their teens their innocence they've lost
And the experience that we gain from age always comes at a cost.
When children lose their innocence they lose their gift of joy
The joy that comes from innocence in every young girl and boy
Compared to us young children see life quite differently
Of the guilt of corruption they are completely free.
I have such happy memories of when I was a boy
My childhood years were happy years but time just seemed to fly
And the experience that I've gained from life it came at a great cost
For I lost something beautiful when innocence I lost. |
Love me
For what I am
Hate me
For what I've done
Love me
For what I do
Hate me
For what I don't do
Love me
For been there for you
Hate me
For every time I failed you
Love me
For trusting you
Hate me
For not thinking of you
Love me
The way that I do
Hate me
For the pain I caused you | null | hate | Input: [Topic: hate]
Poem:
Love me
For what I am
Hate me
For what I've done
Love me
For what I do
Hate me
For what I don't do
Love me
For been there for you
Hate me
For every time I failed you
Love me
For trusting you
Hate me
For not thinking of you
Love me
The way that I do
Hate me
For the pain I caused you |
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death. | null | life | Input: [Topic: life]
Poem:
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death. |
Today the future in the Middle East, as we hear, sounds very bleak.
As people with a deceptive heart, are looking for a brand new start,
Moving many men to understand, a crucial need to remap the land.
This to eradicate the Land of Israel, totally justified by a wicked will.
The tiny land men call Palestine, will be subdued by a force Divine.
The promise given to Abraham, by the will of God will forever stand.
The terror that now rules the land, will be eliminated by God’s Hand.
The Lord Himself shall intervene, with His presence upon the scene.
The present land on the world scene, was the land of the Philistines.
That ancient land was conquered by, Joshua’s army for God on high.
It was never subdued totally friend, but that mistake was not the end.
Eternal God, whose land this is, through King David took care of this.
For God put David on the Throne, in that land which is Israel’s home,
As the King of the Promised Land, that God had granted to Abraham.
God swore to David as the King, the reign he began was everlasting.
He reigned as King in Jerusalem, where all shall see God’s Own Son.
The land will be subdued for sure, by Jesus Christ, Messiah and Lord.
Never again shall it be the same, after Jesus Christ begins His Reign.
Christ will purge The Promised Land, for the descendents of Abraham.
Then all of Israel shall live secure, under the Reign of Christ our Lord.
(Copyright ©01/2006) | null | future | Input: [Topic: future]
Poem:
Today the future in the Middle East, as we hear, sounds very bleak.
As people with a deceptive heart, are looking for a brand new start,
Moving many men to understand, a crucial need to remap the land.
This to eradicate the Land of Israel, totally justified by a wicked will.
The tiny land men call Palestine, will be subdued by a force Divine.
The promise given to Abraham, by the will of God will forever stand.
The terror that now rules the land, will be eliminated by God’s Hand.
The Lord Himself shall intervene, with His presence upon the scene.
The present land on the world scene, was the land of the Philistines.
That ancient land was conquered by, Joshua’s army for God on high.
It was never subdued totally friend, but that mistake was not the end.
Eternal God, whose land this is, through King David took care of this.
For God put David on the Throne, in that land which is Israel’s home,
As the King of the Promised Land, that God had granted to Abraham.
God swore to David as the King, the reign he began was everlasting.
He reigned as King in Jerusalem, where all shall see God’s Own Son.
The land will be subdued for sure, by Jesus Christ, Messiah and Lord.
Never again shall it be the same, after Jesus Christ begins His Reign.
Christ will purge The Promised Land, for the descendents of Abraham.
Then all of Israel shall live secure, under the Reign of Christ our Lord.
(Copyright ©01/2006) |
There was an Old Person of Ewell,
Who chiefly subsisted on gruel;
But to make it more nice
He inserted some mice,
Which refreshed that Old Person of Ewell. | limerick | null | Input: [Form: limerick]
Poem:
There was an Old Person of Ewell,
Who chiefly subsisted on gruel;
But to make it more nice
He inserted some mice,
Which refreshed that Old Person of Ewell. |
1 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
2 Ae fareweel, and then forever!
3 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
4 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
5 Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
6 While the star of hope she leaves him?
7 Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
8 Dark despair around benights me.
9 I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
10 Naething could resist my Nancy;
11 But to see her was to love her;
12 Love but her, and love forever.
13 Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
14 Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
15 Never met--or never parted--
16 We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
17 Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
18 Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
19 Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
20 Peace. enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
21 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
22 Ae fareweel, alas, forever!
23 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
24 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee! | null | kiss | Input: [Topic: kiss]
Poem:
1 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
2 Ae fareweel, and then forever!
3 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
4 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
5 Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
6 While the star of hope she leaves him?
7 Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
8 Dark despair around benights me.
9 I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
10 Naething could resist my Nancy;
11 But to see her was to love her;
12 Love but her, and love forever.
13 Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
14 Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
15 Never met--or never parted--
16 We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
17 Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
18 Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
19 Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
20 Peace. enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
21 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
22 Ae fareweel, alas, forever!
23 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
24 Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee! |
Just touching your hand is overwhelming,
blazing passion
runs through us both like an electric stream,
the sheer emotion
have depths that to us are always unknown
with affection
that goes far beyond any boundaries set
blazing from the very day that we met. | cavatina | null | Input: [Form: cavatina]
Poem:
Just touching your hand is overwhelming,
blazing passion
runs through us both like an electric stream,
the sheer emotion
have depths that to us are always unknown
with affection
that goes far beyond any boundaries set
blazing from the very day that we met. |
Mary had a little frog
And it was water-soaked,
But Mary did not keep it long
Because, of course, it croaked! | null | frog | Input: [Topic: frog]
Poem:
Mary had a little frog
And it was water-soaked,
But Mary did not keep it long
Because, of course, it croaked! |
OH thou cruel deadly-lovely maiden,
Tell me what great sin have I committed,
That thou keep'st me to the rack thus fasten'd,
That thou hast thy solemn promise broken?
'Twas but yestere'en that thou with fondness
Press'd my hand, and these sweet accents murmured:
"Yes, I'll come, I'll come when morn approacheth,
Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber."
On the latch I left my doors, unfasten'd,
Having first with care tried all the hinges,
And rejoic'd right well to find they creak'd not.
What a night of expectation pass'd I!
For I watch'd, and ev'ry chime I number'd;
If perchance I slept a few short moments,
Still my heart remain'd awake forever,
And awoke me from my gentle slumbers.
Yes, then bless'd I night's o'erhanging darkness,
That so calmly cover'd all things round me;
I enjoy'd the universal silence,
While I listen'd ever in the silence,
If perchance the slightest sounds were stirring.
"Had she only thoughts, my thoughts resembling,
Had she only feelings, like my feelings,
She would not await the dawn of morning.
But, ere this, would surely have been with me."
Skipp'd a kitten on the floor above me,
Scratch'd a mouse a panel in the corner,
Was there in the house the slightest motion,
Ever hoped I that I heard thy footstep,
Ever thought I that I heard thee coming.
And so lay I long, and ever longer,
And already was the daylight dawning,
And both here and there were signs of movement.
"Is it yon door? Were it my door only!"
In my bed I lean'd upon my elbow,
Looking tow'rd the door, now half-apparent,
If perchance it might not be in motion.
Both the wings upon the latch continued,
On the quiet hinges calmly hanging.
And the day grew bright and brighter ever;
And I heard my neighbour's door unbolted,
As he went to earn his daily wages,
And ere long I heard the waggons rumbling,
And the city gates were also open'd,
While the market-place, in ev'ry corner,
Teem'd with life and bustle and confusion.
In the house was going now and coming
Up and down the stairs, and doors were creaking
Backwards now, now forwards,--footsteps clatter'd
Yet, as though it were a thing all-living,
From my cherish'd hope I could not tear me.
When at length the sun, in hated splendour.
Fell upon my walls, upon my windows,
Up I sprang, and hasten'd to the garden,
There to blend my breath, so hot and yearning,
With the cool refreshing morning breezes,
And, it might be, even there to meet thee:
But I cannot find thee in the arbour,
Or the avenue of lofty lindens. | lament | null | Input: [Form: lament]
Poem:
OH thou cruel deadly-lovely maiden,
Tell me what great sin have I committed,
That thou keep'st me to the rack thus fasten'd,
That thou hast thy solemn promise broken?
'Twas but yestere'en that thou with fondness
Press'd my hand, and these sweet accents murmured:
"Yes, I'll come, I'll come when morn approacheth,
Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber."
On the latch I left my doors, unfasten'd,
Having first with care tried all the hinges,
And rejoic'd right well to find they creak'd not.
What a night of expectation pass'd I!
For I watch'd, and ev'ry chime I number'd;
If perchance I slept a few short moments,
Still my heart remain'd awake forever,
And awoke me from my gentle slumbers.
Yes, then bless'd I night's o'erhanging darkness,
That so calmly cover'd all things round me;
I enjoy'd the universal silence,
While I listen'd ever in the silence,
If perchance the slightest sounds were stirring.
"Had she only thoughts, my thoughts resembling,
Had she only feelings, like my feelings,
She would not await the dawn of morning.
But, ere this, would surely have been with me."
Skipp'd a kitten on the floor above me,
Scratch'd a mouse a panel in the corner,
Was there in the house the slightest motion,
Ever hoped I that I heard thy footstep,
Ever thought I that I heard thee coming.
And so lay I long, and ever longer,
And already was the daylight dawning,
And both here and there were signs of movement.
"Is it yon door? Were it my door only!"
In my bed I lean'd upon my elbow,
Looking tow'rd the door, now half-apparent,
If perchance it might not be in motion.
Both the wings upon the latch continued,
On the quiet hinges calmly hanging.
And the day grew bright and brighter ever;
And I heard my neighbour's door unbolted,
As he went to earn his daily wages,
And ere long I heard the waggons rumbling,
And the city gates were also open'd,
While the market-place, in ev'ry corner,
Teem'd with life and bustle and confusion.
In the house was going now and coming
Up and down the stairs, and doors were creaking
Backwards now, now forwards,--footsteps clatter'd
Yet, as though it were a thing all-living,
From my cherish'd hope I could not tear me.
When at length the sun, in hated splendour.
Fell upon my walls, upon my windows,
Up I sprang, and hasten'd to the garden,
There to blend my breath, so hot and yearning,
With the cool refreshing morning breezes,
And, it might be, even there to meet thee:
But I cannot find thee in the arbour,
Or the avenue of lofty lindens. |
Dreams I have we can stop animal cruelty.
Dear Lord, please will you grant me a wish that
the perpetrators of cruelty to twelve thousand caged bears in Asia will in the next life be born a bear,
put in a cage for life then drain their bile too from a stomach wound just as they are doing right now!
Thank you Dear God. | null | animal | Input: [Topic: animal]
Poem:
Dreams I have we can stop animal cruelty.
Dear Lord, please will you grant me a wish that
the perpetrators of cruelty to twelve thousand caged bears in Asia will in the next life be born a bear,
put in a cage for life then drain their bile too from a stomach wound just as they are doing right now!
Thank you Dear God. |
Christina, maiden of heroic mien!
Star of the North! of northern stars the queen!
Behold, what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how
The iron cask still chafes my vet'ran brow,
While following fate's dark footsteps, I fulfill
The dictates of a hardy people's will.
But soften'd, in thy sight, my looks appear,
Not to all Queens or Kings alike severe. | epigram | null | Input: [Form: epigram]
Poem:
Christina, maiden of heroic mien!
Star of the North! of northern stars the queen!
Behold, what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how
The iron cask still chafes my vet'ran brow,
While following fate's dark footsteps, I fulfill
The dictates of a hardy people's will.
But soften'd, in thy sight, my looks appear,
Not to all Queens or Kings alike severe. |
Water water water
Where there is water
There is life.
No water no life.
A dropp of water
A deity.
Keep it
Serve it. | null | water | Input: [Topic: water]
Poem:
Water water water
Where there is water
There is life.
No water no life.
A dropp of water
A deity.
Keep it
Serve it. |
Lost in a world, that scares me to death,
Lost in a crowd, I'm losing my breath.
Lost as a boy, lost as a man,
I need to grow up, don't think I can.
Lost as a person, can't find my way.
Lost in life, every day.
Lost in worry, who am I?
All my life, I've lived a lie.
Lost to kindness, lost to love,
Lost in a sky, like a new-born dove.
Lost in thought, which I shouldn't do,
It winds me up, I can’t get through.
Lost to comfort, all kind words,
Lost to advice, it isn't heard.
Lost to those who really care,
All these people, always there.
Lost in me, I need a break,
Lost in wonder, which road to take?
Lost in a place I don't know well,
Where are you now? There's no one to tell.
Lost here, all alone,
Lost apart from the mobile phone.
Lost still, there are no calls.
I'm struggling alone, to break these walls.
Lost in mind, lost in soul,
Lost memories, they're just a hole.
Lost family, lost mate,
Gone now, yet I'm full of hate.
Lost in a straight world, and I am gay,
Lost now, for what to say,
Lost in boredom, think I'll leave.
There's a lot in life I need to achieve. | null | lost | Input: [Topic: lost]
Poem:
Lost in a world, that scares me to death,
Lost in a crowd, I'm losing my breath.
Lost as a boy, lost as a man,
I need to grow up, don't think I can.
Lost as a person, can't find my way.
Lost in life, every day.
Lost in worry, who am I?
All my life, I've lived a lie.
Lost to kindness, lost to love,
Lost in a sky, like a new-born dove.
Lost in thought, which I shouldn't do,
It winds me up, I can’t get through.
Lost to comfort, all kind words,
Lost to advice, it isn't heard.
Lost to those who really care,
All these people, always there.
Lost in me, I need a break,
Lost in wonder, which road to take?
Lost in a place I don't know well,
Where are you now? There's no one to tell.
Lost here, all alone,
Lost apart from the mobile phone.
Lost still, there are no calls.
I'm struggling alone, to break these walls.
Lost in mind, lost in soul,
Lost memories, they're just a hole.
Lost family, lost mate,
Gone now, yet I'm full of hate.
Lost in a straight world, and I am gay,
Lost now, for what to say,
Lost in boredom, think I'll leave.
There's a lot in life I need to achieve. |
Pink eucalyptus flowers
(The flowers are out)
Are scented honey sweet
For bees to buzz about.
Pink eucalyptus flowers
(The flowers are out)
Are fair as any rose
For us to sing about. | null | pink | Input: [Topic: pink]
Poem:
Pink eucalyptus flowers
(The flowers are out)
Are scented honey sweet
For bees to buzz about.
Pink eucalyptus flowers
(The flowers are out)
Are fair as any rose
For us to sing about. |