Ice-lolly
Anonynous
Red rocket
On a stick.
If it shines,
Lick it quick.
Round the edges,
On the top.
Round the bottom,
Do not stop.
Suck the lolly,
Lick your lips.
Lick the sides,
As it drips.
Off the stick,
Quick, quick.
Lick, lick...
Red rocket,
On a stick.
Out in the Garden
Anonynous
Out in the garden, each fine day,
With my ball, I like to play.
I bounce my ball, I bounce my ball,
I bounce my ball, on each fine day.
Out in the garden, each fine day,
With my kite, I like to play.
I fly it high, I fly it high,
I fly it high, on each fine day.
Cobbler-Cobbler
Anonynous
Cobbler-cobbler,
Mend my shoe.
Get it done,
By half-past-two.
Stitch it up.
And stitch it down.
Then I'll give you,
Half-a-crown.
How Does the Corn Go?
Anonynous
How does the corn go? Pop-pop-pop.
How does the knife go? Chop-chop-chop.
How does the water go? Tip-tip-tip.
How does the jam go? Lick-lick-lick.
How does the train go? Chook-chook-chook.
Let's be quiet! Sh... sh... sh...
After a Bath
Anonynous
After a bath, I try, try, try.
To wipe myself
Till I am dry, dry, dry.
Hands to wipe and fingers and toes.
And two wet legs and a shiny nose.
Prickly Porcupine
Prickly the Porcupine was curled up in a ball
Prickly the Porcupine
Was curled up in a ball,
You wouldn’t know an animal
Was lying there at all.
He heard somebody calling
And he tried to have a look,
But found he couldn’t move his head –
Poor Prickly was stuck!
Instead of walking on his legs
He had to roll along,
And tried to find his mummy
To tell her what was wrong.
Now as his head was tucked away
He couldn’t see at all
But just kept right on rolling
Like a spiky little ball.
Against a hollow beech tree
He came at last to rest,
Quite startling a woodpecker
Who there had made its nest.
The bird flew down to Prickly
To see what he could do,
And tried to get him unrolled
In the only way he knew.
His clever beak pecked sharply
At the joining he could see,
Till Prickly uncurled again –
Relieved that he was free.
He thanked the kindly woodpecker
And once more feeling fine,
He scuttled home to mummy –
Now a happy porcupine!
Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat
Little mouse under her chair
Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?
I've been to London to look at the Queen.
Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there?
I frightened a little mouse under her chair.
Chubby Cheeks
Anonynous
Chubby cheeks, dimpled chin.
Rosy lips, teeth within.
Curly hair, very fair.
Eyes are blue, lovely too.
Teacher's pet, is that you?
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Up to the Ceiling
Anonynous
Daddy lifts me;
Up to the Ceiling.
Daddy swings me;
Down to the floor.
Daddy! Daddy!
More! More! MORE!
Up to the ceiling;
Down to the floor.
The Elephant
Anonynous
The elephant is so big and fat;
He walks like this, he walks like that.
He has no fingers, he has no toes;
But Oh My! My! What a long nose!
Ernie Elephant and the Little Mouse
Ernie lifted his head, then waggled his ears
Ernie the elephant had great big feet,
And a long curly trunk as well,
His tusks were sharp, his color was grey,
And he'd a very sad tale to tell.
Though he was strong and looked so fierce,
He was really gentle and kind.
But he wanted a friend, large or small,
And never a one could he find.
Till one fine day, when he lay fast asleep,
A little mouse chanced to pass by.
Ernie lifted his head, then waggled his ears,
And lazily opened one eye.
"Hello," said the mouse, "here all alone?"
"Why indeed, yes I am," sighed he.
"I need a good friend." The mouse twitched his nose
And smiled, "Well, how about me?"
Ernie grinned, the mouse beamed,
And together they went, down to the bank of the stream.
They splashed and they splashed to their hearts' content,
Then had tea with strawberries and cream.
I Like the Zoo
-
I like the zoo, I like the zoo.
The lions and the monkeys too.
Elephants so big, giraffe's neck so long,
I like the zoo, I like the zoo.
Tiger's stripes yellow and black.
Tiger's stripes yellow and black.
Camel has a bumpy back.
Camel has a bumpy back.
I like the zoo.
Picnic in Animal Forest
Elephant's eating a cucumber sandwich, While Monkey eat sweets in the coconut tree
They are having a picnic in Animal Forest,
The guests were invited by Zebra, you see.
And Elephant's eating a cucumber sandwich
While Monkey eat sweets in the coconut tree.
Miss Kangaroo's filling her pouch with a plateful
Of cakes for the young ones to eat with their paws,
And baby Hippo is covered with jelly-
How he had such an accident, he's really not sure!
King Lion is licking an ice-cream,
With a sun-hat sitting on top of his head,
And Camel is chewing a trifle, while waiting
For Bear to climb out of the strawberry bed.
They're having a picnic in Animal Forest,
The guests were invited by Zebra, you see,
And even if some of their manners are lacking
I do wish I'd been invited to tea!
Seashore Antics
The mussel wriggled forwards, And ploughed up half the land
A crab was walking sideways,
An octopus said, "Why,
That crab is walking sideways,
I think I'll have a try."
An eel was wriggling forwards,
A mussel wondered why
That eel was wriggling forwards-
He thought he would have a try.
A flying fish was flying,
A porpoise said, "Oh, my,
That flying fish is flying,
I think I'd like to try."
The octopus walked sideways,
And fell upon the sand;
The mussel wriggled forwards,
And ploughed up half the land;
The porpoise started flying,
And fell into the sea,
But everyone was happy,
Because they'd tried, you sea!
A Whale of a Tale
There on the beach crowds of people came down
Enjoying his life far out in the sea,
Walter the Whale was so glad to be free.
He just swam about in the waves all the day-
Sometimes he'd turn over and send up some spray.
When he wanted some fun, after fish he would chase,
Or challenge a sea-horse to have a long race.
Then one day some sailors caught Walter asleep,
And soon hauled him out of the watery deep.
When Walter awoke he was very upset,
To find himself caught in a tight-woven net.
There on the beach crowds of people came down,
To see a live whale come ashore in their town.
A tank was provided to put Walter in,
And folks paid a shilling to touch the whale's fin.
Poor Walter was gloomy and soon he got thinner,
One night came a boy who felt sad for the whale,
Who hardly had room to flick round his large tail.
When no one was looking he broke up the glass
And Walter fell out on the sand with a crash.
He slithered along till he came to the sea
How happy he was once again to be free.
He swam far away from the lights on the shore,
Vowing he'd never be caught any more.
The Caterpillar Story
It started working steadily, To weave a tight cocoon
Underneath the cabbages the caterpillar sat.
Drowsing in the sunshine
It thought of this and that.
I led a rather lazy life
Just lying there in style-
When hungry it just nibbled
At the cabbage for a while.
Now, caterpillars have to change
And one day very soon,
It started working steadily
To weave a tight cocoon.
Within this cozy shell it stayed
As days and nights went by.
Then suddenly a split appeared,
Out came a butterfly!
No longer was it lazy
Now it had a pair of wings,
It danced upon the roses
And on many other things.
A lovely little butterfly
Of black and white and red,
Flitting in the sunshine
Till it was time for bed.
The Cock Crows in the Morn
The way to be healthy, And wealthy and wise
The cock crows in the morn
To tell us to rise,
And he that lies late
Will never be wise:
For early to bed,
And early to rise,
Is the way to be healthy,
And wealthy and wise.
The Boat Race
Even hippo had a bun to take away
They are cheering on the shore
As each panda takes his oar;
They are gathered by the river for the race.
But the starter waves his flag
And a boat beings to sag,
For the elephants are filling every place!
But they keep themselves afloat
In their wobbly little boat,
And are past the panda crew around the creek.
But then nosy Mrs. Stork
Interrupts them for a talk
And they find their boat has sprung a leak;
As they bumped against a bank,
It was quite clear they had sank-
But a hippo thought he had have a little joke;
With their boat upon his back,
He soon kept them on their track,
And they didn't even have to make a stroke!
But this wasn't really fair-
There were boos from everywhere,
As they passed the panda boat without a care.
Then the hippo had a fall
And a cheer went up from all,
For they fell into the water then and there!
So the pandas won the day
And were winners all the way
They rowed towards the finish for their prize.
It was given to their cox,
Who was wily Mr. Fox,
He said: "Oh, what a wonderful surprise."
For it was a picnic tea
Laid upon the grass, you see,
For the panda crew and Fox to share that day.
And the elephants who sunk
Had some biscuits in each trunk-
Even hippo had a bun to take away!
The Blackbird
Lots of plums to make me merry
My beak is yellow,
My feathers are black,
I'm a cheery fellow
Who answers you back.
High in the tree
I sing my song,
I'm glad to be free,
The whole day long.
I like crumbs,
Or a juicy red berry;
And lots of plums
To make me merry.
I am a blackbird
So happy and gay,
And I hope you've heard
My songs each day.
Two Little Dicky Birds
Anonynous
Two little dicky birds,
Sitting on the wall.
One named Peter,
One named Paul.
Fly away Peter,
Fly away Paul.
Come back Peter,
Come back Paul.
Friday, March 4, 2011
best poems ever collection 3
A Family Difference
The Giant Tortoise lives so long - sometimes for three hundred years
The Giant Tortoise lives so long—
Sometimes for three hundred years.
What a lot that creature sees;
What a lot of things he hears!
His home is an island far away,
And there he seeks the food he’ll need.
He weighs perhaps five hundred pounds,
Which means he’s very big indeed.
The Little Tortoise, here at home,
Who ambles on the garden bed
Is very small, compared with him,
With tiny feet, and tiny head.
When winter comes, he tucks himself,
So warm and snug, inside his shell,
And sleeps the frosty days away
Till springtime comes, and all is well.
Five Brave Fire Fighters
Anonynous
Bow-wow, says the dog.
Mew, mew, says the cat.
Grunt, grunt, goes the hog.
And squeak goes the rat.
Tu-whu, says the owl.
Caw, caw, says the crow.
Quack, quack, says the duck.
And what cuckoos say you know
Cedric Centipede
I’m Cedric the Centipede
I’m Cedric the Centipede.
If you could add,
You’d find out the number
Of legs that I had.
I move very fast –
I’m gone in a flash.
With so many legs
It’s easy to dash!
Said the Whale
I'm only a great pig whale
"Zebras have stripes and leopards have spots,
And pigs have a curly tail,
But I haven't anything nice like that-
I'm only a great pig whale."
"Oh,, dear Mr. Whale," the animals cried,
"You don't need to make such a fuss.
You can swim, and spout water-a most clever trick.
Now why should you envy US?"
Larry The Lizard
The tale of my tail, Is perfectly wizard
I'm Larry the Lizard.
The tale of my tail
Is perfectly wizard.
If you grab it you'll fail
To catch me as well,
For I'll leave it behind,
And soon grove another
Of the very same kind.
Scrawl
Oh! My handwriting, my Handwriting
It seems as if elephant are fighting
Oh! My handwriting, my Handwriting
It seems as if elephant are fighting.
Frequently my teacher thinks aloud
That my handwriting is awfully stout
Everyday I have five minutes lecture
That my handwriting should have a better structure.
Most of the letters are in air
They, enrage the teacher, she pulls her hair
They say that my writing should be legible
Can't they think of something more sensible?
"To correct my copy it takes an hour
The teacher must have great strength and power
While correcting my paper the examiner might say,
"You know to correct this paper, I took a day."
And all the while I keep thinking
How, oh how can I improve my handwriting?
The Gentle Deer
Have you seen a little deer
Have you seen a little deer,
Playing in a wood.
Sometimes he lets you go quite near,
And wonders if he should.
But if he sees you mean no harm,
And you tip-toe by his side,
He knows that all is well and calm,
And he doesn't have to hide.
Of all the animals God has made,
He has the sweetest head,
And looks so preety in the glade,
With his coat of chestnut-red.
The Wheels of the Bus
The Wheels of the Bus
The wheels of the bus go,
Round and round, round and round;
All through the day!
The teacher in the bus goes sh-sh-sh.
The bell in the bus goes tring-tring-tring.
The horn in the bus goes pom-pom-pom.
The seat of the bus goes bum-bum-bum.
The children in the bus go up and down.
Up and down, up and down;
All through the day.
Good Manners
Recycle Me - O God!
We say "Thank you".
We say "Please".
And, "Excuse me",
When we sneeze.
That's the way
We do what's right.
We have manners,
We are polite
Here we go Round the Mango Tree
Recycle Me - O God!
MANAGO TREE
Here we go round the mango tree;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we brush our teeth;
This is the way we brush our teeth;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we comb our hair;
This is the way we comb our hair;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we wear our clothes;
This is the way we wear our clothes;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we polish our shoes;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we go to school;
This is the way we go to school;
Early in the morning.
Oh! Postman
-
Knock, knock, the postman's here.
Bringing news from far and near.
Oh! Postman quickly see,
Is there a letter waiting for me
Seasons
-
Spring is the time,
When children play.
Flowers bloom,
And all is gay.
Summer is hot;
And to stay cool,
Everybody wants,
A dip in the pool.
Monsoon clouds,
Filled with rain.
Make you feel,
Cool again.
Autumn is short,
The leaves then fall.
Crushing dry leaves,
Is fun for all.
Winter is cold.
On sunny days,
People bask,
In the sun's rays.
I am a Tailor
-
I am a tailor,
I am a tailor.
Stitching your clothes.
Stitch, stitch, stitch.
My needle goes.
First the Seed
-
First the seed, then the grain.
Thank you God for the sun and rain.
First the flour, then the bread.
Thank you God that we are fed.
Thank you God for all your care.
Help us all to love and share
Dreams
I wish I could be a
I wish I could be a cook,
Turning the pages of my recipe book
Thinking and making food,
And eating half of it according to my mood.
I wish I could be a builder,
Building houses and flats for others
And as far as I am concerned,
I shall build a magnificent palace.
I wish I could be a toy maker,
Making different toys for others,
And as far as I am concerned,
I shall make a rabbit for me.
I wish I could be a textile designer,
For shirts and trousers, I would be the maker,
I'd design fabulous clothes for others
Which could also be worn by me and my mother
But alas, these are all but dreams.
Don't throw the seeds away
A little poem trying to tell the importance of seeds
It makes you healthy,
It gives you energy,
An apple or a guava
An orange or a papaya
Eat a fruit everyday
But don't throw the seeds away.
Here's a simple thing you can do
You could tell all your friends too!
Plant the seed in the soil
(It doesn't take much time or toil)
Pour a little water there
A young shoot will soon appear.
In time it'll become a big tree -
Which gives so much to you and me!
This way there'll be forests again
Green and clean our earth will remain.
Grow trees this easy way -
And its fun too, I say!
So eat a fruit every day
But remember --
Don't throw the seeds away
What is Pink?
Anonynous
What is pink? A rose is pink.
Blooming before we blink.
What is red? Tomatoes are red.
With a crown on their head.
What is blue? The sky is blue.
Where the clouds float theu'.
What is white? A swan is white.
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? Mangoes are yellow.
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? The grass is green.
With small flowers in between.
What is orange? Why, an orange.
Just an orange.
Churmura, Churmura
Anonynous
Churmura, Churmura, Churmura.
Yeah, yeah, Churmura.
My Papa gave me a Rupee,
To buy one toffee.
But I want Churmura.
Churmura, Churmura, Churmura.
Yeah, yeah, Churmura.
My Papa gave me a Dollar,
To buy one roller.
But I want Churmura.
Churmura, Churmura, Churmura.
Yeah, yeah, Churmura.
My Papa gave me a Yen,
To buy one pen.
But I want Churmura.
Churmura, Churmura, Churmura.
Yeah, yeah, Churmura.
Search for:
City:
Festival Songs & Kids Poems
Short Poems
Chook-Chook-Chook
Anonynous
Chook, chook, chook, chook, chook.
Good Morning! Mrs. Hen.
How many chicks have you got?
Madam, I've got ten.
Four of them are yellow;
And four of them are brown;
And two of them are speckled red,
The nicest in town.
Bow-Wow, Says the Dog
Anonynous
Bow-wow, says the dog.
Mew, mew, says the cat.
Grunt, grunt, goes the hog.
And squeak goes the rat.
Tu-whu, says the owl.
Caw, caw, says the crow.
Quack, quack, says the duck.
And what cuckoos say you know.
The Giant Tortoise lives so long - sometimes for three hundred years
The Giant Tortoise lives so long—
Sometimes for three hundred years.
What a lot that creature sees;
What a lot of things he hears!
His home is an island far away,
And there he seeks the food he’ll need.
He weighs perhaps five hundred pounds,
Which means he’s very big indeed.
The Little Tortoise, here at home,
Who ambles on the garden bed
Is very small, compared with him,
With tiny feet, and tiny head.
When winter comes, he tucks himself,
So warm and snug, inside his shell,
And sleeps the frosty days away
Till springtime comes, and all is well.
Five Brave Fire Fighters
Anonynous
Bow-wow, says the dog.
Mew, mew, says the cat.
Grunt, grunt, goes the hog.
And squeak goes the rat.
Tu-whu, says the owl.
Caw, caw, says the crow.
Quack, quack, says the duck.
And what cuckoos say you know
Cedric Centipede
I’m Cedric the Centipede
I’m Cedric the Centipede.
If you could add,
You’d find out the number
Of legs that I had.
I move very fast –
I’m gone in a flash.
With so many legs
It’s easy to dash!
Said the Whale
I'm only a great pig whale
"Zebras have stripes and leopards have spots,
And pigs have a curly tail,
But I haven't anything nice like that-
I'm only a great pig whale."
"Oh,, dear Mr. Whale," the animals cried,
"You don't need to make such a fuss.
You can swim, and spout water-a most clever trick.
Now why should you envy US?"
Larry The Lizard
The tale of my tail, Is perfectly wizard
I'm Larry the Lizard.
The tale of my tail
Is perfectly wizard.
If you grab it you'll fail
To catch me as well,
For I'll leave it behind,
And soon grove another
Of the very same kind.
Scrawl
Oh! My handwriting, my Handwriting
It seems as if elephant are fighting
Oh! My handwriting, my Handwriting
It seems as if elephant are fighting.
Frequently my teacher thinks aloud
That my handwriting is awfully stout
Everyday I have five minutes lecture
That my handwriting should have a better structure.
Most of the letters are in air
They, enrage the teacher, she pulls her hair
They say that my writing should be legible
Can't they think of something more sensible?
"To correct my copy it takes an hour
The teacher must have great strength and power
While correcting my paper the examiner might say,
"You know to correct this paper, I took a day."
And all the while I keep thinking
How, oh how can I improve my handwriting?
The Gentle Deer
Have you seen a little deer
Have you seen a little deer,
Playing in a wood.
Sometimes he lets you go quite near,
And wonders if he should.
But if he sees you mean no harm,
And you tip-toe by his side,
He knows that all is well and calm,
And he doesn't have to hide.
Of all the animals God has made,
He has the sweetest head,
And looks so preety in the glade,
With his coat of chestnut-red.
The Wheels of the Bus
The Wheels of the Bus
The wheels of the bus go,
Round and round, round and round;
All through the day!
The teacher in the bus goes sh-sh-sh.
The bell in the bus goes tring-tring-tring.
The horn in the bus goes pom-pom-pom.
The seat of the bus goes bum-bum-bum.
The children in the bus go up and down.
Up and down, up and down;
All through the day.
Good Manners
Recycle Me - O God!
We say "Thank you".
We say "Please".
And, "Excuse me",
When we sneeze.
That's the way
We do what's right.
We have manners,
We are polite
Here we go Round the Mango Tree
Recycle Me - O God!
MANAGO TREE
Here we go round the mango tree;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we brush our teeth;
This is the way we brush our teeth;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we comb our hair;
This is the way we comb our hair;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we wear our clothes;
This is the way we wear our clothes;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we polish our shoes;
Early in the morning.
This is the way we go to school;
This is the way we go to school;
Early in the morning.
Oh! Postman
-
Knock, knock, the postman's here.
Bringing news from far and near.
Oh! Postman quickly see,
Is there a letter waiting for me
Seasons
-
Spring is the time,
When children play.
Flowers bloom,
And all is gay.
Summer is hot;
And to stay cool,
Everybody wants,
A dip in the pool.
Monsoon clouds,
Filled with rain.
Make you feel,
Cool again.
Autumn is short,
The leaves then fall.
Crushing dry leaves,
Is fun for all.
Winter is cold.
On sunny days,
People bask,
In the sun's rays.
I am a Tailor
-
I am a tailor,
I am a tailor.
Stitching your clothes.
Stitch, stitch, stitch.
My needle goes.
First the Seed
-
First the seed, then the grain.
Thank you God for the sun and rain.
First the flour, then the bread.
Thank you God that we are fed.
Thank you God for all your care.
Help us all to love and share
Dreams
I wish I could be a
I wish I could be a cook,
Turning the pages of my recipe book
Thinking and making food,
And eating half of it according to my mood.
I wish I could be a builder,
Building houses and flats for others
And as far as I am concerned,
I shall build a magnificent palace.
I wish I could be a toy maker,
Making different toys for others,
And as far as I am concerned,
I shall make a rabbit for me.
I wish I could be a textile designer,
For shirts and trousers, I would be the maker,
I'd design fabulous clothes for others
Which could also be worn by me and my mother
But alas, these are all but dreams.
Don't throw the seeds away
A little poem trying to tell the importance of seeds
It makes you healthy,
It gives you energy,
An apple or a guava
An orange or a papaya
Eat a fruit everyday
But don't throw the seeds away.
Here's a simple thing you can do
You could tell all your friends too!
Plant the seed in the soil
(It doesn't take much time or toil)
Pour a little water there
A young shoot will soon appear.
In time it'll become a big tree -
Which gives so much to you and me!
This way there'll be forests again
Green and clean our earth will remain.
Grow trees this easy way -
And its fun too, I say!
So eat a fruit every day
But remember --
Don't throw the seeds away
What is Pink?
Anonynous
What is pink? A rose is pink.
Blooming before we blink.
What is red? Tomatoes are red.
With a crown on their head.
What is blue? The sky is blue.
Where the clouds float theu'.
What is white? A swan is white.
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? Mangoes are yellow.
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? The grass is green.
With small flowers in between.
What is orange? Why, an orange.
Just an orange.
Churmura, Churmura
Anonynous
Churmura, Churmura, Churmura.
Yeah, yeah, Churmura.
My Papa gave me a Rupee,
To buy one toffee.
But I want Churmura.
Churmura, Churmura, Churmura.
Yeah, yeah, Churmura.
My Papa gave me a Dollar,
To buy one roller.
But I want Churmura.
Churmura, Churmura, Churmura.
Yeah, yeah, Churmura.
My Papa gave me a Yen,
To buy one pen.
But I want Churmura.
Churmura, Churmura, Churmura.
Yeah, yeah, Churmura.
Search for:
City:
Festival Songs & Kids Poems
Short Poems
Chook-Chook-Chook
Anonynous
Chook, chook, chook, chook, chook.
Good Morning! Mrs. Hen.
How many chicks have you got?
Madam, I've got ten.
Four of them are yellow;
And four of them are brown;
And two of them are speckled red,
The nicest in town.
Bow-Wow, Says the Dog
Anonynous
Bow-wow, says the dog.
Mew, mew, says the cat.
Grunt, grunt, goes the hog.
And squeak goes the rat.
Tu-whu, says the owl.
Caw, caw, says the crow.
Quack, quack, says the duck.
And what cuckoos say you know.
best poems ever collection 2
Silence
How can I live without you!
Without you
This night is utterly long
Nothing but deep silence
That speaks your name
And repeats it softly
Again and again
Yet a burning candle in the corner
Burns me within as well
Without you tonight
Eyes weeps calmly
And heart mourns quietly
yet this night
Speaks nothing but silence.
LAMB
ittle lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a lamb;
He is meek and he is mild,
He became a little child.
A child and thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!
CHILD OF 21ST CENTURY
He shall, he be,
The child of 21st century?
With a big, great head
Wheels for legs and guns for hands
Computer for a brain,
A machine for a heart
A nose with an oxygen mask
And eyes with a microscope.
With no sentiment nor emotion,
With no feeling of love...
Only feeling of hatred
Only thoughts of violence
With no care of humanity
With on thoughts of brotherhood.
Oh! How shall he be,
The child of the 21st century.
The Lama
Himself to wear his curse like an amulet...
I cannot say where he came from
Possibly, from beyond the tall
Mountains, from Tibet, past crevasses
And glacial scress, like a high
Stinging wind. The bells on his
Pack-mule tinkled. He shuffled along
Peddling borax, salt and gold,
A lion-maned, eagle-eyed lama.
He travelled down the gorges,
From the Jadh Ganga to Harsil.
The beauty of Bhaioghati
Poisoned his blood. He taught
Himself to wear his curse like an amulet.
We chanced upon him singing
Of fires that burn, snows
That numb. Seldom does he speak
Of that serpent that has
Seized his tongue.
Mountain-dweller, below you
Stretches a plain that asks
Nothing of you. The river that was
Always by your side shall flow,
While you till and sow, and having
Unlearned language, relearn the
Songs of Silence
You, Wystan Auden
Now six feet beneath the air...
Now six feet beneath the air
The Nordic shape of skull is bare
And behind the august frown
Worms have gorged on verb and noun....
The baffling lines that seemed to trace
Maps of care upon his face,
Now nothing between brow and chin
But maggots have tunnelled in....
And the hands whose fingers' ends
Once held the keys to common sense
And the truly careless wrist
Which cherubs have often kissed
Lie open now without prefence
That they enclose arguments
To shatter prison doors or shake
The steps of wisdom on the make...
The compassionate eyes which hate
Could not face and grew desperate,
Now bony voids where worlds once turned
In agony at being burned....
The heart that could some pity find
For every shape of human fiend
now less than dust, because from thence
No spring of friendship does commence....
Of all those works of lust and pain
No human fragment and remain
And all that foolishness is past
Yet our lives are still so vast...
And in that vastness since we speak
Strong words of love though we are weak
He cannot know something survives
The carrion bleaching of our lives.
Monument
A buffalo curled dead...
It stands immobile, Fender bent
around bulge, steel twined
into flesh, horn locked
into fender.
Both, supine. A buffalo curled dead
into a truck's dented front.
Woman With Amphora
The mysteries of fresh amphora...
Unpasting herself
from the deep
blue of the sky,
she rises
and walks gently
towards me,
bearing
on her head
on earthen jar
containing
the mysteries
of fresh amphora.
Her shadow
stretches
disappearing
into the blue,
then appears,
long and elegant
dreaming
of Giacometti,
Just as she comes
into focus,
she freezes
within
her tall frame
holding the thaw
of her contents,
the perfume
escaping
just enough
to make me
want more.
Digging
They once saddened and happied themselves here...
The soil I now pick
contains fragments of the dead.
They once saddened and happied themselves here
turning to the sun and moon, quite puzzled
then taking things as they came,
for granted. This is hard brown laterite
that I turn,
to plant a few bright periwinkles
stolen from the mound of one long obscure,
dead. They should grow well
here. So I turn out
the millipedes curling up
ashamed of the sudden expose
into dark ring stones of sapphire and topaz.
Pinned to sudden light they have all coiled up
in abject surrender. These things we bury back
with pushed up soil, crushing strange roots
going everywhere like soft nerve fibers,
sending messages of thirst to strange
destinations. Each scoop of mud
brings more life to light
lost like death underground
doing odd jobs, ordained like saints, salient
in dark recess drawing salary in kind.
Mud-work is a kind of work ship.
A silent thanksgiving for a home, called earth.
These are the things we could talk about
A Poem on Price Rising, a serious matter of country...
These are the things we could talk about
for instance; rising prices; inflation;
non-availability of food grains, things
we could build our theses upon; poor
children in the streets, hunger like acid
burning down their tongues, our country-
green fast disappearing, the morning sun
coming out from somewhere among the denuded trees
like love betrayed. Other things happened around us;
The cries of our women and children still fresh from
behind the cold walls
of partition. So much more.
The woods are lovely dark and deep.
But we would rather look away,
give a good to ransom, Quietly forget,
that bloody country with clipped wings
flying out of Nehru's hands.
Write Your Name Only
He is a gift of God...
Master, write---
Write your name only.
I tell the truth, I swear on Mumbai,
You write--
Look at the coils of his hair, master.
So much like a cobra hood, no?...
He is a gift of God, ....God
Master, when the earth heats up
Then it becomes, like, ripe.
But without putting the plough,
And sowing the seed,
Does the tree grow?
Does it? Tell!
Then how will my name do for father's name?
If the father is not there then how did
This boy happen?
Don't write the name of any God
Only of a man....
What have the Gods done?
They have not filled my stomach...
Write your name only.
Don't ask his caste.
We are not any one man's wife,
Master,
We are not women of the hearth
Who has that much luck?
His birth is of here only,
In this dawn he was born,
When my stomach slipped down,
No midwife, or anyone was there,
My heart was troubled,...but it was
Excited.
Touch boy
Touch the feet
Touch his feet
But write your name only.
Last Breath
Hold me now, I’m stuck in an earthquake
Hold me now,
I’m stuck in an earthquake
Hold me now,
I’m taking my last breath.
I don’t wanna die
But I’m just 8ft far from death.
I know it’s not too far
Still you can catch me.
Listen to my voice
Please come and catch me.
Save me now,
I’m stuck in an earthquake
Save me now,
Or I will have to meet death.
I have wasted so many days
But today I want to say many things before I die.
I want to say that I always loved you
I have spent sleepless nights dreaming of you.
I’m sorry for not paying enough attention
But I always cared for you.
I’m sorry for not expressing the love
That I should have expressed.
I want to tell you all this and more
And that is what I want to live for.
Just let me articulate my love for you
All the feelings old and new.
After that even death will besiege me
And an earthquake won’t be unpleasant to see.
But for now,
I’m stuck in an earthquake
Hold me now,
I’m taking my last breath.
The Camels of the Epiphany
Three brown camels came down the track
Three brown camels came down the track,
Under the shining star,
Each carried a king upon his back,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Caspar, king of Chaldea, sat astride,
Under the shining star,
Regal, noble and full of pride,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Melchlor, king of Pamphylia, sat,
Under the shining star,
Strong and fearless, a warrior great,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Balthazar, king of Ethiopia, came,
Under the shining star,
Kind and wise, he had great fame,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
At length they reached the stable small,
Under the shining star,
Mary had Jesus wrapped in her shawl,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Those camels humble, those camels brown,
Under the shining star,
Set their royal burdens down,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Royal kings and camels three,
Under the shining star,
Before baby Jesus bent their knee,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Pardon My Garden
Pardon my garden, it's vicious today!
Pardon my garden, it's vicious today!
The cucumber's going quite mad --
The onions and peas
Just do as they please,
The pumpkin is awfully bad.
The squash and the sprout are rushing about
As if they're preparing for war,
I just got a scare from a peach and a pear --
The apple is vile to the core!
Pardon my garden, it's vicious today!
There's tori-chori below.
The corn and the bean are having a scene --
That ghia just nibbled my toe!
That tomato and grape are aping an ape
And heading this way with a skewer --
And all because I fertilised
My garden with tiger manure.
The Armadillo's Dilemma
His armour was too thin! Sticks and stones bounced off his friends
Alfred Armadillo was a funny little thing,
He had a special problem
For his armour was too thin!
Sticks and stones bounced off his friends
While all they did was crouch;
But bruised and battered Alfred
Muttered "Ooh" and "Ow" and "Ouch."
He covered himself up with leaves
But that was not enough.
An armadillo's armour
Must be very, very tough.
He wouldn't fight a battle
For he knew only too well,
The slightest little jab
Would make a puncture in his shell.
Alfred thought he'd try to find
A different kind of home,
So, one day, he left his friends
And set off all alone.
He walked for weeks until he found
A place he thought would do,
And joined the many animals
Inside a splendid zoo.
Now in a cage so cozy
He can lie back on the straw,
And never have the worry
Of his armour any more.
Tattoo
My words on your skin
I could paint a poem
On your back
With a Chinese brush
And India ink.
And then, with a razor
Or pin or sliver of bamboo
And a stolen hotel towel
(to daub the blood
and excess black),
I could make it
Permanent.
I have seen this done
Before on television
And in movies. But
You would never allow
This violence of
Obligation, this enduring itch
Of commitment.
You could never abide
My words on your skin.
Two Little Dickie Birds
Little dickie birds, sitting on a wall
Two little dickie birds,
Sitting on a wall;
One named Peter,
The other named Paul.
Fly away, Peter!
Fly away, Paul!
Come back, Peter!
Come back, Paul!
The Firefly who lost his Light
Moon cast moonbeams all around, And saw poor Freddie on the ground
Freddie Firefly, late one night
Discovered he had lost his light.
And while the others danced about
He sat and cried, "My light's gone out!"
No one heeded Freddie's cry
As gaily they went flitting by.
Freddie sadly crawled along
And wondered where his light had gone.
The moon cast moonbeams all around
And saw poor Freddie on the ground.
She asked him why he fretted so,
And Freddie told his tale of woe.
"Don't worry," said the kindly moon,
"You'll get your pretty light back soon.
Just fly into the moonbeams' glow-
The light will stick to you," and so
Freddie did as he was told.
The moonbeam bathed him all in gold.
His light shone brightly in the sky,
Once more a proper firefly.
A little torch up in the air,
He danced away without a care.
Ten Little Fingers
Anonynous
Ten little fingers!
Ten little toes!
Two little ears!
And one little nose!
Two little eyes that shine so bright!
And one little mouth!
To kiss Mama Good Night.
Fancy Being Frightened of Me!
I’m a little white mouse
I’m a little white mouse—now don’t run away,
It really is puzzling, you see,
That same ladies faint, or scream, or jump
On a chair, at the sight of me!
I was traveling in young master’s pocket, one day,
Both having a ride in a bus—
When suddenly thought I’d take a look round,
But oh! What a bother and fuss!
From a gentleman’s hat, to a basket I popped,
Then on to a schoolboy’s cap—
I scurried along a lady’s muff,
While she was taking a nap!
Oh, how they all jumped, and so did I—
They made me nervous, they did!
Raising their voices, oh dear! Oh dear!
So back in that pocket, I hid!
As well, folk are odd, that’s all I can say,
And other mice, too, will agree—
Just fancy that people can get so scared
At something, as small as me!
The Firework Party
A rainbow of light makes night-time seem just like the day
It’s ever so bright—
A rainbow of light
Makes night-time seem just like the day.
The fireworks are lit,
And Teddybears sit
In a circle to watch the display.
A funny old guy
Is wearing a tie,
And a pelican perched on his hat.
Then squibs starts to pop
And body frogs hop
And jump with delight in the air.
A cracker or two
Jump into the blue,
And Billy goat’s just going to handle
The sparklers to see,
How bright they can be
When fixed to the big roman candle.
The bonfire’s alight
Throughout the long night,
And golden rain bursts with a shower,
The catherine wheel
Is caught by an eel,
And rockets whizz past every hour.
It’s ever so bright—
A rainbow of light
Makes night-time seem just like the day.
The fireworks are lit,
And Teddybears sit
In a circle to watch the display.
How can I live without you!
Without you
This night is utterly long
Nothing but deep silence
That speaks your name
And repeats it softly
Again and again
Yet a burning candle in the corner
Burns me within as well
Without you tonight
Eyes weeps calmly
And heart mourns quietly
yet this night
Speaks nothing but silence.
LAMB
ittle lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a lamb;
He is meek and he is mild,
He became a little child.
A child and thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!
CHILD OF 21ST CENTURY
He shall, he be,
The child of 21st century?
With a big, great head
Wheels for legs and guns for hands
Computer for a brain,
A machine for a heart
A nose with an oxygen mask
And eyes with a microscope.
With no sentiment nor emotion,
With no feeling of love...
Only feeling of hatred
Only thoughts of violence
With no care of humanity
With on thoughts of brotherhood.
Oh! How shall he be,
The child of the 21st century.
The Lama
Himself to wear his curse like an amulet...
I cannot say where he came from
Possibly, from beyond the tall
Mountains, from Tibet, past crevasses
And glacial scress, like a high
Stinging wind. The bells on his
Pack-mule tinkled. He shuffled along
Peddling borax, salt and gold,
A lion-maned, eagle-eyed lama.
He travelled down the gorges,
From the Jadh Ganga to Harsil.
The beauty of Bhaioghati
Poisoned his blood. He taught
Himself to wear his curse like an amulet.
We chanced upon him singing
Of fires that burn, snows
That numb. Seldom does he speak
Of that serpent that has
Seized his tongue.
Mountain-dweller, below you
Stretches a plain that asks
Nothing of you. The river that was
Always by your side shall flow,
While you till and sow, and having
Unlearned language, relearn the
Songs of Silence
You, Wystan Auden
Now six feet beneath the air...
Now six feet beneath the air
The Nordic shape of skull is bare
And behind the august frown
Worms have gorged on verb and noun....
The baffling lines that seemed to trace
Maps of care upon his face,
Now nothing between brow and chin
But maggots have tunnelled in....
And the hands whose fingers' ends
Once held the keys to common sense
And the truly careless wrist
Which cherubs have often kissed
Lie open now without prefence
That they enclose arguments
To shatter prison doors or shake
The steps of wisdom on the make...
The compassionate eyes which hate
Could not face and grew desperate,
Now bony voids where worlds once turned
In agony at being burned....
The heart that could some pity find
For every shape of human fiend
now less than dust, because from thence
No spring of friendship does commence....
Of all those works of lust and pain
No human fragment and remain
And all that foolishness is past
Yet our lives are still so vast...
And in that vastness since we speak
Strong words of love though we are weak
He cannot know something survives
The carrion bleaching of our lives.
Monument
A buffalo curled dead...
It stands immobile, Fender bent
around bulge, steel twined
into flesh, horn locked
into fender.
Both, supine. A buffalo curled dead
into a truck's dented front.
Woman With Amphora
The mysteries of fresh amphora...
Unpasting herself
from the deep
blue of the sky,
she rises
and walks gently
towards me,
bearing
on her head
on earthen jar
containing
the mysteries
of fresh amphora.
Her shadow
stretches
disappearing
into the blue,
then appears,
long and elegant
dreaming
of Giacometti,
Just as she comes
into focus,
she freezes
within
her tall frame
holding the thaw
of her contents,
the perfume
escaping
just enough
to make me
want more.
Digging
They once saddened and happied themselves here...
The soil I now pick
contains fragments of the dead.
They once saddened and happied themselves here
turning to the sun and moon, quite puzzled
then taking things as they came,
for granted. This is hard brown laterite
that I turn,
to plant a few bright periwinkles
stolen from the mound of one long obscure,
dead. They should grow well
here. So I turn out
the millipedes curling up
ashamed of the sudden expose
into dark ring stones of sapphire and topaz.
Pinned to sudden light they have all coiled up
in abject surrender. These things we bury back
with pushed up soil, crushing strange roots
going everywhere like soft nerve fibers,
sending messages of thirst to strange
destinations. Each scoop of mud
brings more life to light
lost like death underground
doing odd jobs, ordained like saints, salient
in dark recess drawing salary in kind.
Mud-work is a kind of work ship.
A silent thanksgiving for a home, called earth.
These are the things we could talk about
A Poem on Price Rising, a serious matter of country...
These are the things we could talk about
for instance; rising prices; inflation;
non-availability of food grains, things
we could build our theses upon; poor
children in the streets, hunger like acid
burning down their tongues, our country-
green fast disappearing, the morning sun
coming out from somewhere among the denuded trees
like love betrayed. Other things happened around us;
The cries of our women and children still fresh from
behind the cold walls
of partition. So much more.
The woods are lovely dark and deep.
But we would rather look away,
give a good to ransom, Quietly forget,
that bloody country with clipped wings
flying out of Nehru's hands.
Write Your Name Only
He is a gift of God...
Master, write---
Write your name only.
I tell the truth, I swear on Mumbai,
You write--
Look at the coils of his hair, master.
So much like a cobra hood, no?...
He is a gift of God, ....God
Master, when the earth heats up
Then it becomes, like, ripe.
But without putting the plough,
And sowing the seed,
Does the tree grow?
Does it? Tell!
Then how will my name do for father's name?
If the father is not there then how did
This boy happen?
Don't write the name of any God
Only of a man....
What have the Gods done?
They have not filled my stomach...
Write your name only.
Don't ask his caste.
We are not any one man's wife,
Master,
We are not women of the hearth
Who has that much luck?
His birth is of here only,
In this dawn he was born,
When my stomach slipped down,
No midwife, or anyone was there,
My heart was troubled,...but it was
Excited.
Touch boy
Touch the feet
Touch his feet
But write your name only.
Last Breath
Hold me now, I’m stuck in an earthquake
Hold me now,
I’m stuck in an earthquake
Hold me now,
I’m taking my last breath.
I don’t wanna die
But I’m just 8ft far from death.
I know it’s not too far
Still you can catch me.
Listen to my voice
Please come and catch me.
Save me now,
I’m stuck in an earthquake
Save me now,
Or I will have to meet death.
I have wasted so many days
But today I want to say many things before I die.
I want to say that I always loved you
I have spent sleepless nights dreaming of you.
I’m sorry for not paying enough attention
But I always cared for you.
I’m sorry for not expressing the love
That I should have expressed.
I want to tell you all this and more
And that is what I want to live for.
Just let me articulate my love for you
All the feelings old and new.
After that even death will besiege me
And an earthquake won’t be unpleasant to see.
But for now,
I’m stuck in an earthquake
Hold me now,
I’m taking my last breath.
The Camels of the Epiphany
Three brown camels came down the track
Three brown camels came down the track,
Under the shining star,
Each carried a king upon his back,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Caspar, king of Chaldea, sat astride,
Under the shining star,
Regal, noble and full of pride,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Melchlor, king of Pamphylia, sat,
Under the shining star,
Strong and fearless, a warrior great,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Balthazar, king of Ethiopia, came,
Under the shining star,
Kind and wise, he had great fame,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
At length they reached the stable small,
Under the shining star,
Mary had Jesus wrapped in her shawl,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Those camels humble, those camels brown,
Under the shining star,
Set their royal burdens down,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Royal kings and camels three,
Under the shining star,
Before baby Jesus bent their knee,
Gold, frankincense and myrrh.
Pardon My Garden
Pardon my garden, it's vicious today!
Pardon my garden, it's vicious today!
The cucumber's going quite mad --
The onions and peas
Just do as they please,
The pumpkin is awfully bad.
The squash and the sprout are rushing about
As if they're preparing for war,
I just got a scare from a peach and a pear --
The apple is vile to the core!
Pardon my garden, it's vicious today!
There's tori-chori below.
The corn and the bean are having a scene --
That ghia just nibbled my toe!
That tomato and grape are aping an ape
And heading this way with a skewer --
And all because I fertilised
My garden with tiger manure.
The Armadillo's Dilemma
His armour was too thin! Sticks and stones bounced off his friends
Alfred Armadillo was a funny little thing,
He had a special problem
For his armour was too thin!
Sticks and stones bounced off his friends
While all they did was crouch;
But bruised and battered Alfred
Muttered "Ooh" and "Ow" and "Ouch."
He covered himself up with leaves
But that was not enough.
An armadillo's armour
Must be very, very tough.
He wouldn't fight a battle
For he knew only too well,
The slightest little jab
Would make a puncture in his shell.
Alfred thought he'd try to find
A different kind of home,
So, one day, he left his friends
And set off all alone.
He walked for weeks until he found
A place he thought would do,
And joined the many animals
Inside a splendid zoo.
Now in a cage so cozy
He can lie back on the straw,
And never have the worry
Of his armour any more.
Tattoo
My words on your skin
I could paint a poem
On your back
With a Chinese brush
And India ink.
And then, with a razor
Or pin or sliver of bamboo
And a stolen hotel towel
(to daub the blood
and excess black),
I could make it
Permanent.
I have seen this done
Before on television
And in movies. But
You would never allow
This violence of
Obligation, this enduring itch
Of commitment.
You could never abide
My words on your skin.
Two Little Dickie Birds
Little dickie birds, sitting on a wall
Two little dickie birds,
Sitting on a wall;
One named Peter,
The other named Paul.
Fly away, Peter!
Fly away, Paul!
Come back, Peter!
Come back, Paul!
The Firefly who lost his Light
Moon cast moonbeams all around, And saw poor Freddie on the ground
Freddie Firefly, late one night
Discovered he had lost his light.
And while the others danced about
He sat and cried, "My light's gone out!"
No one heeded Freddie's cry
As gaily they went flitting by.
Freddie sadly crawled along
And wondered where his light had gone.
The moon cast moonbeams all around
And saw poor Freddie on the ground.
She asked him why he fretted so,
And Freddie told his tale of woe.
"Don't worry," said the kindly moon,
"You'll get your pretty light back soon.
Just fly into the moonbeams' glow-
The light will stick to you," and so
Freddie did as he was told.
The moonbeam bathed him all in gold.
His light shone brightly in the sky,
Once more a proper firefly.
A little torch up in the air,
He danced away without a care.
Ten Little Fingers
Anonynous
Ten little fingers!
Ten little toes!
Two little ears!
And one little nose!
Two little eyes that shine so bright!
And one little mouth!
To kiss Mama Good Night.
Fancy Being Frightened of Me!
I’m a little white mouse
I’m a little white mouse—now don’t run away,
It really is puzzling, you see,
That same ladies faint, or scream, or jump
On a chair, at the sight of me!
I was traveling in young master’s pocket, one day,
Both having a ride in a bus—
When suddenly thought I’d take a look round,
But oh! What a bother and fuss!
From a gentleman’s hat, to a basket I popped,
Then on to a schoolboy’s cap—
I scurried along a lady’s muff,
While she was taking a nap!
Oh, how they all jumped, and so did I—
They made me nervous, they did!
Raising their voices, oh dear! Oh dear!
So back in that pocket, I hid!
As well, folk are odd, that’s all I can say,
And other mice, too, will agree—
Just fancy that people can get so scared
At something, as small as me!
The Firework Party
A rainbow of light makes night-time seem just like the day
It’s ever so bright—
A rainbow of light
Makes night-time seem just like the day.
The fireworks are lit,
And Teddybears sit
In a circle to watch the display.
A funny old guy
Is wearing a tie,
And a pelican perched on his hat.
Then squibs starts to pop
And body frogs hop
And jump with delight in the air.
A cracker or two
Jump into the blue,
And Billy goat’s just going to handle
The sparklers to see,
How bright they can be
When fixed to the big roman candle.
The bonfire’s alight
Throughout the long night,
And golden rain bursts with a shower,
The catherine wheel
Is caught by an eel,
And rockets whizz past every hour.
It’s ever so bright—
A rainbow of light
Makes night-time seem just like the day.
The fireworks are lit,
And Teddybears sit
In a circle to watch the display.
best poems collection 1
I've been watching you
For a long period
As you always have been
So nice to me
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
Perhaps you may not think
That you have never been the girl
Who I may like
Baby, you have never been my choice
Even how can I say it to you
You always had been too good to me
What can I say more than just thanks
Your eyes are what you not
And your doings are saying the whole story
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
Oh! I jus' feel that as
There nothin' is certain
But I mus' tell you
That you are not still the one
Who may I cry for
Who may I die for
Who may I tie with
You are still not the one
I dream for
I know you always have been so close to me!
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
We are not made for each other
You are good at your heart and me too
But you are not still the one
Who I really love
Please forgive me as I don't love you
Bur Baby...
Misconception
But I never realized
On the beach
On the sand
Near the river
I heard a sound.
It was not a bird
Not a child
A beautiful girl
Sitting amid.
She was singing a song
All alone
I was thinking why
Is she so forlorn?
I walked towards her
Step by step
To know what’s wrong
And why is she sad.
I sat next to her
And asked all the why’s
She said nothing
But gave me a smile.
I was bewildered
As to why is she so?
When I tried to get up
She caught my hand and said hello!
I sat back down
And asked what’s wrong?
In no time she asked
“Will you be a friend of mine?”
I said yes
Believing she didn’t have any
But it happened to be different
She actually had many.
Why alone?
I asked her and pat came the answer!
“To be a friend to those
Who didn’t have any near and dear”.
Someone did
Need a friend
But it happened to be me
And not her.
I misconceived my need
For the need of someone alone
But I never realized
That actually I was forlorn!
BACK TO ME
You were walking down the street,
With your bags and your ticket,
We parted from each other hoping to again meet.
In my mind your thoughts fly,
No matter how hard I try,
You only make me cry.
I pull my socks up to forget you,
But I see your face in every drop of dew,
I can’t forget the fact that it makes me feel blue.
It is such a heartbreaker,
We couldn’t be lovers forever,
Our love is the only thing I always endear.
Will you ever come back to me?
To give me the lost joy and glee,
To save me from drowning into the sea.
Will you ever come back to me?
Will we ever together be?
Will y ou ever come back to me?
STRANGER
No friend and no family and to support was no one,
I felt too bad living alone.
No one to talk,
No one with whom I would walk.
No one to care,
I wished for a few but had not even rare.
But when I was weeping alone,
Walking through life I found someone.
Who I thought was a stranger became a friend,
Who understood and cared and became my best friend.
On my face he puts a smile,
Though the distance is more than a mile.
He wiped my tears,
And removed my fears.
But the bad day came when he passed and died,
I was sad and I cried.
I thought I was again alone,
But I felt with me there was someone.
Though in heaven he was,
Always around me his soul was.
Who I thought had flied away like birds,
Had left for me his love in words.
In my heart and my mind his soul was there,
Though he wasn't here his footprints were there.
Who I thought was a stranger became a friend,
Who understood and cared and became my best friend.
I cried sitting near the dead man's grave,
I thought I wasn't but he made me brave.
Though he died,
He yet cared.
Though he passed away,
He met me again as a stranger on my way.
He took nothing with him but just words kind,
He left nothing for me but just a stranger behind.
INDEPENDENCE DAY
Fifty days of independence from you.
You that I am when finally I sleep.
Where colors blur into a muddy brown
and almond eyes are star tingly blue.
You are my context, my only clue.
How do you deny me when I am you?
My tongue curls sounds that you have made.
My box is of stones that you have laid.
I love you and loathe you, my lost is yours,
Your home and mine are foreign shores,
Brown as a nut, and as bleached as afraid,
we are the monster that you have made,
Slowly, slowly the ignorant learn,
Look at us, look at us, we are a thing apart -
Like father like daughter, can't finish what I start.
TIGER
Tiger Tiger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
EIGHT TENTACLES
If only I had an octopus,
I'd soon get my housework done.
I'd soon set him to work on the hoovering,
With tentacle number one.
Tentacle two would grab the mop
And start on the kitchen floor,
While he dusted and polished the furniture,
With tentacles three and four.
Tentacle five would turn on the tap
And tackle the washing up,
While tentacle six took a well-earned break
And curled round a china cup.
Tentacle seven would make the beds
And set the pillows straight,
And all the while he'd be balancing
On tentacle eight.
COUNTED NIGHTS AND DAYS
Each year does cast a piece of time
One human step for us to climb
Twelve months of counted nights and days
Completes us through a yearly phase
One thing's for sure while we do live
We’ll never know what life will give
Anticipation's just a view
For what may happen, could come true
So many times we’re filled with thought
Some last a lifetime, some do not
We live through choices made within
How we should strive to stave off sin
Pray often for what’s good to be
And let your love spread openly
God clearly wants for us to know
His way leads to eternal glow
Do greet first day with hope held high
And keep your heart your watchful eye.
The Frog and the Bird
Short poem about understanding worth of people...
By a quiet little stream on an old mossy log;
Looking very forlorn, sat a little green frog;
He'd a sleek speckled back, and two bright yellow eyes,
And when dining, selected the choicest of flies.
The sun was so hot, he scarce opened his eyes,
Far too lazy to stir, let alone watch for flies,
He was nodding, and nodding, and almost asleep,
When a voice in the branches chirped, 'Froggie, cheep, cheep!'
'You'd better take care,' piped the bird to the frog,
'In the water you'll be if you fall off that log.
Can't you see that the streamlet is up to the brim?'
Croaked the froggie, 'What odds! You forget I can swim!'
Then the froggie looked up at the bird perched so high
On a bough that to him seemed to reach to the sky;
So he croaked to the bird: 'If you fall you will die!'
Chirped the birdie, 'What odds! You forget I can fly!'
OLD CAROL
He came all so still
Where his mother was,
As dew in April
That falleth on the grass.
He came all so till
To his mother's bower,
As dew in April
That falleth on the flower.
He came all so still
Where his mother lay,
As dew in April
That falleth on the spray.
Mother and maiden
Was never none but she;
Well may such a lady
God's mother be.
FROM HEART OF TEACHER
When alone I am sad and troubled
I walk in dark with no one but singled
Miles and miles with a ray a hope
I move with a lot of scope
Carrying with me no prejudice
But lot of charm and no malice
Unknown of the evils of life.
when in school I am truly bound
By the love and respect of the loved
A child is the greatest creation of God
I feel lucky to be with them lord
Children! You are the best
This is the result of my ultimate quest.
GRAND PARENTS ARE SPL
Grandparents are special people
With wisdom and pride.
They are always offering love and kindness
And are always there to guide.
They often make you feel so confident
And strong.
Their arms are always open
No matter what you did wrong.
They try to help out in every way
That they can.
They love all their grandchildren the same
Whether you're a child, woman or man.
They are always there to listen
And to lend a helping hand.
They show you respect
And they try to understand.
They give their love, devotion and so much more,
That's easy to see.
Grandparents, what perfect examples
Of the kind of person that we should be.
GRANDMOTHER
A grandmother has a special talent -
She always knows just what to do
To make her grandchildren happy
And to show she loves them, too.
At the family get-togethers,
She's the first person to look for -
She can entertain small children for hours,
And they always keep asking for more.
You can tell when a grandmother's teasing
By the twinkle that shines in her eyes-
She's an expert at settling problems,
For she's loving, patient and wise.
Her grandchildren always admire her,
Even when they are grown -
They always feel proud and happy
To claim Grandmother as their own!
OWL
The owls have feathers lined with down
To keep them nice and warm;
The rats have top-coats soft and brown
To wrap in from the storm;
And nearly every bird and beast
Has cosy suits to wear
But Mr. Hedgehog has the least
Of any for his share.
His back is stuck with prickly pins
That breezes whistle through,
And when the winter-time begins
The only thing to do
Is just to find a leafy spot,
And curl up from the rain,
Until the Spring comes bright and hot,
To waken him again.
The owls and rats and all their folk
Are soft and smooth to touch,
But hedgehogs are not nice to stroke,
Their prickles hurt so much.
So though it looks a little queer,
His coat is best of all;
For nobody could interfere
With such a bristly ball.
4TH JULY NIGHT
The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky
A white sky bomb fizzed on a black line.
A rocket hissed it's red signature into the west.
Now a shower of Chinese fire alphabets,
A cry of flower pots broken in flames,
A long curve to a purple spray, three violet balloons -
Drips of seaweed tangled in gold, shimmering symbols of mixed numbers,
Tremulous arrangements of cream gold folds of a bride's wedding gown -
A few sky bombs spoke their pieces, then velvet dark.
The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky.
LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where the words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action -
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
WHEN AND WHY
When I bring you coloured toys, my child,
I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds,
on water, and why flowers are painted in tints-
when I give coloured toys to you, my child.
When I sing to make you dance,
I truly know why there is music in leaves,
and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth-
when I sing to make you dance.
When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands,
I know why there is honey in the cup of the flower,
and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice -
when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.
When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling,
I surely understand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light,
and what delight the summer breeze brings to my body-
when I kiss you to make you smile.
PORTRAIT OF LADY
Objects are lessons; from bowls, hairpins, brooches,
you learn of forgotten lives. The stories say
my grandmother was a fever tree:
two birds sat on her branches, one pecking
at a grape, the other singing an aria.
What history's bookkeepers do not show
is the tremor down the spine she felt,
the tendril of blood that coiled in her nose
when the whistle of a train announced
her husband's return from a tour of duty.
In the stories, she's an actor, a pilgrim;
shadow-boxing with a thunderstorm,
she slips through scrubbed floors
and ember beds. She leaves me
a loaf of shortbread in the oven,
a page of couplets in a script I cannot read
and wrapped in a peel of green appleskin,
a tea cup glazed with a Dutch windmill.
the last one of the set.
The urchin-cut waif in the vignette above
is the child she was. Voyeur, clairvoyante,
she stares in at windows, her head a gourd
hollowed by the age she never reached
in life, her hair a silver floss.
Objects are lessons; the light seeps
through the slats, sets off a shimmer
on her lace. She's crocheted the evening
and its creatures: the silken thread
that she pulls from her pattern
knots tight around my neck.
CRICKET
ricket is a wonderful game,
From which players get fame.
Some people watching are tense,
When they see the opposition hit the ball to the fence.
Some people buy tickets,
To watch the bowlers take wickets.
There is a batsman who works hard to concentrate,
There is a bowler who tries to make him frustrate.
There is an umpire, who always makes the right decision,
To help the players who are out to accomplish a mission.
But these days there is a lot of chaos in cricket,
Because the players play deliberately bad on the wicket.
I hope cricket is played sincerely,
So that everyone can enjoy it happily.
PARADISE LOST
The small dark rooms,
And the great halls,
Are just alike,
That stole my sunny days,
Never to return back even once.
Angry and worn-out,
A mere bundle of bones,
I lie here,
Fallen and grief stricken.
Wines, fish and food,
I loved them most,
And a good sleep to my heart's desire,
And I thought no more.
The curse of the immoral days,
Burn me right day and night,
The greatest treasure of my youth,
I lost them mid-way.
My gray days make me sore,
And I look at the rising sun,
The only fabric of my hope,
That reassures me with radiant warmth.
I believe it is not just a ball of fire,
But a most splendid thing,
Absolutely generous,
That glorifies the earth,
With all its skill.
It is real love affair like,
And I watch it flourish,
Day-time, at dawn and dusk,
Bringing a heavenly religious order.
I hear the birds chirp,
I see the grassy lands and the cattle,
The butterflies, the roses and the tulips,
The magnificence is unbelieving.
It is all so wonderful,
Everything is bewitching,
The excellence of seasons,
The glory of rains,
The blossom of the spring-time,
It is all so awesome.
I wish I were young again,
And go to woods or distant seas,
And watch the sunset over those hills,
Sitting under a grove of trees,
And never be stupid again,
Even if I lived only for a day.
For a long period
As you always have been
So nice to me
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
Perhaps you may not think
That you have never been the girl
Who I may like
Baby, you have never been my choice
Even how can I say it to you
You always had been too good to me
What can I say more than just thanks
Your eyes are what you not
And your doings are saying the whole story
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
Oh! I jus' feel that as
There nothin' is certain
But I mus' tell you
That you are not still the one
Who may I cry for
Who may I die for
Who may I tie with
You are still not the one
I dream for
I know you always have been so close to me!
But Baby! What I can't say
Even I can't tell
We are not made for each other
You are good at your heart and me too
But you are not still the one
Who I really love
Please forgive me as I don't love you
Bur Baby...
Misconception
But I never realized
On the beach
On the sand
Near the river
I heard a sound.
It was not a bird
Not a child
A beautiful girl
Sitting amid.
She was singing a song
All alone
I was thinking why
Is she so forlorn?
I walked towards her
Step by step
To know what’s wrong
And why is she sad.
I sat next to her
And asked all the why’s
She said nothing
But gave me a smile.
I was bewildered
As to why is she so?
When I tried to get up
She caught my hand and said hello!
I sat back down
And asked what’s wrong?
In no time she asked
“Will you be a friend of mine?”
I said yes
Believing she didn’t have any
But it happened to be different
She actually had many.
Why alone?
I asked her and pat came the answer!
“To be a friend to those
Who didn’t have any near and dear”.
Someone did
Need a friend
But it happened to be me
And not her.
I misconceived my need
For the need of someone alone
But I never realized
That actually I was forlorn!
BACK TO ME
You were walking down the street,
With your bags and your ticket,
We parted from each other hoping to again meet.
In my mind your thoughts fly,
No matter how hard I try,
You only make me cry.
I pull my socks up to forget you,
But I see your face in every drop of dew,
I can’t forget the fact that it makes me feel blue.
It is such a heartbreaker,
We couldn’t be lovers forever,
Our love is the only thing I always endear.
Will you ever come back to me?
To give me the lost joy and glee,
To save me from drowning into the sea.
Will you ever come back to me?
Will we ever together be?
Will y ou ever come back to me?
STRANGER
No friend and no family and to support was no one,
I felt too bad living alone.
No one to talk,
No one with whom I would walk.
No one to care,
I wished for a few but had not even rare.
But when I was weeping alone,
Walking through life I found someone.
Who I thought was a stranger became a friend,
Who understood and cared and became my best friend.
On my face he puts a smile,
Though the distance is more than a mile.
He wiped my tears,
And removed my fears.
But the bad day came when he passed and died,
I was sad and I cried.
I thought I was again alone,
But I felt with me there was someone.
Though in heaven he was,
Always around me his soul was.
Who I thought had flied away like birds,
Had left for me his love in words.
In my heart and my mind his soul was there,
Though he wasn't here his footprints were there.
Who I thought was a stranger became a friend,
Who understood and cared and became my best friend.
I cried sitting near the dead man's grave,
I thought I wasn't but he made me brave.
Though he died,
He yet cared.
Though he passed away,
He met me again as a stranger on my way.
He took nothing with him but just words kind,
He left nothing for me but just a stranger behind.
INDEPENDENCE DAY
Fifty days of independence from you.
You that I am when finally I sleep.
Where colors blur into a muddy brown
and almond eyes are star tingly blue.
You are my context, my only clue.
How do you deny me when I am you?
My tongue curls sounds that you have made.
My box is of stones that you have laid.
I love you and loathe you, my lost is yours,
Your home and mine are foreign shores,
Brown as a nut, and as bleached as afraid,
we are the monster that you have made,
Slowly, slowly the ignorant learn,
Look at us, look at us, we are a thing apart -
Like father like daughter, can't finish what I start.
TIGER
Tiger Tiger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
EIGHT TENTACLES
If only I had an octopus,
I'd soon get my housework done.
I'd soon set him to work on the hoovering,
With tentacle number one.
Tentacle two would grab the mop
And start on the kitchen floor,
While he dusted and polished the furniture,
With tentacles three and four.
Tentacle five would turn on the tap
And tackle the washing up,
While tentacle six took a well-earned break
And curled round a china cup.
Tentacle seven would make the beds
And set the pillows straight,
And all the while he'd be balancing
On tentacle eight.
COUNTED NIGHTS AND DAYS
Each year does cast a piece of time
One human step for us to climb
Twelve months of counted nights and days
Completes us through a yearly phase
One thing's for sure while we do live
We’ll never know what life will give
Anticipation's just a view
For what may happen, could come true
So many times we’re filled with thought
Some last a lifetime, some do not
We live through choices made within
How we should strive to stave off sin
Pray often for what’s good to be
And let your love spread openly
God clearly wants for us to know
His way leads to eternal glow
Do greet first day with hope held high
And keep your heart your watchful eye.
The Frog and the Bird
Short poem about understanding worth of people...
By a quiet little stream on an old mossy log;
Looking very forlorn, sat a little green frog;
He'd a sleek speckled back, and two bright yellow eyes,
And when dining, selected the choicest of flies.
The sun was so hot, he scarce opened his eyes,
Far too lazy to stir, let alone watch for flies,
He was nodding, and nodding, and almost asleep,
When a voice in the branches chirped, 'Froggie, cheep, cheep!'
'You'd better take care,' piped the bird to the frog,
'In the water you'll be if you fall off that log.
Can't you see that the streamlet is up to the brim?'
Croaked the froggie, 'What odds! You forget I can swim!'
Then the froggie looked up at the bird perched so high
On a bough that to him seemed to reach to the sky;
So he croaked to the bird: 'If you fall you will die!'
Chirped the birdie, 'What odds! You forget I can fly!'
OLD CAROL
He came all so still
Where his mother was,
As dew in April
That falleth on the grass.
He came all so till
To his mother's bower,
As dew in April
That falleth on the flower.
He came all so still
Where his mother lay,
As dew in April
That falleth on the spray.
Mother and maiden
Was never none but she;
Well may such a lady
God's mother be.
FROM HEART OF TEACHER
When alone I am sad and troubled
I walk in dark with no one but singled
Miles and miles with a ray a hope
I move with a lot of scope
Carrying with me no prejudice
But lot of charm and no malice
Unknown of the evils of life.
when in school I am truly bound
By the love and respect of the loved
A child is the greatest creation of God
I feel lucky to be with them lord
Children! You are the best
This is the result of my ultimate quest.
GRAND PARENTS ARE SPL
Grandparents are special people
With wisdom and pride.
They are always offering love and kindness
And are always there to guide.
They often make you feel so confident
And strong.
Their arms are always open
No matter what you did wrong.
They try to help out in every way
That they can.
They love all their grandchildren the same
Whether you're a child, woman or man.
They are always there to listen
And to lend a helping hand.
They show you respect
And they try to understand.
They give their love, devotion and so much more,
That's easy to see.
Grandparents, what perfect examples
Of the kind of person that we should be.
GRANDMOTHER
A grandmother has a special talent -
She always knows just what to do
To make her grandchildren happy
And to show she loves them, too.
At the family get-togethers,
She's the first person to look for -
She can entertain small children for hours,
And they always keep asking for more.
You can tell when a grandmother's teasing
By the twinkle that shines in her eyes-
She's an expert at settling problems,
For she's loving, patient and wise.
Her grandchildren always admire her,
Even when they are grown -
They always feel proud and happy
To claim Grandmother as their own!
OWL
The owls have feathers lined with down
To keep them nice and warm;
The rats have top-coats soft and brown
To wrap in from the storm;
And nearly every bird and beast
Has cosy suits to wear
But Mr. Hedgehog has the least
Of any for his share.
His back is stuck with prickly pins
That breezes whistle through,
And when the winter-time begins
The only thing to do
Is just to find a leafy spot,
And curl up from the rain,
Until the Spring comes bright and hot,
To waken him again.
The owls and rats and all their folk
Are soft and smooth to touch,
But hedgehogs are not nice to stroke,
Their prickles hurt so much.
So though it looks a little queer,
His coat is best of all;
For nobody could interfere
With such a bristly ball.
4TH JULY NIGHT
The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky
A white sky bomb fizzed on a black line.
A rocket hissed it's red signature into the west.
Now a shower of Chinese fire alphabets,
A cry of flower pots broken in flames,
A long curve to a purple spray, three violet balloons -
Drips of seaweed tangled in gold, shimmering symbols of mixed numbers,
Tremulous arrangements of cream gold folds of a bride's wedding gown -
A few sky bombs spoke their pieces, then velvet dark.
The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky.
LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where the words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action -
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
WHEN AND WHY
When I bring you coloured toys, my child,
I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds,
on water, and why flowers are painted in tints-
when I give coloured toys to you, my child.
When I sing to make you dance,
I truly know why there is music in leaves,
and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth-
when I sing to make you dance.
When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands,
I know why there is honey in the cup of the flower,
and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice -
when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.
When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling,
I surely understand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light,
and what delight the summer breeze brings to my body-
when I kiss you to make you smile.
PORTRAIT OF LADY
Objects are lessons; from bowls, hairpins, brooches,
you learn of forgotten lives. The stories say
my grandmother was a fever tree:
two birds sat on her branches, one pecking
at a grape, the other singing an aria.
What history's bookkeepers do not show
is the tremor down the spine she felt,
the tendril of blood that coiled in her nose
when the whistle of a train announced
her husband's return from a tour of duty.
In the stories, she's an actor, a pilgrim;
shadow-boxing with a thunderstorm,
she slips through scrubbed floors
and ember beds. She leaves me
a loaf of shortbread in the oven,
a page of couplets in a script I cannot read
and wrapped in a peel of green appleskin,
a tea cup glazed with a Dutch windmill.
the last one of the set.
The urchin-cut waif in the vignette above
is the child she was. Voyeur, clairvoyante,
she stares in at windows, her head a gourd
hollowed by the age she never reached
in life, her hair a silver floss.
Objects are lessons; the light seeps
through the slats, sets off a shimmer
on her lace. She's crocheted the evening
and its creatures: the silken thread
that she pulls from her pattern
knots tight around my neck.
CRICKET
ricket is a wonderful game,
From which players get fame.
Some people watching are tense,
When they see the opposition hit the ball to the fence.
Some people buy tickets,
To watch the bowlers take wickets.
There is a batsman who works hard to concentrate,
There is a bowler who tries to make him frustrate.
There is an umpire, who always makes the right decision,
To help the players who are out to accomplish a mission.
But these days there is a lot of chaos in cricket,
Because the players play deliberately bad on the wicket.
I hope cricket is played sincerely,
So that everyone can enjoy it happily.
PARADISE LOST
The small dark rooms,
And the great halls,
Are just alike,
That stole my sunny days,
Never to return back even once.
Angry and worn-out,
A mere bundle of bones,
I lie here,
Fallen and grief stricken.
Wines, fish and food,
I loved them most,
And a good sleep to my heart's desire,
And I thought no more.
The curse of the immoral days,
Burn me right day and night,
The greatest treasure of my youth,
I lost them mid-way.
My gray days make me sore,
And I look at the rising sun,
The only fabric of my hope,
That reassures me with radiant warmth.
I believe it is not just a ball of fire,
But a most splendid thing,
Absolutely generous,
That glorifies the earth,
With all its skill.
It is real love affair like,
And I watch it flourish,
Day-time, at dawn and dusk,
Bringing a heavenly religious order.
I hear the birds chirp,
I see the grassy lands and the cattle,
The butterflies, the roses and the tulips,
The magnificence is unbelieving.
It is all so wonderful,
Everything is bewitching,
The excellence of seasons,
The glory of rains,
The blossom of the spring-time,
It is all so awesome.
I wish I were young again,
And go to woods or distant seas,
And watch the sunset over those hills,
Sitting under a grove of trees,
And never be stupid again,
Even if I lived only for a day.
CONGRATULATIONS SHARON & GUY
CONGRATULATIONS SHARON & GUY
Of all the ‘Guys’ in all the world
And goodness, there’s a few
Sharon’s chose the very best
With whom to say “I Do”
He’s quiet, she’s more bubbly
But between them they have grown
A love that whispers always
And a dream to call their own
And no bride will look more stunning
Than Sharon, that’s for sure
So petite and chic and pretty
With a smile so bright and pure
But it’s hard to find a wedding gift
For a couple who have it all
Except carpets for the living room
Or bedroom, stairs and hall!
So we thought we’d write a line or two
To celebrate your day
To wish you tons of happiness
And to cheer you on your way
To the Maldives, how exciting
For a heavenly honeymoon
Warm sun, white sand and palm trees
Blue seas, turquoise lagoons
The perfect start to a married life
Of fun and joy together
To a love that continues growing
To a truth that will last forever
And on 29 March, 08
As we share in your celebrations
We wish you luck and love and laughter
And huge Congratulations
Of all the ‘Guys’ in all the world
And goodness, there’s a few
Sharon’s chose the very best
With whom to say “I Do”
He’s quiet, she’s more bubbly
But between them they have grown
A love that whispers always
And a dream to call their own
And no bride will look more stunning
Than Sharon, that’s for sure
So petite and chic and pretty
With a smile so bright and pure
But it’s hard to find a wedding gift
For a couple who have it all
Except carpets for the living room
Or bedroom, stairs and hall!
So we thought we’d write a line or two
To celebrate your day
To wish you tons of happiness
And to cheer you on your way
To the Maldives, how exciting
For a heavenly honeymoon
Warm sun, white sand and palm trees
Blue seas, turquoise lagoons
The perfect start to a married life
Of fun and joy together
To a love that continues growing
To a truth that will last forever
And on 29 March, 08
As we share in your celebrations
We wish you luck and love and laughter
And huge Congratulations
WEDDING DAY THANK YOU
WEDDING DAY THANK YOU
Thank you doesn’t seem enough
For all the help you gave
So we thought we’d pen a verse or two
And really rant and rave
To let you know how grateful
We both truly, truly are
‘Cause as far as we’re concerned
The Devonshire Club’s a star
The star of Eastbourne’s venues
The club that really cares
Tho’ we found you by default
You sure answered all our prayers
Our wedding day was lovely
Our every dream come true
And David, we’re aware a lot
Of that is down to you
You really paid attention
You listened and you cared
Nothing was a problem
And no detail was spared
Your James Bond suit was perfect
Your staff were brilliant, too
So from a grateful Nic and Ian
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you
Thank you doesn’t seem enough
For all the help you gave
So we thought we’d pen a verse or two
And really rant and rave
To let you know how grateful
We both truly, truly are
‘Cause as far as we’re concerned
The Devonshire Club’s a star
The star of Eastbourne’s venues
The club that really cares
Tho’ we found you by default
You sure answered all our prayers
Our wedding day was lovely
Our every dream come true
And David, we’re aware a lot
Of that is down to you
You really paid attention
You listened and you cared
Nothing was a problem
And no detail was spared
Your James Bond suit was perfect
Your staff were brilliant, too
So from a grateful Nic and Ian
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you
THE ALLWRIGHTS!
THE ALLWRIGHTS!
Old “scrubs-up”, had had enough
So she moved on South to find
A better life for her and Luke
Her gorgeous, green-eyed child
And in a two bed house in Bransgore
Where the window just wouldn’t shut
She came smile to smile with David
Tho’ on a day she hadn’t “scrubbed up”!!
But Anita’s eyes had David hooked
With or without her mascara
While looking for a Landlord
She’d found a knight in shining armour
They text-ed lots and on their first date
As old Cupid cast his spell
David realised what her girlfriends meant
When they said “she scrubs up well!”
There she was, all glammed up
And just like soulmates do
They laughed and talked and laughed some more
‘Cos both of them just knew
They’d found what they were searching for
The one that made them whole
And later that night, David almost died
When Anita touched his ......... soul
From that day on they had it all
Which proves that dreams come true
Anita, Luke and David
And lovely, blue eyed Lucy, too
Now David’s done the decent thing
And married his Miss Wright
And in that honeymoon suite, without a doubt
They’re gonna be Alwright tonight!
Old “scrubs-up”, had had enough
So she moved on South to find
A better life for her and Luke
Her gorgeous, green-eyed child
And in a two bed house in Bransgore
Where the window just wouldn’t shut
She came smile to smile with David
Tho’ on a day she hadn’t “scrubbed up”!!
But Anita’s eyes had David hooked
With or without her mascara
While looking for a Landlord
She’d found a knight in shining armour
They text-ed lots and on their first date
As old Cupid cast his spell
David realised what her girlfriends meant
When they said “she scrubs up well!”
There she was, all glammed up
And just like soulmates do
They laughed and talked and laughed some more
‘Cos both of them just knew
They’d found what they were searching for
The one that made them whole
And later that night, David almost died
When Anita touched his ......... soul
From that day on they had it all
Which proves that dreams come true
Anita, Luke and David
And lovely, blue eyed Lucy, too
Now David’s done the decent thing
And married his Miss Wright
And in that honeymoon suite, without a doubt
They’re gonna be Alwright tonight!
AS YOU MARRY
AS YOU MARRY
Think energy, fun and feisty
Think caring, warm and kind
Think Mary Poppins with bells on
And Libby will soon spring to mind
Our very own ‘Superwoman’
She’s a wonderful daughter and friend
And for worn-out mums with demanding kids
She sure puts the ‘god’ in godsend
And soon she’ll be pledging forever
To her own ‘Superman’ (minus pants!)
Whose love has turned Libby’s life around
And given her a true second chance
To know happiness like she’s never known
To know loving that comes with no strings
With a guy whose sky-high proposal
Started off with a pair of ‘ear-rings’!
Mum to a whole host of animals
They obviously aren’t quite enough
‘Cos she can’t wait for the day she’s a real mum
With a baby of her own to love
Just can’t wait to see her and Robbie
In the face of the child they’ll adore
And to gaze at its wee face in wonder
With love and contentment and awe
So happy to be Honey’s Angel
She’s thrilled they’ll soon be man and wife
‘Cos Robbie’s “I Love You’s” come right from the heart
Bringing joy, fun and hope to her life
So here’s to a real special lady
Here’s to laughter and love by the ton
To a marriage that’s been blessed in heaven
And to two hearts forever as one
Think energy, fun and feisty
Think caring, warm and kind
Think Mary Poppins with bells on
And Libby will soon spring to mind
Our very own ‘Superwoman’
She’s a wonderful daughter and friend
And for worn-out mums with demanding kids
She sure puts the ‘god’ in godsend
And soon she’ll be pledging forever
To her own ‘Superman’ (minus pants!)
Whose love has turned Libby’s life around
And given her a true second chance
To know happiness like she’s never known
To know loving that comes with no strings
With a guy whose sky-high proposal
Started off with a pair of ‘ear-rings’!
Mum to a whole host of animals
They obviously aren’t quite enough
‘Cos she can’t wait for the day she’s a real mum
With a baby of her own to love
Just can’t wait to see her and Robbie
In the face of the child they’ll adore
And to gaze at its wee face in wonder
With love and contentment and awe
So happy to be Honey’s Angel
She’s thrilled they’ll soon be man and wife
‘Cos Robbie’s “I Love You’s” come right from the heart
Bringing joy, fun and hope to her life
So here’s to a real special lady
Here’s to laughter and love by the ton
To a marriage that’s been blessed in heaven
And to two hearts forever as one
ODE TO LOVE
ODE TO LOVE
It might not seem romantic
This online dating lark
But for Nic34 and Ian1973
It created one huge spark
And that spark built a fire
From which they couldn't hide
Though when Ian got back from Sharm El Sheikh
I do believe he tried!
But Nic's a hard act to follow
And they were having so much fun
They decided to take it 'one day at a time'
Just like Granda would have done
Then one cold night at The 'Comedy' Store
An appropriate place, some might say
Ian told Nic that he loved her
In a 'true love' kind of way
Nic was thrilled, 'cos if truth be told
She'd loved Ian for a while
Fast forward, here, to Eastbourne
New home, real love, huge smiles
Now Ian's working with needy kids
And loving every minute
While Nic's life's so much lighter
Now there's no newspapers in it!
They're partial to the same things
Like red wine at the end of the day
Newcastle F.C., Badminton
Oh yes, and Mollie, James and Fay
Three gorgeous giggling, happy kids
Who run them off their feet
A ready-made wee family
Who make their lives complete
It might not seem romantic
This online dating lark
But for Nic34 and Ian1973
It created one huge spark
And that spark built a fire
From which they couldn't hide
Though when Ian got back from Sharm El Sheikh
I do believe he tried!
But Nic's a hard act to follow
And they were having so much fun
They decided to take it 'one day at a time'
Just like Granda would have done
Then one cold night at The 'Comedy' Store
An appropriate place, some might say
Ian told Nic that he loved her
In a 'true love' kind of way
Nic was thrilled, 'cos if truth be told
She'd loved Ian for a while
Fast forward, here, to Eastbourne
New home, real love, huge smiles
Now Ian's working with needy kids
And loving every minute
While Nic's life's so much lighter
Now there's no newspapers in it!
They're partial to the same things
Like red wine at the end of the day
Newcastle F.C., Badminton
Oh yes, and Mollie, James and Fay
Three gorgeous giggling, happy kids
Who run them off their feet
A ready-made wee family
Who make their lives complete
WITH ALL MY LOVE AS WE MARRY
WITH ALL MY LOVE
AS WE MARRY
Deep down, I think I knew you
Long before that fateful night
In a London club, five years ago
When I first met my ‘Mr Right’
When a tiny flame of recognition
Awoke something in my soul
When I knew you were the kind of man
I’d always hoped I’d know
And though it was a real slow burn
That small flame built a fire
Of love, and hope, and promise
As the flames grew ever higher
And tho’ we’ve had some tough, tough times
I’d have it no other way
‘Cos there’s nowhere else I’d rather be
Than beside you, here, today
You’re sensitive, kind and ambitious
You bring laughter to my life
And I’m so, so proud and happy
That you’re making me your wife
I can’t wait to start the next chapter
Of our journey, one page at a time
Chasing our dreams and making our mark
Making babies from two hearts entwined
And when it comes to being a father
I know you’ll be the best there is
You’ll hug and guide and love and lead
Giving all you have to give
We’ll be so good together
The perfect fairy tale
With Pups n’ Boots against the world
How could we ever fail
So thank you, my dear Jamie
From my head, my heart, and my soul
‘Cos with you to share my life, I’m even
Looking forward to growing old!
AS WE MARRY
Deep down, I think I knew you
Long before that fateful night
In a London club, five years ago
When I first met my ‘Mr Right’
When a tiny flame of recognition
Awoke something in my soul
When I knew you were the kind of man
I’d always hoped I’d know
And though it was a real slow burn
That small flame built a fire
Of love, and hope, and promise
As the flames grew ever higher
And tho’ we’ve had some tough, tough times
I’d have it no other way
‘Cos there’s nowhere else I’d rather be
Than beside you, here, today
You’re sensitive, kind and ambitious
You bring laughter to my life
And I’m so, so proud and happy
That you’re making me your wife
I can’t wait to start the next chapter
Of our journey, one page at a time
Chasing our dreams and making our mark
Making babies from two hearts entwined
And when it comes to being a father
I know you’ll be the best there is
You’ll hug and guide and love and lead
Giving all you have to give
We’ll be so good together
The perfect fairy tale
With Pups n’ Boots against the world
How could we ever fail
So thank you, my dear Jamie
From my head, my heart, and my soul
‘Cos with you to share my life, I’m even
Looking forward to growing old!
I WANT YOU TO KNOW
I WANT YOU TO KNOW
Life races by so quickly I barely have time to
draw breath, let alone take the time to tell
you just how important you are to me.
To tell you how much I love you.
Or how the sun somehow seems to shine brighter
when you’re around. Or even how the greyest
of grey skies don’t seem half as dark
when you’re by my side.
I’m so busy reaching towards tomorrow that
today passes by in the blink of an eye and
all the things I want to say simply become
yesterday’s thoughts ... and that’s why,
here and now, I want you to know, without
a shadow of a doubt, that I love you.
I love you with my heart, my soul, my mind
and every tiny ounce of my being. You are
everything to me. You’re my rock, my treasure,
my reason and my life. I love your crazy
sense-of humour, respect your heart-warming
honesty and cherish your never-ending belief
in the power of love. In the power of us.
So, just in case ‘tomorrow’ never comes, or even
just in case I haven’t made it clear enough,
I want you to know that my heart has been yours
since the moment I saw you - and it will be yours
until the very end of time.
Life races by so quickly I barely have time to
draw breath, let alone take the time to tell
you just how important you are to me.
To tell you how much I love you.
Or how the sun somehow seems to shine brighter
when you’re around. Or even how the greyest
of grey skies don’t seem half as dark
when you’re by my side.
I’m so busy reaching towards tomorrow that
today passes by in the blink of an eye and
all the things I want to say simply become
yesterday’s thoughts ... and that’s why,
here and now, I want you to know, without
a shadow of a doubt, that I love you.
I love you with my heart, my soul, my mind
and every tiny ounce of my being. You are
everything to me. You’re my rock, my treasure,
my reason and my life. I love your crazy
sense-of humour, respect your heart-warming
honesty and cherish your never-ending belief
in the power of love. In the power of us.
So, just in case ‘tomorrow’ never comes, or even
just in case I haven’t made it clear enough,
I want you to know that my heart has been yours
since the moment I saw you - and it will be yours
until the very end of time.
TOP 50 poems ever
Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
i carry your heart with me by E. E. Cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
There is another sky by Emily Dickinson
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
Life Is Fine by Langston Hughes
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
A Girl by Ezra Pound
The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast-
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
Messy Room by Shel Silverstein
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems by Oscar Wilde
I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.
Still I Rise by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Let America Be America Again by Langston Hughes
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!
To You. by Walt Whitman
LET us twain walk aside from the rest;
Now we are together privately, do you discard ceremony,
Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none—Tell me the whole story,
Tell me what you would not tell your brother, wife, husband, or physician.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
The New Poetry Handbook by Mark Strand
1 If a man understands a poem,
he shall have troubles.
2 If a man lives with a poem,
he shall die lonely.
3 If a man lives with two poems,
he shall be unfaithful to one.
4 If a man conceives of a poem,
he shall have one less child.
5 If a man conceives of two poems,
he shall have two children less.
6 If a man wears a crown on his head as he writes,
he shall be found out.
7 If a man wears no crown on his head as he writes,
he shall deceive no one but himself.
8 If a man gets angry at a poem,
he shall be scorned by men.
9 If a man continues to be angry at a poem,
he shall be scorned by women.
10 If a man publicly denounces poetry,
his shoes will fill with urine.
11 If a man gives up poetry for power,
he shall have lots of power.
12 If a man brags about his poems,
he shall be loved by fools.
13 If a man brags about his poems and loves fools,
he shall write no more.
14 If a man craves attention because of his poems,
he shall be like a jackass in moonlight.
15 If a man writes a poem and praises the poem of a fellow,
he shall have a beautiful mistress.
16 If a man writes a poem and praises the poem of a fellow overly,
he shall drive his mistress away.
17 If a man claims the poem of another,
his heart shall double in size.
18 If a man lets his poems go naked,
he shall fear death.
19 If a man fears death,
he shall be saved by his poems.
20 If a man does not fear death,
he may or may not be saved by his poems.
21 If a man finishes a poem,
he shall bathe in the blank wake of his passion
and be kissed by white paper.
Touched by An Angel by Maya Angelou
We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" -
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never - nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore:
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
A Word to Husbands by Ogden Nash
To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.
Bear In There by Shel Silverstein
There's a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire--
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there--
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.
If those I loved were lost by Emily Dickinson
If those I loved were lost
The Crier's voice would tell me --
If those I loved were found
The bells of Ghent would ring --
Did those I loved repose
The Daisy would impel me.
Philip -- when bewildered
Bore his riddle in!
Romance by Edgar Allan Poe
Romance, who loves to nod and sing
With drowsy head and folded wing
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been—most familiar bird—
Taught me my alphabet to say,
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child—with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky;
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings,
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things—
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
Seeker Of Truth by E. E. Cummings
seeker of truth
follow no path
all paths lead where
truth is here
I Taught Myself To Live Simply by Anna Akhmatova
I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.
Walking Around by Pablo Neruda
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.
The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.
It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.
I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.
I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.
That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.
There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
Digging by Seamus Heaney
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats
I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.
The Broken Heart by William Barnes
News o' grief had overteaken
Dark-eyed Fanny, now vorseaken;
There she zot, wi' breast a-heaven,
While vrom zide to zide, wi' grieven,
Vell her head, wi' tears a-creepen
Down her cheaks, in bitter weepen.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An' there wer still the hans that tied it
Hangen white,
Or wringen tight,
In ceare that drowned all ceare bezide it.
When a man, wi' heartless slighten,
Mid become a maiden's blighten,
He mid cearelessly vorseake her,
But must answer to her Meaker;
He mid slight, wi' selfish blindness,
All her deeds o' loven-kindness,
God wull waigh 'em wi' the slighten
That mid be her love's requiten;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o' woe
Do break the heart ov ev'ry griever.
An Evening by Gwendolyn Brooks
A sunset's mounded cloud;
A diamond evening-star;
Sad blue hills afar;
Love in his shroud.
Scarcely a tear to shed;
Hardly a word to say;
The end of a summer day;
Sweet Love dead.
A Life by Sylvia Plath
Unfortunately this poem has been removed from our archives at the insistence of the copyright holder.
As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed by Jack Prelutsky
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.
At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.
I Am Not Yours by Sara Teasdale
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
And The Moon And The Stars And The World by Charles Bukowski
Long walks at night--
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.
America by Allen Ginsberg
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January
17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I
need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not
the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back
it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical
joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday
somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses
in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle
Max after he came over from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by
Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner
candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Business-
men are serious. Movie producers are serious.
Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of
marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable
private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour
and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of
underprivileged who live in my flowerpots
under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers
is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that
I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly
mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as
individual as his automobiles more so they're
all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500
down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Com-
munist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a
handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and
sentimental about the workers it was all so sin-
cere you have no idea what a good thing the
party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand
old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me
cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody
must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen.
And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power
mad. She wants to take our cars from out our
garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers'
Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.
Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
tions.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read.
Him need big black niggers. Hah. Her make us
all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in
the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes
in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and
psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Berkeley, January 17, 1956
Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
All the World's a Stage by William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
A Poison Tree by William Blake
I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.
Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face by Jack Prelutsky
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.
But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
Fast rode the knight by Stephen Crane
Fast rode the knight
With spurs, hot and reeking,
Ever waving an eager sword,
"To save my lady!"
Fast rode the knIght,
And leaped from saddle to war.
Men of steel flickered and gleamed
Like riot of silver lights,
And the gold of the knight's good banner
Still waved on a castle wall.
. . . . .
A horse,
Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,
Forgotten at foot of castle wall.
A horse
Dead at foot of castle wall.
Happiness by Raymond Carver
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
a pretty a day by E. E. Cummings
a pretty a day
(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maids
to flower an hour
in all,all)
o yes to flower
until so blithe
a doer a wooer
some limber and lithe
some very fine mower
a tall;tall
some jerry so very
(and nellie and fan)
some handsomest harry
(and sally and nan
they tremble and cower
so pale:pale)
for betty was born
to never say nay
but lucy could learn
and lily could pray
and fewer were shyer
than doll. doll
Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
i carry your heart with me by E. E. Cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
There is another sky by Emily Dickinson
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
Life Is Fine by Langston Hughes
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
A Girl by Ezra Pound
The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast-
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
Messy Room by Shel Silverstein
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems by Oscar Wilde
I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.
And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.
Still I Rise by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Let America Be America Again by Langston Hughes
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!
To You. by Walt Whitman
LET us twain walk aside from the rest;
Now we are together privately, do you discard ceremony,
Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none—Tell me the whole story,
Tell me what you would not tell your brother, wife, husband, or physician.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
The New Poetry Handbook by Mark Strand
1 If a man understands a poem,
he shall have troubles.
2 If a man lives with a poem,
he shall die lonely.
3 If a man lives with two poems,
he shall be unfaithful to one.
4 If a man conceives of a poem,
he shall have one less child.
5 If a man conceives of two poems,
he shall have two children less.
6 If a man wears a crown on his head as he writes,
he shall be found out.
7 If a man wears no crown on his head as he writes,
he shall deceive no one but himself.
8 If a man gets angry at a poem,
he shall be scorned by men.
9 If a man continues to be angry at a poem,
he shall be scorned by women.
10 If a man publicly denounces poetry,
his shoes will fill with urine.
11 If a man gives up poetry for power,
he shall have lots of power.
12 If a man brags about his poems,
he shall be loved by fools.
13 If a man brags about his poems and loves fools,
he shall write no more.
14 If a man craves attention because of his poems,
he shall be like a jackass in moonlight.
15 If a man writes a poem and praises the poem of a fellow,
he shall have a beautiful mistress.
16 If a man writes a poem and praises the poem of a fellow overly,
he shall drive his mistress away.
17 If a man claims the poem of another,
his heart shall double in size.
18 If a man lets his poems go naked,
he shall fear death.
19 If a man fears death,
he shall be saved by his poems.
20 If a man does not fear death,
he may or may not be saved by his poems.
21 If a man finishes a poem,
he shall bathe in the blank wake of his passion
and be kissed by white paper.
Touched by An Angel by Maya Angelou
We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.
We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" -
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never - nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore:
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
A Word to Husbands by Ogden Nash
To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.
Bear In There by Shel Silverstein
There's a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire--
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there--
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.
If those I loved were lost by Emily Dickinson
If those I loved were lost
The Crier's voice would tell me --
If those I loved were found
The bells of Ghent would ring --
Did those I loved repose
The Daisy would impel me.
Philip -- when bewildered
Bore his riddle in!
Romance by Edgar Allan Poe
Romance, who loves to nod and sing
With drowsy head and folded wing
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been—most familiar bird—
Taught me my alphabet to say,
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child—with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky;
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings,
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things—
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
Seeker Of Truth by E. E. Cummings
seeker of truth
follow no path
all paths lead where
truth is here
I Taught Myself To Live Simply by Anna Akhmatova
I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.
Walking Around by Pablo Neruda
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.
The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.
It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.
I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.
I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.
That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.
There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
Digging by Seamus Heaney
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats
I whispered, 'I am too young,'
And then, 'I am old enough';
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
'Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.'
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.
The Broken Heart by William Barnes
News o' grief had overteaken
Dark-eyed Fanny, now vorseaken;
There she zot, wi' breast a-heaven,
While vrom zide to zide, wi' grieven,
Vell her head, wi' tears a-creepen
Down her cheaks, in bitter weepen.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An' there wer still the hans that tied it
Hangen white,
Or wringen tight,
In ceare that drowned all ceare bezide it.
When a man, wi' heartless slighten,
Mid become a maiden's blighten,
He mid cearelessly vorseake her,
But must answer to her Meaker;
He mid slight, wi' selfish blindness,
All her deeds o' loven-kindness,
God wull waigh 'em wi' the slighten
That mid be her love's requiten;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o' woe
Do break the heart ov ev'ry griever.
An Evening by Gwendolyn Brooks
A sunset's mounded cloud;
A diamond evening-star;
Sad blue hills afar;
Love in his shroud.
Scarcely a tear to shed;
Hardly a word to say;
The end of a summer day;
Sweet Love dead.
A Life by Sylvia Plath
Unfortunately this poem has been removed from our archives at the insistence of the copyright holder.
As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed by Jack Prelutsky
As soon as Fred gets out of bed,
his underwear goes on his head.
His mother laughs, "Don't put it there,
a head's no place for underwear!"
But near his ears, above his brains,
is where Fred's underwear remains.
At night when Fred goes back to bed,
he deftly plucks it off his head.
His mother switches off the light
and softly croons, "Good night! Good night!"
And then, for reasons no one knows,
Fred's underwear goes on his toes.
I Am Not Yours by Sara Teasdale
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
And The Moon And The Stars And The World by Charles Bukowski
Long walks at night--
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.
America by Allen Ginsberg
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January
17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I
need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not
the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back
it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical
joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday
somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses
in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle
Max after he came over from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by
Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner
candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Business-
men are serious. Movie producers are serious.
Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of
marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable
private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour
and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of
underprivileged who live in my flowerpots
under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers
is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that
I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly
mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as
individual as his automobiles more so they're
all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500
down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Com-
munist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a
handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and
sentimental about the workers it was all so sin-
cere you have no idea what a good thing the
party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand
old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me
cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody
must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen.
And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power
mad. She wants to take our cars from out our
garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers'
Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.
Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
tions.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read.
Him need big black niggers. Hah. Her make us
all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in
the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes
in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and
psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Berkeley, January 17, 1956
Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
All the World's a Stage by William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
A Poison Tree by William Blake
I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.
Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face by Jack Prelutsky
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.
But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.
But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
Fast rode the knight by Stephen Crane
Fast rode the knight
With spurs, hot and reeking,
Ever waving an eager sword,
"To save my lady!"
Fast rode the knIght,
And leaped from saddle to war.
Men of steel flickered and gleamed
Like riot of silver lights,
And the gold of the knight's good banner
Still waved on a castle wall.
. . . . .
A horse,
Blowing, staggering, bloody thing,
Forgotten at foot of castle wall.
A horse
Dead at foot of castle wall.
Happiness by Raymond Carver
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
a pretty a day by E. E. Cummings
a pretty a day
(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maids
to flower an hour
in all,all)
o yes to flower
until so blithe
a doer a wooer
some limber and lithe
some very fine mower
a tall;tall
some jerry so very
(and nellie and fan)
some handsomest harry
(and sally and nan
they tremble and cower
so pale:pale)
for betty was born
to never say nay
but lucy could learn
and lily could pray
and fewer were shyer
than doll. doll
Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
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