Datasets:

othorizedshogun

/

poems_dataset

like 1

His Power bounded, greater is in might, Than if let loose, 'twere wholly infinite. He could have made an endless sea by this, But then it had not been a sea of bliss. Did waters from the centre to the skies Ascend, 'twould drown whatever else we prize. The ocean bounded in a finite shore, Is better far because it is no more. No use nor glory would in that be seen, His power made it endless in esteem. Had not the Sun been bounded in its sphere, Did all the world in one fair flame appear, And were that flame a real Infinite 'Twould yield no profit, splendor, nor delight. Its corps confined, and beams extended be Effects of Wisdom in the Deity. One star made infinite would all exclude, An earth made infinite could ne'er be viewed: But one being fashioned for the other's sake, He, bounding all, did all most useful make And which is best, in profit and delight Tho' not in bulk, they all are infinite.

power

Input: [Topic: power] Poem: His Power bounded, greater is in might, Than if let loose, 'twere wholly infinite. He could have made an endless sea by this, But then it had not been a sea of bliss. Did waters from the centre to the skies Ascend, 'twould drown whatever else we prize. The ocean bounded in a finite shore, Is better far because it is no more. No use nor glory would in that be seen, His power made it endless in esteem. Had not the Sun been bounded in its sphere, Did all the world in one fair flame appear, And were that flame a real Infinite 'Twould yield no profit, splendor, nor delight. Its corps confined, and beams extended be Effects of Wisdom in the Deity. One star made infinite would all exclude, An earth made infinite could ne'er be viewed: But one being fashioned for the other's sake, He, bounding all, did all most useful make And which is best, in profit and delight Tho' not in bulk, they all are infinite.

Sleep, sleep, sleep And keep Eyes open To feel in heaven I shall come To welcome And take in arms To keep you warm I shall remind You to find me In your presence Without feeling tense This is the life that we wanted And felt so excited The dream is realized You look so dazed It is reality That has been blessed by an almighty Let us not be carried away But cheerfully stay

sleep

Input: [Topic: sleep] Poem: Sleep, sleep, sleep And keep Eyes open To feel in heaven I shall come To welcome And take in arms To keep you warm I shall remind You to find me In your presence Without feeling tense This is the life that we wanted And felt so excited The dream is realized You look so dazed It is reality That has been blessed by an almighty Let us not be carried away But cheerfully stay

There is plenty of anger inside of me It has to stop Why is there so much anger inside of me? My anger is part of my frustration I have to control it now My anger causes me plenty of trouble There is plenty of anger inside of me And what is anger do I know? Anger is a strong feeling of displasure It is a grief that I have inside of me How can I control it? What triggers my anger? Can I recognize it?

anger

Input: [Topic: anger] Poem: There is plenty of anger inside of me It has to stop Why is there so much anger inside of me? My anger is part of my frustration I have to control it now My anger causes me plenty of trouble There is plenty of anger inside of me And what is anger do I know? Anger is a strong feeling of displasure It is a grief that I have inside of me How can I control it? What triggers my anger? Can I recognize it?

Everyday is a new born babe Holding within its clenched fists Secrets of a fledgling future Fluted down spirals of time

future

Input: [Topic: future] Poem: Everyday is a new born babe Holding within its clenched fists Secrets of a fledgling future Fluted down spirals of time

prose poem is an earthen pot made of gold

prose-poem

Input: [Form: prose-poem] Poem: prose poem is an earthen pot made of gold

love, oh what is love? flowers in so many shapes and hues giving sweetness to butterflies and bees in so many shapes and hues in the field, a buzz, a joy, these insects help create another world another paradise, warm colourful flower garden for lovers of the world help spread cheers everywhere with the sweetness the flowers where the flowers are, the butterflies, the bees are where there is love, joy spreads wide as the field just look at the butterflies and the bees how they cheer up the field with their songs and dance

love

Input: [Topic: love] Poem: love, oh what is love? flowers in so many shapes and hues giving sweetness to butterflies and bees in so many shapes and hues in the field, a buzz, a joy, these insects help create another world another paradise, warm colourful flower garden for lovers of the world help spread cheers everywhere with the sweetness the flowers where the flowers are, the butterflies, the bees are where there is love, joy spreads wide as the field just look at the butterflies and the bees how they cheer up the field with their songs and dance

You always washed artifacts at the kitchen sink, your back to the room, to me, to the mud you'd tracked in from whatever neighbor's field had just been plowed. Spearpoints, birdpoints, awls and leaf- shaped blades surfaced from the turned earth as though from beneath some thicker water you tried to see into. You never tired, you told me, of the tangible past you could admire, turn over and over in your hand—the first to touch it since the dead one that had worked the stone. You lined bookshelves and end tables with them; obsidian, quartz, flint, they measured the hours you'd spent with your head down, searching for others, and also the prized hours of my own solitude—collected, prized, saved alongside those artifacts that had been for so long lost

hunting

Input: [Topic: hunting] Poem: You always washed artifacts at the kitchen sink, your back to the room, to me, to the mud you'd tracked in from whatever neighbor's field had just been plowed. Spearpoints, birdpoints, awls and leaf- shaped blades surfaced from the turned earth as though from beneath some thicker water you tried to see into. You never tired, you told me, of the tangible past you could admire, turn over and over in your hand—the first to touch it since the dead one that had worked the stone. You lined bookshelves and end tables with them; obsidian, quartz, flint, they measured the hours you'd spent with your head down, searching for others, and also the prized hours of my own solitude—collected, prized, saved alongside those artifacts that had been for so long lost

Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment Will never let you be. Love Is a bright star Glowing in far Southern skies. Look too hard And its burning flame Will always hurt your eyes. Love Is a high mountain Stark in a windy sky. If you Would never lose your breath Do not climb too high.

song

Input: [Topic: song] Poem: Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment Will never let you be. Love Is a bright star Glowing in far Southern skies. Look too hard And its burning flame Will always hurt your eyes. Love Is a high mountain Stark in a windy sky. If you Would never lose your breath Do not climb too high.

Joy, thou goddess, fair, immortal, Offspring of Elysium, Mad with rapture, to the portal Of thy holy fame we come! Fashion's laws, indeed, may sever, But thy magic joins again; All mankind are brethren ever 'Neath thy mild and gentle reign. CHORUS. Welcome, all ye myriad creatures! Brethren, take the kiss of love! Yes, the starry realms above Hide a Father's smiling features! He, that noble prize possessing-- He that boasts a friend that's true, He whom woman's love is blessing, Let him join the chorus too! Aye, and he who but one spirit On this earth can call his own! He who no such bliss can merit, Let him mourn his fate alone! CHORUS. All who Nature's tribes are swelling Homage pay to sympathy; For she guides us up on high, Where the unknown has his dwelling. From the breasts of kindly Nature All of joy imbibe the dew; Good and bad alike, each creature Would her roseate path pursue. 'Tis through her the wine-cup maddens, Love and friends to man she gives! Bliss the meanest reptile gladdens,-- Near God's throne the cherub lives! CHORUS. Bow before him, all creation! Mortals, own the God of love! Seek him high the stars above,-- Yonder is his habitation! Joy, in Nature's wide dominion, Mightiest cause of all is found; And 'tis joy that moves the pinion, When the wheel of time goes round; From the bud she lures the flower-- Suns from out their orbs of light; Distant spheres obey her power, Far beyond all mortal sight. CHORUS. As through heaven's expanse so glorious In their orbits suns roll on, Brethren, thus your proud race run, Glad as warriors all-victorious! Joy from truth's own glass of fire Sweetly on the searcher smiles; Lest on virtue's steeps he tire, Joy the tedious path beguiles. High on faith's bright hill before us, See her banner proudly wave! Joy, too, swells the angels' chorus,-- Bursts the bondage of the grave! CHORUS. Mortals, meekly wait for heaven Suffer on in patient love! In the starry realms above, Bright rewards by God are given. To the Gods we ne'er can render Praise for every good they grant; Let us, with devotion tender, Minister to grief and want. Quenched be hate and wrath forever, Pardoned be our mortal foe-- May our tears upbraid him never, No repentance bring him low! CHORUS. Sense of wrongs forget to treasure-- Brethren, live in perfect love! In the starry realms above, God will mete as we may measure. Joy within the goblet flushes, For the golden nectar, wine, Every fierce emotion hushes,-- Fills the breast with fire divine. Brethren, thus in rapture meeting, Send ye round the brimming cup,-- Yonder kindly spirit greeting, While the foam to heaven mounts up! CHORUS. He whom seraphs worship ever; Whom the stars praise as they roll, Yes to him now drain the bowl Mortal eye can see him never! Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe! 'Neath kings' frowns a manly spirit!-- Brethren, noble is the prize-- Honor due to every merit! Death to all the brood of lies! CHORUS. Draw the sacred circle closer! By this bright wine plight your troth To be faithful to your oath! Swear it by the Star-Disposer! Safety from the tyrant's power! Mercy e'en to traitors base! Hope in death's last solemn hour! Pardon when before His face! Lo, the dead shall rise to heaven! Brethren hail the blest decree; Every sin shall be forgiven, Hell forever cease to be! CHORUS. When the golden bowl is broken, Gentle sleep within the tomb! Brethren, may a gracious doom By the Judge of man be spoken!

hymn

joy

Input: [Form: hymn, Topic: joy] Poem: Joy, thou goddess, fair, immortal, Offspring of Elysium, Mad with rapture, to the portal Of thy holy fame we come! Fashion's laws, indeed, may sever, But thy magic joins again; All mankind are brethren ever 'Neath thy mild and gentle reign. CHORUS. Welcome, all ye myriad creatures! Brethren, take the kiss of love! Yes, the starry realms above Hide a Father's smiling features! He, that noble prize possessing-- He that boasts a friend that's true, He whom woman's love is blessing, Let him join the chorus too! Aye, and he who but one spirit On this earth can call his own! He who no such bliss can merit, Let him mourn his fate alone! CHORUS. All who Nature's tribes are swelling Homage pay to sympathy; For she guides us up on high, Where the unknown has his dwelling. From the breasts of kindly Nature All of joy imbibe the dew; Good and bad alike, each creature Would her roseate path pursue. 'Tis through her the wine-cup maddens, Love and friends to man she gives! Bliss the meanest reptile gladdens,-- Near God's throne the cherub lives! CHORUS. Bow before him, all creation! Mortals, own the God of love! Seek him high the stars above,-- Yonder is his habitation! Joy, in Nature's wide dominion, Mightiest cause of all is found; And 'tis joy that moves the pinion, When the wheel of time goes round; From the bud she lures the flower-- Suns from out their orbs of light; Distant spheres obey her power, Far beyond all mortal sight. CHORUS. As through heaven's expanse so glorious In their orbits suns roll on, Brethren, thus your proud race run, Glad as warriors all-victorious! Joy from truth's own glass of fire Sweetly on the searcher smiles; Lest on virtue's steeps he tire, Joy the tedious path beguiles. High on faith's bright hill before us, See her banner proudly wave! Joy, too, swells the angels' chorus,-- Bursts the bondage of the grave! CHORUS. Mortals, meekly wait for heaven Suffer on in patient love! In the starry realms above, Bright rewards by God are given. To the Gods we ne'er can render Praise for every good they grant; Let us, with devotion tender, Minister to grief and want. Quenched be hate and wrath forever, Pardoned be our mortal foe-- May our tears upbraid him never, No repentance bring him low! CHORUS. Sense of wrongs forget to treasure-- Brethren, live in perfect love! In the starry realms above, God will mete as we may measure. Joy within the goblet flushes, For the golden nectar, wine, Every fierce emotion hushes,-- Fills the breast with fire divine. Brethren, thus in rapture meeting, Send ye round the brimming cup,-- Yonder kindly spirit greeting, While the foam to heaven mounts up! CHORUS. He whom seraphs worship ever; Whom the stars praise as they roll, Yes to him now drain the bowl Mortal eye can see him never! Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe! 'Neath kings' frowns a manly spirit!-- Brethren, noble is the prize-- Honor due to every merit! Death to all the brood of lies! CHORUS. Draw the sacred circle closer! By this bright wine plight your troth To be faithful to your oath! Swear it by the Star-Disposer! Safety from the tyrant's power! Mercy e'en to traitors base! Hope in death's last solemn hour! Pardon when before His face! Lo, the dead shall rise to heaven! Brethren hail the blest decree; Every sin shall be forgiven, Hell forever cease to be! CHORUS. When the golden bowl is broken, Gentle sleep within the tomb! Brethren, may a gracious doom By the Judge of man be spoken!

Post - Revolutionary War, With 13 new states in the east, The Feds said, 'Got to get some more -' 'All the way west, to say the least.' Over the years some land was bought. Lots more was spoils of victory. No matter how it all was got, It was 'manifest destiny.' Today's south border - what to do? The Feds are stuck in politics. Look to the historical cue. Money and might should be the fix. To stop the border's northern flow, Buy or wage war on Mexico.

destiny

Input: [Topic: destiny] Poem: Post - Revolutionary War, With 13 new states in the east, The Feds said, 'Got to get some more -' 'All the way west, to say the least.' Over the years some land was bought. Lots more was spoils of victory. No matter how it all was got, It was 'manifest destiny.' Today's south border - what to do? The Feds are stuck in politics. Look to the historical cue. Money and might should be the fix. To stop the border's northern flow, Buy or wage war on Mexico.

(March 4, 1913) Thine aid, O Muse, I consciously beseech; I crave thy succour, ask for thine assistance That men may cry: "Some little ode! A peach!" O Muse, grant me the strength to go the distance! For odes, I learn, are dithyrambs, and long; Exalted feeling, dignity of theme And complicated structure guide the song. (All this from Webster's book of high esteem.) Let complicated structures not becloud My lucid lines, nor weight with overloading. To Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth and that crowd I yield the bays for grand and lofty oding. Mine but the task to trace a country's growth, As evidenced by each innauguration From Washington's to Wilson's primal oath-- In these U.S., the celebrated nation. But stay! or ever that I start to sing, Or e'er I loose my fine poetic forces, I ought, I think, to do the decent thing, Ti Wit: give credit to my many sources: Barnes's "Brief History of the U.S.A.," Bryce, Ridpath, Scudder, Fiske, J.B. McMaster, A book of odes, a Webster, a Roget-- The bibliography of this poetaster. Flow, flow, my pen, as gently as sweet Afton ever flowed! An thou dost ill, shall this be a poor thing, but mine ode. G.W., initial prex, Right down in Wall Street, New York City, Took his first oath. Oh, multiplex The whimsies quaint, the comments witty One might evolve from that! I scorn To mock the spot where he was sworn. On next Inauguration Day He took the avouchment sempiternal Way down in Phil-a-delph-i-a, Where rises now the L.H. Journal. His farewell speech in '96 Said: "'Ware the Trusts and all their tricks!" John Adams fell on darksome days: March fourth was blustery and sleety; The French behaved in horrid ways Until John Jay drew up a treaty. Came the Eleventh Amendment, too, Providing that--but why tell you? T. Jefferson, one history showed, Held all display was vain and idle; Alone, unpanoplied he rode; Alone he hitched his horse's bridle. No ball that night, no carouse, But back to Conrad's boarding house. He tied that bridle to the fence The morning of inauguration; John Davis saw him do it; whence Arose his "simple" reputation. The White House, though, with Thomas J., Had chefs--and parties every day. THE MUSE INTERRUPTS THE ODIST If I were you I think I'd change my medium; I'm weary of your meter and your style. The sameness of it sickens me to tedium; I'll quit unless you switch it for a while. THE ODIST REPLIES I bow to thee, my Muse, most eloquent of pleaders; But why embarras me in front of all these readers? Madison's inauguration Was a lovely celebration. In a suit of wool domestic Rode he, stately and majestic, Making it be manifest Clothes American are best. This has thundered through the ages. (See our advertising pages.) Lightly I pass along, and so Come to the terms of James Monroe Who framed the doctrine far too well Known for the odist to retell. His period of friendly dealing Began The Era of Good Feeling. John Quincy Adams followed him in Eighteen Twenty-Four; Election was exciting--the details I shall ignore. But his inauguration as our country's President Was, take it from McMaster, some considerable event. It was a brilliant function, and I think I ought to add The Philadelphia "ledger" said a gorgeous time was had. Old Andrew Jackson's pair of terms were terribly exciting; That stern, intrepid warrior had little else than fighting. A time of strife and turbulence, of politics and flurry. But deadly dull for poem themes, so, Mawruss, I should worry! In Washington did Martin Van A stately custom then decree; Old Hickory, the vetran, Must ride with him, the people's man, For all the world to see. A pleasant custom, in a way, And yet I should have laughed To see the Sage of Oyster Bay On Tuesday ride with Taft. (Pardon me this Parenthetical halt: That sight you'll miss, But it isn't my fault.) William Henry Harrison came Riding a horse of alabaster, But the weather that day was a sin and a shame, Take it from me and John McMaster. Only a month--and Harrison died, And V.P. Tyler began preside. A far from popular prex was he, And the next one was Polk from Tennessee. There were two inaugural balls for him But the rest of his record is rather dim. Had I the pen of a Pope or a Thackeray, Had I the wisdom of Hegel or Kant, Then might I sing as I'd like to of Zachary, Then might I sing a Taylorian chant. Oh, for the lyrical art of a Tennyson! Oh, for the skill of Macaulay or Burke! None of these mine; so I give him my benison, Turning reluctantly back to my work. O Millard Fillmore! when a man refers To thee, what direful, awful thing occurs? Though in name itself thy name have nought of wit, Yet--and this doth confound me to admit When I do hear it, I do smile; nay, more-- I laugh, I scream, I cachinnate, I roar As Wearied Business Men do shake with glee At mimes that say "Dubuque" or "Kankakee"; As basement-brows that laugh at New Rochelle; As lackwits laugh when actors mention Hell. Perhaps--it may be so--I am not sure-- Perhaps it is that thou wast so obscure, And that one seldom hears a single word of thee; I know a lot of girls that never heard of thee. Hence did I smile, perhaps. . . . How very near The careless laughing to the thoughtful tear! O Fillmore, let me sheathe my mocking pen. God rest thee! I'll not laugh at thee again! I heard it remarked that to Pierce's election There wasn't a soul had the slightest objection. I have also been told, by some caustical wit, That no one said 'nay' when he wanted to quit. Yet Franklin Pierce, forgotten man, I celebrate your fame. I'm doing just the best I can To keep alive your name, Though as President, F.P., You didn't do as much for me. Of James Buchanan things a score I might recite. I'll say that he was The only White House bachelor-- The only one, that's what J.B. was. For he was a bachelor-- For he might have been a bigamist, A Mormon, A polygamist, And had thirty wives or more; But this be his memorial: He was ever unuxorial, And he remained a bachelor-- He re-mai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ained a bachelor . Lincoln! I falter, feeling it to be As if all words of mine in praise of him Were as the veriest dolt that saw the sun; And God had spoken him and said to him: "I bid you tell me what you think of it." And he should answer: "Oh, the sun is very nice." So sadly fitted I to speak in praise Of Lincoln. Now during Andrew Johnson's term the currency grew stable; We bought Alaska and we laid the great Atlantic cable; And then there came eight years of Grant; thereafter four of Hayes; And in his time the parties fell on fierce and parlous days; And Garfield came, and Arthur too, And Congress shoes were worn, And Brooklyn Bridge was built and I, your gifted bard, was born. Cleveland and Harrison came along then; Followed an era of Cleveland again. Came then McKinley and--light me a pipe-- Hey there, composing room, get some new type! I sing him now as I shall sing him again; I sing him now as I have sung before. How fluently his name comes off my pen! O Theodore! Bless you and keep you, T.R.! Energy tireless,eternal, Fixed and particular star, Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel. Energy tireless, eternal; Hater of grafters and crooks! Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel, Writer and lover of books. Hater of grafters and crooks, Forceful, adroit, and expressive, Writer and lover of books, Nevertheless a progressive. Forceful, adroit, and expressive, Often asserting the trite; Nevertheless a progressive; Errant, but generally right. Often asserting the trite; Stubborn, and no one can force you. Errant, but generally right-- Yet, on the whole, I indorse you. Stubborn, and no one can force you, Fixed and particular star, Yet, on the whole, I indorse you, Bless you and keep you T.R.! It blew, it rained, it snowed, it stormed, it froze, it hailed, it sleeted The day that William Howard Taft upon the chair was seated. The four long years that followed--ah, that I should make a rhyme of it! For Mr. taft assures me that he had an awful time of it. And yet meseems he did his best; and as we bid good-bye, I'll add he did a better job than you'd have done--or I. Welcome to thee! I shake thy hand, New prexy of our well-known land. May what we merit, and no less, Descend to give us happiness! May what we merit, and no more, Descend on us in measured store! Give us but peace when we shall earn The right to such a rich return! Give us but plenty when we show That we deserve to have it so! Mine ode is finished! Tut! It is a slight one, But blame me not; I do as I am bid. The editors of COLLIER'S said to write one, And I did.

ode

Input: [Form: ode] Poem: (March 4, 1913) Thine aid, O Muse, I consciously beseech; I crave thy succour, ask for thine assistance That men may cry: "Some little ode! A peach!" O Muse, grant me the strength to go the distance! For odes, I learn, are dithyrambs, and long; Exalted feeling, dignity of theme And complicated structure guide the song. (All this from Webster's book of high esteem.) Let complicated structures not becloud My lucid lines, nor weight with overloading. To Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth and that crowd I yield the bays for grand and lofty oding. Mine but the task to trace a country's growth, As evidenced by each innauguration From Washington's to Wilson's primal oath-- In these U.S., the celebrated nation. But stay! or ever that I start to sing, Or e'er I loose my fine poetic forces, I ought, I think, to do the decent thing, Ti Wit: give credit to my many sources: Barnes's "Brief History of the U.S.A.," Bryce, Ridpath, Scudder, Fiske, J.B. McMaster, A book of odes, a Webster, a Roget-- The bibliography of this poetaster. Flow, flow, my pen, as gently as sweet Afton ever flowed! An thou dost ill, shall this be a poor thing, but mine ode. G.W., initial prex, Right down in Wall Street, New York City, Took his first oath. Oh, multiplex The whimsies quaint, the comments witty One might evolve from that! I scorn To mock the spot where he was sworn. On next Inauguration Day He took the avouchment sempiternal Way down in Phil-a-delph-i-a, Where rises now the L.H. Journal. His farewell speech in '96 Said: "'Ware the Trusts and all their tricks!" John Adams fell on darksome days: March fourth was blustery and sleety; The French behaved in horrid ways Until John Jay drew up a treaty. Came the Eleventh Amendment, too, Providing that--but why tell you? T. Jefferson, one history showed, Held all display was vain and idle; Alone, unpanoplied he rode; Alone he hitched his horse's bridle. No ball that night, no carouse, But back to Conrad's boarding house. He tied that bridle to the fence The morning of inauguration; John Davis saw him do it; whence Arose his "simple" reputation. The White House, though, with Thomas J., Had chefs--and parties every day. THE MUSE INTERRUPTS THE ODIST If I were you I think I'd change my medium; I'm weary of your meter and your style. The sameness of it sickens me to tedium; I'll quit unless you switch it for a while. THE ODIST REPLIES I bow to thee, my Muse, most eloquent of pleaders; But why embarras me in front of all these readers? Madison's inauguration Was a lovely celebration. In a suit of wool domestic Rode he, stately and majestic, Making it be manifest Clothes American are best. This has thundered through the ages. (See our advertising pages.) Lightly I pass along, and so Come to the terms of James Monroe Who framed the doctrine far too well Known for the odist to retell. His period of friendly dealing Began The Era of Good Feeling. John Quincy Adams followed him in Eighteen Twenty-Four; Election was exciting--the details I shall ignore. But his inauguration as our country's President Was, take it from McMaster, some considerable event. It was a brilliant function, and I think I ought to add The Philadelphia "ledger" said a gorgeous time was had. Old Andrew Jackson's pair of terms were terribly exciting; That stern, intrepid warrior had little else than fighting. A time of strife and turbulence, of politics and flurry. But deadly dull for poem themes, so, Mawruss, I should worry! In Washington did Martin Van A stately custom then decree; Old Hickory, the vetran, Must ride with him, the people's man, For all the world to see. A pleasant custom, in a way, And yet I should have laughed To see the Sage of Oyster Bay On Tuesday ride with Taft. (Pardon me this Parenthetical halt: That sight you'll miss, But it isn't my fault.) William Henry Harrison came Riding a horse of alabaster, But the weather that day was a sin and a shame, Take it from me and John McMaster. Only a month--and Harrison died, And V.P. Tyler began preside. A far from popular prex was he, And the next one was Polk from Tennessee. There were two inaugural balls for him But the rest of his record is rather dim. Had I the pen of a Pope or a Thackeray, Had I the wisdom of Hegel or Kant, Then might I sing as I'd like to of Zachary, Then might I sing a Taylorian chant. Oh, for the lyrical art of a Tennyson! Oh, for the skill of Macaulay or Burke! None of these mine; so I give him my benison, Turning reluctantly back to my work. O Millard Fillmore! when a man refers To thee, what direful, awful thing occurs? Though in name itself thy name have nought of wit, Yet--and this doth confound me to admit When I do hear it, I do smile; nay, more-- I laugh, I scream, I cachinnate, I roar As Wearied Business Men do shake with glee At mimes that say "Dubuque" or "Kankakee"; As basement-brows that laugh at New Rochelle; As lackwits laugh when actors mention Hell. Perhaps--it may be so--I am not sure-- Perhaps it is that thou wast so obscure, And that one seldom hears a single word of thee; I know a lot of girls that never heard of thee. Hence did I smile, perhaps. . . . How very near The careless laughing to the thoughtful tear! O Fillmore, let me sheathe my mocking pen. God rest thee! I'll not laugh at thee again! I heard it remarked that to Pierce's election There wasn't a soul had the slightest objection. I have also been told, by some caustical wit, That no one said 'nay' when he wanted to quit. Yet Franklin Pierce, forgotten man, I celebrate your fame. I'm doing just the best I can To keep alive your name, Though as President, F.P., You didn't do as much for me. Of James Buchanan things a score I might recite. I'll say that he was The only White House bachelor-- The only one, that's what J.B. was. For he was a bachelor-- For he might have been a bigamist, A Mormon, A polygamist, And had thirty wives or more; But this be his memorial: He was ever unuxorial, And he remained a bachelor-- He re-mai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ained a bachelor . Lincoln! I falter, feeling it to be As if all words of mine in praise of him Were as the veriest dolt that saw the sun; And God had spoken him and said to him: "I bid you tell me what you think of it." And he should answer: "Oh, the sun is very nice." So sadly fitted I to speak in praise Of Lincoln. Now during Andrew Johnson's term the currency grew stable; We bought Alaska and we laid the great Atlantic cable; And then there came eight years of Grant; thereafter four of Hayes; And in his time the parties fell on fierce and parlous days; And Garfield came, and Arthur too, And Congress shoes were worn, And Brooklyn Bridge was built and I, your gifted bard, was born. Cleveland and Harrison came along then; Followed an era of Cleveland again. Came then McKinley and--light me a pipe-- Hey there, composing room, get some new type! I sing him now as I shall sing him again; I sing him now as I have sung before. How fluently his name comes off my pen! O Theodore! Bless you and keep you, T.R.! Energy tireless,eternal, Fixed and particular star, Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel. Energy tireless, eternal; Hater of grafters and crooks! Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel, Writer and lover of books. Hater of grafters and crooks, Forceful, adroit, and expressive, Writer and lover of books, Nevertheless a progressive. Forceful, adroit, and expressive, Often asserting the trite; Nevertheless a progressive; Errant, but generally right. Often asserting the trite; Stubborn, and no one can force you. Errant, but generally right-- Yet, on the whole, I indorse you. Stubborn, and no one can force you, Fixed and particular star, Yet, on the whole, I indorse you, Bless you and keep you T.R.! It blew, it rained, it snowed, it stormed, it froze, it hailed, it sleeted The day that William Howard Taft upon the chair was seated. The four long years that followed--ah, that I should make a rhyme of it! For Mr. taft assures me that he had an awful time of it. And yet meseems he did his best; and as we bid good-bye, I'll add he did a better job than you'd have done--or I. Welcome to thee! I shake thy hand, New prexy of our well-known land. May what we merit, and no less, Descend to give us happiness! May what we merit, and no more, Descend on us in measured store! Give us but peace when we shall earn The right to such a rich return! Give us but plenty when we show That we deserve to have it so! Mine ode is finished! Tut! It is a slight one, But blame me not; I do as I am bid. The editors of COLLIER'S said to write one, And I did.

I think I was on a balcony overlooking the whole thing. --Yusef Komunyakaa "April Fool's Day" No soon, no hard loan, no geometric woodwork to make you feel at home. No soap, no anonymous bourbon, no portrait or copy of a portrait painted by some writer or star or family member or any other-than-artist person. No short drop (you were fifteen floors up), no secret way out, no voice of self-hatred (which you are at least used to). No past tense. Sometimes no tense at all. Sometimes not even an all or nothing. Sometimes not even a real estate dream, not even a frame, not even a framework. A balcony but not a back kitchen porch. A woman hanging out her laundry but not hanging out. Railroad tracks and motor- cycle gang around the corner but not a ticket or a destination. Not even the sense of a weird dead end. Not a lemon or a sun. No children. No stories about children, no crooked arrow. No ghost named Leslie or Vallejo. No C. No M. No J.

butterfly

Input: [Topic: butterfly] Poem: I think I was on a balcony overlooking the whole thing. --Yusef Komunyakaa "April Fool's Day" No soon, no hard loan, no geometric woodwork to make you feel at home. No soap, no anonymous bourbon, no portrait or copy of a portrait painted by some writer or star or family member or any other-than-artist person. No short drop (you were fifteen floors up), no secret way out, no voice of self-hatred (which you are at least used to). No past tense. Sometimes no tense at all. Sometimes not even an all or nothing. Sometimes not even a real estate dream, not even a frame, not even a framework. A balcony but not a back kitchen porch. A woman hanging out her laundry but not hanging out. Railroad tracks and motor- cycle gang around the corner but not a ticket or a destination. Not even the sense of a weird dead end. Not a lemon or a sun. No children. No stories about children, no crooked arrow. No ghost named Leslie or Vallejo. No C. No M. No J.

i smile a fake smile so no one can actually see that my pain is over whelming that i could never leave if any one were to ask, i would have to say i'm a broken angel or i could fly away no one has ever noticed my eyes are always filled with tears my heart is always breaking and i don't want to be here i don't think i'm an angel for i don't believe in it but in some ways i'm a BROKEN angel hoping to fly away i sperad my wings i try to fly but my hope has already died i let tears fall i yell to someone i reach out my hand i run down the hall no one chases after me no one screams my name i'll try to fly if my wings don't burn i'm a broken angel i WANT to fly away this broken angel has almost died i can't go to heaven i've sinned too much i can't go to hell i've sinned not enough i'm a broken angel i need to fly THIS broken angel has pretty much died

angel

Input: [Topic: angel] Poem: i smile a fake smile so no one can actually see that my pain is over whelming that i could never leave if any one were to ask, i would have to say i'm a broken angel or i could fly away no one has ever noticed my eyes are always filled with tears my heart is always breaking and i don't want to be here i don't think i'm an angel for i don't believe in it but in some ways i'm a BROKEN angel hoping to fly away i sperad my wings i try to fly but my hope has already died i let tears fall i yell to someone i reach out my hand i run down the hall no one chases after me no one screams my name i'll try to fly if my wings don't burn i'm a broken angel i WANT to fly away this broken angel has almost died i can't go to heaven i've sinned too much i can't go to hell i've sinned not enough i'm a broken angel i need to fly THIS broken angel has pretty much died

My daughter said something the other day We were sitting on the front steps, talking Someone wanted to enter the building, she stood up and said 'we're just having a father daughter moment' My daughter is still young, only 27 And hearing her say that, my heart swelled with pride She still wants to have moments with her father My adult daughter still needed me So much is said about the mother-daughter bond But there's an even stronger bond between a father and a daughter No matter how old she is, she's still daddy's little girl And he always wants to be there for her Father daughter moments last a lifetime From playground accidents to a broken heart You do your best to help her pain go away Because when she's in pain, you are too

daughter

Input: [Topic: daughter] Poem: My daughter said something the other day We were sitting on the front steps, talking Someone wanted to enter the building, she stood up and said 'we're just having a father daughter moment' My daughter is still young, only 27 And hearing her say that, my heart swelled with pride She still wants to have moments with her father My adult daughter still needed me So much is said about the mother-daughter bond But there's an even stronger bond between a father and a daughter No matter how old she is, she's still daddy's little girl And he always wants to be there for her Father daughter moments last a lifetime From playground accidents to a broken heart You do your best to help her pain go away Because when she's in pain, you are too

Eliminating passion is not happiness. Suppressing passion is not happiness. Spending passion only is happiness. Happiness is nothing but the sprouts of happiness. 18.08.2008

happiness

Input: [Topic: happiness] Poem: Eliminating passion is not happiness. Suppressing passion is not happiness. Spending passion only is happiness. Happiness is nothing but the sprouts of happiness. 18.08.2008

So soon grown old! hast thou been six years dead? Poor earth, once by my Love inhabited! And must I live to calculate the time To which thy blooming youth could never climbe, But fell in the ascent! yet have not I Studi'd enough thy losses history. How happy were mankind if Death's strict lawes Consum'd our lamentations like the cause! Or that our grief turning to dust might end With the dissolved body of a friend! But sacred Heaven! O how just thou art In stamping deaths impression on that heart Which through thy favours would grow insolent, Were it not physick't by sharp discontent. If then it stand resolv'd in thy decree That still I must doom'd to a Desart be Sprung out of my lone thoughts, which know no path But what my own misfortune beaten hath: If thou wilt bind me living to a coarse, And I must slowly waste; I then of force Stoop to thy great appointment, and obey That will which nought avail me to gainsay. For whil'st in sorrowes Maze I wander on, I do but follow lifes vocation. Sure we were made to grieve: at our first birth With cries we took possession of the earth; And though the lucky man reputed be Fortunes adopted son, yet onely he Is Natures true born child, who summes his years (Like me) with no Arithmetick but tears.

elegy

Input: [Form: elegy] Poem: So soon grown old! hast thou been six years dead? Poor earth, once by my Love inhabited! And must I live to calculate the time To which thy blooming youth could never climbe, But fell in the ascent! yet have not I Studi'd enough thy losses history. How happy were mankind if Death's strict lawes Consum'd our lamentations like the cause! Or that our grief turning to dust might end With the dissolved body of a friend! But sacred Heaven! O how just thou art In stamping deaths impression on that heart Which through thy favours would grow insolent, Were it not physick't by sharp discontent. If then it stand resolv'd in thy decree That still I must doom'd to a Desart be Sprung out of my lone thoughts, which know no path But what my own misfortune beaten hath: If thou wilt bind me living to a coarse, And I must slowly waste; I then of force Stoop to thy great appointment, and obey That will which nought avail me to gainsay. For whil'st in sorrowes Maze I wander on, I do but follow lifes vocation. Sure we were made to grieve: at our first birth With cries we took possession of the earth; And though the lucky man reputed be Fortunes adopted son, yet onely he Is Natures true born child, who summes his years (Like me) with no Arithmetick but tears.

Starting with when i was a kid when i was not so big everything was so cool, like soft water in a pool increasing steps day by day, loosing past way by way.... entering into new classes, complicated as the time passes! ! ! New classes, new friends, new trends, ... that mends you to beocme your best Afterall you have to pass through tests! ! ! ! At last the day has come we have to leave our school and spin our memories like the wool These days will never be back again...... and... we will remember them again and again so, love your teachers, love your school.

school

Input: [Topic: school] Poem: Starting with when i was a kid when i was not so big everything was so cool, like soft water in a pool increasing steps day by day, loosing past way by way.... entering into new classes, complicated as the time passes! ! ! New classes, new friends, new trends, ... that mends you to beocme your best Afterall you have to pass through tests! ! ! ! At last the day has come we have to leave our school and spin our memories like the wool These days will never be back again...... and... we will remember them again and again so, love your teachers, love your school.

I To none the city bends a servile knee; Purse-proud and scornful, on her heights she stands, And at her feet the great white moaning sea Shoulders incessantly the grey-gold sands,-- One the Almighty's child since time began, And one the might of Mammon, born of clods; For all the city is the work of man, But all the sea is God's. II And she--between the ocean and the town-- Lies cursed of one and by the other blest: Her staring eyes, her long drenched hair, her gown, Sea-laved and soiled and dank above her breast. She, image of her God since life began, She, but the child of Mammon, born of clods, Her broken body spoiled and spurned of man, But her sweet soul is God's.

city

Input: [Topic: city] Poem: I To none the city bends a servile knee; Purse-proud and scornful, on her heights she stands, And at her feet the great white moaning sea Shoulders incessantly the grey-gold sands,-- One the Almighty's child since time began, And one the might of Mammon, born of clods; For all the city is the work of man, But all the sea is God's. II And she--between the ocean and the town-- Lies cursed of one and by the other blest: Her staring eyes, her long drenched hair, her gown, Sea-laved and soiled and dank above her breast. She, image of her God since life began, She, but the child of Mammon, born of clods, Her broken body spoiled and spurned of man, But her sweet soul is God's.

War's a joke for me and you, Wile we know such dreams are true. - Siegfried Sassoon Out there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death,- Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland,- Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand. We've sniffed the green thick odour of his breath,- Our eyes wept, but our courage didn't writhe. He's spat at us with bullets and he's coughed Shrapnel. We chorussed when he sang aloft, We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe. Oh, Death was never enemy of ours! We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum. No soldier's paid to kick against His powers. We laughed, -knowing that better men would come, And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.

war

Input: [Topic: war] Poem: War's a joke for me and you, Wile we know such dreams are true. - Siegfried Sassoon Out there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death,- Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland,- Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand. We've sniffed the green thick odour of his breath,- Our eyes wept, but our courage didn't writhe. He's spat at us with bullets and he's coughed Shrapnel. We chorussed when he sang aloft, We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe. Oh, Death was never enemy of ours! We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum. No soldier's paid to kick against His powers. We laughed, -knowing that better men would come, And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.

I met a little girl, As fragile as could be And i don't know somehow, She reminded me of me! In her little eye she saw a dream, Of happiness unmatched But every time she made it true There came a little catch And each time a little tear, Would fall on her knee But again and again she tried For she wanted to succeed. Her innocence was soon broken In light of further days, For every time she tried to smile, Darkness pushed her away. And though she broke entirely, From within Outside, she tried to put a show And tried to mingle in. And she tried to piece together Her unhappy shattered heart, But inside she was tearing Slowly. part by part. I met a little girl As fragile as could be, It's hard to belive, I know That girl was me.

innocence

Input: [Topic: innocence] Poem: I met a little girl, As fragile as could be And i don't know somehow, She reminded me of me! In her little eye she saw a dream, Of happiness unmatched But every time she made it true There came a little catch And each time a little tear, Would fall on her knee But again and again she tried For she wanted to succeed. Her innocence was soon broken In light of further days, For every time she tried to smile, Darkness pushed her away. And though she broke entirely, From within Outside, she tried to put a show And tried to mingle in. And she tried to piece together Her unhappy shattered heart, But inside she was tearing Slowly. part by part. I met a little girl As fragile as could be, It's hard to belive, I know That girl was me.

What smouldering senses in death's sick delay Or seizure of malign vicissitude Can rob this body of honour, or denude This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day? For lo! even now my lady's lips did play With these my lips such consonant interlude As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay. I was a child beneath her touch, -- a man When breast to breast we clung, even I and she, -- A spirit when her spirit looked through me, -- A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood, till love's emulous ardours ran, Fire within fire, desire in deity.

kiss

Input: [Topic: kiss] Poem: What smouldering senses in death's sick delay Or seizure of malign vicissitude Can rob this body of honour, or denude This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day? For lo! even now my lady's lips did play With these my lips such consonant interlude As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay. I was a child beneath her touch, -- a man When breast to breast we clung, even I and she, -- A spirit when her spirit looked through me, -- A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood, till love's emulous ardours ran, Fire within fire, desire in deity.

A thoughtful Being, long and spare, Our Race of Mortals call him Care: (Were Homer living, well he knew What Name the Gods have call'd him too) With fine Mechanick Genius wrought, And lov'd to work, tho' no one bought. This Being, by a Model bred In Jove's eternal sable Head, Contriv'd a Shape impow'rd to breathe, And be the Worldling here beneath. The Man rose staring, like a Stake; Wond'ring to see himself awake! Then look'd so wise, before he knew The Bus'ness he was made to do; That pleas'd to see with what a Grace He gravely shew'd his forward Face, Jove talk'd of breeding him on high, An Under-something of the Sky. But e'er he gave the mighty Nod, Which ever binds a Poet's God: (For which his Curls Ambrosial shake, And Mother Earth's oblig'd to quake He saw old Mother Earth arise, She stood confess'd before his Eyes; But not with what we read she wore, A Castle for a Crown before, Nor with long Streets and longer Roads Dangling behind her, like Commodes: As yet with Wreaths alone she drest, And trail'd a Landskip-painted Vest. Then thrice she rais'd, (as Ovid said) And thrice she bow'd, her weighty Head. Her Honours made, Great Jove, she cry'd, This Thing was fashion'd from my Side; His Hands, his Heart, his Head are mine; Then what hast thou to call him thine? Nay rather ask, the Monarch said, What boots his Hand, his Heart, his Head, Were what I gave remov'd away? Thy Part's an idle Shape of Clay. Halves, more than Halves! cry'd honest Care, Your Pleas wou'd make your Titles fair, You claim the Body, you the Soul, But I who join'd them, claim the whole. Thus with the Gods Debate began, On such a trivial Cause, as Man. And can Celestial Tempers rage? (Quoth Virgil in a later Age.) As thus they wrangled, Time came by; (There's none that paint him such as I, For what the Fabling Antients sung Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.) As yet his Winters had not shed Their silver Honours on his Head; He just had got his Pinions free From his old Sire Eternity. A Serpent girdled round he wore, The Tail within the Mouth before; By which our Almanacks are clear That learned Ægypt meant the Year. A Staff he carry'd, where on high A Glass was fix'd to measure by, As Amber Boxes made a Show For Heads of Canes an Age ago. His Vest, for Day, and Night, was py'd; A bending Sickle arm'd his Side; And Spring's new Months his Train adorn; The other Seasons were unborn. Known by the Gods, as near he draws, They make him Umpire of the Cause. O'er a low Trunk his Arm he laid, (Where since his Hours a Dial made Then leaning heard the nice Debate, And thus pronounc'd the Words of Fate. Since Body from the Parent Earth, And Soul from Jove receiv'd a Birth, Return they where they first began; But since their Union makes the Man, 'Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, To Care who join'd them, Man is due. He said, and sprung with swift Career To trace a Circle for the Year; Where ever since the Seasons wheel, And tread on one another's Heel. 'Tis well, said Jove, and for consent Thund'ring he shook the Firmament. Our Umpire Time shall have his Way, With Care I let the Creature stay: Let Bus'ness vex him, Av'rice blind, Let Doubt and Knowledge rack his Mind, Let Error act, Opinion speak, And Want afflict, and Sickness break, And Anger burn, Dejection chill, And Joy distract, and Sorrow kill. 'Till arm'd by Care and taught to Mow, Time draws the long destructive Blow; And wasted Man, whose quick decay Comes hurrying on before his Day, Shall only find, by this Decree, The Soul flies sooner back to Me.

allegory

Input: [Form: allegory] Poem: A thoughtful Being, long and spare, Our Race of Mortals call him Care: (Were Homer living, well he knew What Name the Gods have call'd him too) With fine Mechanick Genius wrought, And lov'd to work, tho' no one bought. This Being, by a Model bred In Jove's eternal sable Head, Contriv'd a Shape impow'rd to breathe, And be the Worldling here beneath. The Man rose staring, like a Stake; Wond'ring to see himself awake! Then look'd so wise, before he knew The Bus'ness he was made to do; That pleas'd to see with what a Grace He gravely shew'd his forward Face, Jove talk'd of breeding him on high, An Under-something of the Sky. But e'er he gave the mighty Nod, Which ever binds a Poet's God: (For which his Curls Ambrosial shake, And Mother Earth's oblig'd to quake He saw old Mother Earth arise, She stood confess'd before his Eyes; But not with what we read she wore, A Castle for a Crown before, Nor with long Streets and longer Roads Dangling behind her, like Commodes: As yet with Wreaths alone she drest, And trail'd a Landskip-painted Vest. Then thrice she rais'd, (as Ovid said) And thrice she bow'd, her weighty Head. Her Honours made, Great Jove, she cry'd, This Thing was fashion'd from my Side; His Hands, his Heart, his Head are mine; Then what hast thou to call him thine? Nay rather ask, the Monarch said, What boots his Hand, his Heart, his Head, Were what I gave remov'd away? Thy Part's an idle Shape of Clay. Halves, more than Halves! cry'd honest Care, Your Pleas wou'd make your Titles fair, You claim the Body, you the Soul, But I who join'd them, claim the whole. Thus with the Gods Debate began, On such a trivial Cause, as Man. And can Celestial Tempers rage? (Quoth Virgil in a later Age.) As thus they wrangled, Time came by; (There's none that paint him such as I, For what the Fabling Antients sung Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.) As yet his Winters had not shed Their silver Honours on his Head; He just had got his Pinions free From his old Sire Eternity. A Serpent girdled round he wore, The Tail within the Mouth before; By which our Almanacks are clear That learned Ægypt meant the Year. A Staff he carry'd, where on high A Glass was fix'd to measure by, As Amber Boxes made a Show For Heads of Canes an Age ago. His Vest, for Day, and Night, was py'd; A bending Sickle arm'd his Side; And Spring's new Months his Train adorn; The other Seasons were unborn. Known by the Gods, as near he draws, They make him Umpire of the Cause. O'er a low Trunk his Arm he laid, (Where since his Hours a Dial made Then leaning heard the nice Debate, And thus pronounc'd the Words of Fate. Since Body from the Parent Earth, And Soul from Jove receiv'd a Birth, Return they where they first began; But since their Union makes the Man, 'Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, To Care who join'd them, Man is due. He said, and sprung with swift Career To trace a Circle for the Year; Where ever since the Seasons wheel, And tread on one another's Heel. 'Tis well, said Jove, and for consent Thund'ring he shook the Firmament. Our Umpire Time shall have his Way, With Care I let the Creature stay: Let Bus'ness vex him, Av'rice blind, Let Doubt and Knowledge rack his Mind, Let Error act, Opinion speak, And Want afflict, and Sickness break, And Anger burn, Dejection chill, And Joy distract, and Sorrow kill. 'Till arm'd by Care and taught to Mow, Time draws the long destructive Blow; And wasted Man, whose quick decay Comes hurrying on before his Day, Shall only find, by this Decree, The Soul flies sooner back to Me.

Today the little bird is let out of his cage. He doesn't know if his wings will still fly, but at least he can enjoy walking around the garden-like world. The bird dreams; in his cage, even his dreams often have bars, but as he strolls in the garden, he feels like a peacock, suns and stars and luminous eyes blazing from his own tail. Whether he flies or not is almost immaterial, for his world today is cool and green, and that is Heaven. Where else would he wish to soar?

freedom

Input: [Topic: freedom] Poem: Today the little bird is let out of his cage. He doesn't know if his wings will still fly, but at least he can enjoy walking around the garden-like world. The bird dreams; in his cage, even his dreams often have bars, but as he strolls in the garden, he feels like a peacock, suns and stars and luminous eyes blazing from his own tail. Whether he flies or not is almost immaterial, for his world today is cool and green, and that is Heaven. Where else would he wish to soar?

A sunny day's complete Poussiniana Divide it from itself. It is this or that And it is not. By metaphor you paint A thing. Thus, the pineapple was a leather fruit, A fruit for pewter, thorned and palmed and blue, To be served by men of ice. The senses paint By metaphor. The juice was fragranter Than wettest cinnamon. It was cribled pears Dripping a morning sap. The truth must be That you do not see, you experience, you feel, That the buxom eye brings merely its element To the total thing, a shapeless giant forced Upward. Green were the curls upon that head.

poem

Input: [Topic: poem] Poem: A sunny day's complete Poussiniana Divide it from itself. It is this or that And it is not. By metaphor you paint A thing. Thus, the pineapple was a leather fruit, A fruit for pewter, thorned and palmed and blue, To be served by men of ice. The senses paint By metaphor. The juice was fragranter Than wettest cinnamon. It was cribled pears Dripping a morning sap. The truth must be That you do not see, you experience, you feel, That the buxom eye brings merely its element To the total thing, a shapeless giant forced Upward. Green were the curls upon that head.

At the stroke of twelve; midnight we earned freedom! Well! We did it! We waited, waited, waited, waited we waited not just six hours for dawn, but alas for sixty five years in vain. Very few dredged the darkness to fetch the light; but many spewed venoms to stretch the night. Terrorists, factionists and fanatics gained the reins of the reign in dark to run their rackets free of any fetters while remained our leaders, indolent, insolent, corrupt and inept with no intent to direct and correct the groping multitude. Commoners too care not the dark nor feel any remorse even if the long waited day-break starts with a longest solar eclipse. They preferred smug slumber and lives with no bother and forgot sans doubt with perfidious conceit the blood and sweat shed by our great founding fathers. Fumbling are we still in gloom to untie many a Gordian knot! Oh God! Save my country from all these Stygian fogs!

freedom

Input: [Topic: freedom] Poem: At the stroke of twelve; midnight we earned freedom! Well! We did it! We waited, waited, waited, waited we waited not just six hours for dawn, but alas for sixty five years in vain. Very few dredged the darkness to fetch the light; but many spewed venoms to stretch the night. Terrorists, factionists and fanatics gained the reins of the reign in dark to run their rackets free of any fetters while remained our leaders, indolent, insolent, corrupt and inept with no intent to direct and correct the groping multitude. Commoners too care not the dark nor feel any remorse even if the long waited day-break starts with a longest solar eclipse. They preferred smug slumber and lives with no bother and forgot sans doubt with perfidious conceit the blood and sweat shed by our great founding fathers. Fumbling are we still in gloom to untie many a Gordian knot! Oh God! Save my country from all these Stygian fogs!

I know as I look at you out from my window Tomorrow you retreat back to your shadow Today stripes of colors brighten my disco Red, orange, green, blue, violet, and yellow So rainbow, rainbow Before you give the elbow Take it nice and slow Let your colors gaze at me and glow Make the warm sunshine once again flow Today you display your colorful cargo With your yellow as bright as a meadow You stand on your own curved beautifully solo With colors I find so beautiful to swallow So rainbow, rainbow Before you give the elbow Take it nice and slow Gaze at me and glow Let my sunshine flow Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi

rainbow

Input: [Topic: rainbow] Poem: I know as I look at you out from my window Tomorrow you retreat back to your shadow Today stripes of colors brighten my disco Red, orange, green, blue, violet, and yellow So rainbow, rainbow Before you give the elbow Take it nice and slow Let your colors gaze at me and glow Make the warm sunshine once again flow Today you display your colorful cargo With your yellow as bright as a meadow You stand on your own curved beautifully solo With colors I find so beautiful to swallow So rainbow, rainbow Before you give the elbow Take it nice and slow Gaze at me and glow Let my sunshine flow Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi

Some hungry beasts are loudly roaring that The earth is burning in their left paws Any time they want can blow out So, the rest fear, too of those; How horrible the beasts! Are waiting for feast. About: Reza syllabic Verse (Edited, Revised And Additional Version) : - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 6 lines poem ─ Syllables meter: 10 in the 1st line,9 in the 2nd,8 in the 3rd,7 in the 4th, 6 in the 5th and 5 in the 6th line (10-9-8-7-6-5) , Syllables may be stressed or unstressed. Rhyme scheme: iambic; ababcc; ababcd; abbacc; aabbcc The aabbcc will be Heroic Reza syllabic Verse. A simple refrain of 5th line may be as 6th line; if no refrain, the 6th line will be an individual one. Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │14 April,2018

syllabic-verse

Input: [Form: syllabic-verse] Poem: Some hungry beasts are loudly roaring that The earth is burning in their left paws Any time they want can blow out So, the rest fear, too of those; How horrible the beasts! Are waiting for feast. About: Reza syllabic Verse (Edited, Revised And Additional Version) : - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 6 lines poem ─ Syllables meter: 10 in the 1st line,9 in the 2nd,8 in the 3rd,7 in the 4th, 6 in the 5th and 5 in the 6th line (10-9-8-7-6-5) , Syllables may be stressed or unstressed. Rhyme scheme: iambic; ababcc; ababcd; abbacc; aabbcc The aabbcc will be Heroic Reza syllabic Verse. A simple refrain of 5th line may be as 6th line; if no refrain, the 6th line will be an individual one. Copyright © Muzahidul Reza │14 April,2018

In what torn ship soever I embark, That ship shall be my emblem of thy Ark; What sea soever swallow me, that flood Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood; Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, Which, though they turn away sometimes, They never will despise. I sacrifice this Island unto thee, And all whom I loved there, and who loved me; When I have put our seas 'twixt them and me, Put thou thy sea betwixt my sins and thee. As the tree's sap doth seek the root below In winter, in my winter now I go, Where none but thee, th' Eternal root Of true Love, I may know. Nor thou nor thy religion dost control The amorousness of an harmonious Soul, But thou wouldst have that love thyself: as thou Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now, Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, Thou free My soul: who ever gives, takes liberty: O, if thou car'st not whom I love Alas, thou lov'st not me. Seal then this bill of my Divorce to All, On whom those fainter beams of love did fall; Marry those loves, which in youth scattered be On Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses) to thee. Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light: To see God only, I go out of sight: And to 'scape stormy days, I choose An Everlasting night.

hymn

Input: [Form: hymn] Poem: In what torn ship soever I embark, That ship shall be my emblem of thy Ark; What sea soever swallow me, that flood Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood; Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, Which, though they turn away sometimes, They never will despise. I sacrifice this Island unto thee, And all whom I loved there, and who loved me; When I have put our seas 'twixt them and me, Put thou thy sea betwixt my sins and thee. As the tree's sap doth seek the root below In winter, in my winter now I go, Where none but thee, th' Eternal root Of true Love, I may know. Nor thou nor thy religion dost control The amorousness of an harmonious Soul, But thou wouldst have that love thyself: as thou Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now, Thou lov'st not, till from loving more, Thou free My soul: who ever gives, takes liberty: O, if thou car'st not whom I love Alas, thou lov'st not me. Seal then this bill of my Divorce to All, On whom those fainter beams of love did fall; Marry those loves, which in youth scattered be On Fame, Wit, Hopes (false mistresses) to thee. Churches are best for Prayer, that have least light: To see God only, I go out of sight: And to 'scape stormy days, I choose An Everlasting night.