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Born Aug 2017
Poem. Call me poetry
Debbie Jean Embrey  ***! how those words spoke to me! Very well done! I love the part about calling you 'Messenger.' Keep inking! :)

Poem. She's said II
Terry Jordan  Amazing piece, esp. "It is for us to wash away our painful confusion with tears...." I'm sending a sympathy card today to the mother of a former student of mine, so this really speaks to that most terrible loss that we have no word for it. TFS, Born

Poem. I won't forget that you liked my poetry
Mary-Elizabeth Cotton  Beautiful write! I especially love the lines "When I could barely form words,/that would impress my shadow."


Poem. I'm Born
Pradip Chattopadhyay  your words are fabulous

Poem. Hi(gh)
Kim Johanna  Baker  Great write Born...I must say, you are a great writer and enjoy very much your pieces...this is raw and gets the message across.. tyfs... kimx

Poem. If I told you my story
Law lith iminika Reading this was like observing a preview to a movie, but I didn't pay for it, instead showed up willingly. And I'm hungry for knowledge and inspiration because I was refused popcorn

Poem. Thank you Pamela Rae
Pamela Rae  Please know that you have such talent and your words not only touch me, but so many here--keep writing, expressing and touching our souls, dear Born. You are a gift to this world and deserve to find your way, to embrace peace and tranquility and it will come. Will be sending along good vibes, thoughts for peace and happiness and Room to breathe with ease... (((hugs)))

Poem. Hello poetry
Wolf spirit Wow ..is this a poem . Because Id rather read this than delve on eloquent flattery of wistful words . Honesty expressed with such brevity is still the best policy .


Poem. When my heart pounds a little bit more
Modern Serenity  very well executed! truly deserves to be the poem for atleast a week. freaking fantastic poem. well done. honestly totally jealous of your poem its truly amazing and well said.


Poem. Shantel
---  Superbly penned, echoes of the great Pablo Neruda

Poem. Here we are
K Balachandran  so peaceful and meditative
yet passion filled love and life
chiseled and beautiful...without hiding truth
you have eyes full of love and light
exquisite..
Bala

Poem. Virgo 
Star BG  And..... open gateway to healing the soul.you are such a master with words. Thank you

Poem. Dusty coin
Pax  there will always be hope, even just a spark, or one candle, it can do many things in the dark..

Poem. My deepest sympathies
South by Southwest  There are answers to every question you pose . Only by a lifetime of searching will you find them .

Poem. Muse dear daughter
Sylvia Frances Chan  A most divine poem, loving and caring words. I have enjoyed this poem very much. God's Blessings be upon thee. Thank you for sharing this divine piece.

Poem. Leonard Cohen
Lazhar Bouazzi  Ah! Wonderful poem about one of my favorite poets/composers/singers of all time! Thank you for sharing

Poem. This poem III
Wyatt  Such a harsh, blunt piece. It hit me right in the gut! Congrats on the daily!

Poem. I won't forget that you liked my poem
patty m  Comments are a wonderful gift. I love your poem and the emotions that surface you are truly gifted.
hugs

Sally A Bayan  So much truth in your wondeful, touching words, Born..
I keep coming back to this poem...just had to repost.
Thank you for sharing

Poem. Juliet
Jamie King  I like the flow here the transition from one imagery to the imagery while maintaining the same flow requires a certain degree of finesse. Excellently executed piece

Poem. Un(real) istic
Botan  A high tech emotional intelegence will take over while humans express thier feelings by emoji. good writing
Poem. Poetic flavor
SøułSurvivør An awesome tribute! You're one of the poets I would elect for showing the most growth of any on this site. My heart twinkle with happiness, TOO! Thanks for your heart, Born! ☆♡☆

Lori Jones McCaffery  You make exquisite use of the words you have captured, Born. Keep thirsting. Love

SøułSurvivør Awe! I'm so glad to encourage you... you have such a powerful way with words. An innate talent. I count you as one of my best friends here. Be blessed!

Poem. 5 million am not just a number
Corvus  Wonderfully compassionate. It's so easy to be kind and sympathetic to those on your doorstep. Those further away but in even greater need are often ignored. Brilliant write.
The most important part of posting a poem is the response you get, I'd love to appreciate every single one of  you for the words you offered. For those who didn't make the list, I still appreciate you.

This poem is coming from an emotional place, for the longest time I never believed in myself. But now I do, thanks a lot
A PLAY


BY



ALEXANDER   K   OPICHO









THE CASTE
1. Chenje – Old man, father of Namugugu
2. Namugugu – Son of Chenje
3. Nanyuli – daughter of Lusaaka
4. Lusaaka – Old man, father of Nanyuli
5. Kulecho – wife of Lusaaka
6. Kuloba – wife of Chenje
7. Paulina – Old woman, neighbour to Chenje.
8. Child I, II and III – Nanyuli’s children
9. Policeman I, II and III
10. Mourners
11. Wangwe – a widowed village pastor

















ACTING HISTORY
This play was acted two times, on 25th and 26th December 2004 at Bokoli Roman Catholic Church, in Bokoli sub- location of Bungoma County in the western province of Kenya. The persons who acted and their respective roles are as below;

Wenani Kilong –stage director
Alexander k Opicho – Namugugu
Judith Sipapali Mutivoko- Nanyuli
Saul Sampaza Mazika Khayongo- Wangwe
Paul Lenin Maondo- Lusaaka
Peter Wajilontelela-  Chenje
Agnes Injila -  Kulecho
Beverline Kilobi- Paulina
Milka Molola Kitayi- Kuloba
Then mourners, children and police men changed roles often. This play was successfully stage performed and stunned the community audience to the helm.













PLOT
Language use in this play is not based on Standard English grammar, but is flexed to mirror social behaviour and actual life as well as assumptions of the people of Bokoli village in Bungoma district now Bungoma County in Western province of Kenya.

























ACT ONE
Scene One

This scene is set in Bokoli village of Western Kenya. In Chenje’s peasant hut, the mood is sombre. Chenje is busy thrashing lice from his old long trouser Kuloba, sitting on a short stool looking on.

Chenje: (thrashing a louse) these things are stubborn! The lice. You **** all of them today, and then tomorrow they are all-over. I hate them.
Kuloba: (sending out a cloud of smoke through her tobacco laden pipe). Nowadays I am tired. I have left them to do to me whatever they want (coughs) I killed them they were all over in my skirt.
Chenje: (looking straight at Kuloba) Do you know that they are significant?
Kuloba: What do they signify?
Chenje: Death
Kuloba: Now, who will die in this home? I have only one son. Let them stop their menace.
Chenje: I remember in 1968, two months that preceded my father’s death, they were all over. The lice were in every of my piece of clothes. Even the hat, handkerchief. I tell you what not!
Kuloba: (nodding), Yaa! I remember it very well my mzee, I had been married for about two years by then.
Chenje: Was it two years?
Kuloba: (assuringly) yes, (spots a cockroach on the floor goes at it and crushes it with her finger, then coughs with heavy sound) we had stayed together in a marriage for two years. That was when people had began back-biting me that I was barren. We did not have a child. We even also had the jiggers. I can still remember.
Chenje: Exactly (crashes a louse with his finger) we also had jiggers on our feet.
Kuloba: The jiggers are very troublesome. Even more than the lice and weevils.  
Chenje: But, the lice and jiggers, whenever they infest one’s home, they usually signify impending death of a family member.
Kuloba: Let them fail in Christ’s name. Because no one is ripe for death in this home. I have lost my five children. I only have one child. My son Namugugu – death let it fail. My son has to grow and have a family also like children of other people in this village. Let whoever that is practicing evil machinations against my family, my only child fail.
Chenje: (putting on the long-trouser from which he had been crushing lice) let others remain; I will **** them another time.
Kuloba: You will never finish them (giggles)
Chenje: You have reminded me, where is Namugugu today? I have not seen him.
Kuloba: He was here some while ago.
Chenje: (spitting out through an open window) He has become of an age. He is supposed to get married so that he can bear grand children for me. Had I the grand children they could even assist me to **** lice from my clothes. (Enters Namugugu) Come in boy, I want to talk to you.
Kuloba: (jokingly) you better give someone food, or anything to fill the stomach before you engages him in a talk.
Namugugu: (looks, at both Chenje and Kuloba, searchingly then goes for a chair next to him)
Mama! I am very hungry if you talk of feeding me, I really get thrilled (sits at a fold-chair, it breaks sending him down in a sprawl).
Kuloba: (exclaims) wooo! Sorry my son. This chair wants to **** (helps him up)
Namugugu: (waving his bleeding hand as he gets up) it has injured my hand. Too bad!
Chenje: (looking on) Sorry! Dress your finger with a piece of old clothes, to stop that blood oozing out.
Namugugu: (writhing in pain) No it was not a deep cut. It will soon stop bleeding even without a piece of rag.
Kuloba: (to Namugugu) let it be so. (Stands) let me go to my sweet potato field. There are some vivies, I have not harvested, I can get there some roots for our lunch (exits)
Chenje: (to Namugugu) my son even if you have injured your finger, but that will not prevent me from telling you what I am supposed to.
Namugugu: (with attention) yes.
Chenje: (pointing) sit to this other chair, it is safer than that one of yours.
Namugugu: (changing the chair) Thank you.
Chenje: You are now a big person. You are no longer an infant. I want you to come up with your own home. Look for a girl to marry. Don’t wait to grow more than here. The two years you have been in Nairobi, were really wasted. You could have been married, may you would now be having my two grand sons as per today.
Namugugu: Father I don’t refuse. But how can I marry and start up a family in a situation of extreme poverty? Do you want me to start a family with even nothing to eat?
Chenje: My son, you will be safer when you are a married beggar than a wife- less rich-man. No one is more exposed as a man without a wife.
Namugugu: (looking down) father it is true but not realistic.
Chenje: How?
Namugugu: All women tend to flock after a rich man.
Chenje: (laughs) my son, may be you don’t know. Let me tell you. One time you will remember, maybe I will be already dead by then. Look here, all riches flock after married men, all powers of darkness flock after married men and even all poverty flock after married. So, it is just a matter of living your life.
(Curtains)
SCENE TWO

Around Chenje’s hut, Kuloba and Namugugu are inside the hut; Chenje is out under the eaves. He is dropping at them.
Namugugu: Mama! Papa wants to drive wind of sadness permanently into my sail of life. He is always pressurizing me to get married at such a time when I totally have nothing. No food, no house no everything. Mama let me actually ask you; is it possible to get married in such a situation?
Kuloba: (Looking out if there is any one, but did not spot the eaves-dropping Chenje).
Forget. Marriage is not a Whiff of aroma. My son, try marriage in poverty and you will see.
Namugugu: (Emotionally) Now, if Papa knows that I will not have a happy married life, in such a situation, where I don’t have anything to support myself; then why is he singing for my marriage?
Kuloba: (gesticulating) He wants to mess you up the way he messed me up. He married me into his poverty. I have wasted away a whole of my life in his poverty. I regret. You! (Pointing) my son, never make a mistake of neither repeating nor replicating poverty of this home into your future through blind marriage.
Namugugu: (Approvingly) yes Mama, I get you.

Kuloba: (Assertively) moreover, you are the only offspring of my womb             (touching her stomach) I have never eaten anything from you. You have never bought me anything even a headscarf alone. Now, if you start with a wife will I ever benefit anything from you?
Namugugu: (looking agog) indeed Mama.
Kuloba: (commandingly) don’t marry! Women are very many. You can marry at any age, any time or even any place. But it is very good to remember child-price paid by your mother in bringing you up. As a man my son, you have to put it before all other things in your life.
Namugugu: (in an affirmative feat) yes Mama.
Kuloba: It is not easy to bring up a child up to an age when in poverty. As a mother you really suffer. I’ve suffered indeed to bring you up. Your father has never been able to put food on the table. It has been my burden through out. So my son, pleased before you go for women remember that!
Namugugu: Yes Mama, I will.
(Enters Chenje)
Chenje: (to Kuloba) you old wizard headed woman! Why do you want to put    my home to a full stop?
Kuloba: (shy) why? You mean you were not away? (Goes out behaving shyly)

Chenje: (in anger to Namugugu) you must become a man! Why do you give your ears to such toxic conversations? Your mother is wrong. Whatever she has told you today is pure lies. It is her laziness that made her poor. She is very wrong to festoon me in any blame…. I want you to think excellently as a man now. Avoid her tricky influence and get married. I have told you finally and I will never repeat telling you again.

Namugugu: (in a feat of shyness) But Papa, you are just exploding for no good reason, Mama has told me nothing bad……………………
Chenje: (Awfully) shut up! You old ox. Remove your ears from poisonous mouths of old women!
(Enters Nanyuli with an old green paper bag in her hand. Its contents were bulging).
Nanyuli: (knocking) Hodii! Hodii!
Chenje: (calmly) come in my daughter! Come in.
Nanyuli: (entering) thank you.
Chenje: (to Namugugu) give the chair to our visitor.
Namugugu: (shyly, paving Nanyuli to sit) Karibu, have a sit please.
Nanyuli: (swinging girlishly) I will not sit me I am in a hurry.
Chenje: (to Nanyuli) just sit for a little moment my daughter. Kindly sit.
Nanyuli: (sitting, putting a paper-bag on her laps) where is the grandmother who is usually in this house?
Chenje: Who?
Nanyuli: Kuloba, the old grandmother.
Namugugu: She has just briefly gone out.
Chenje: (to Nanyuli) she has gone to the potato field and Cassava field to look for some roots for our lunch.
Nanyuli: Hmm. She will get.
Chenje: Yes, it is also our prayer. Because we’re very hungry.
Nanyuli: I am sure she will get.
Chenje: (to Nanyuli) excuse me my daughter; tell me who your father is?
Nanyuli: (shyly) you mean you don’t know me? And me I know you.
Chenje: Yes I don’t know you. Also my eyes have grown old, unless you remind
me, I may not easily know you.
Nanyuli: I am Lusaaka’s daughter
Chenje: Eh! Which Lusaka? The one with a brown wife? I don’t know… her name is Kulecho?
Nanyuli: Yes
Chenje: That brown old-mother is your mother?
Nanyuli: Yes, she is my mother. I am her first – born.
Chenje: Ooh! This is good (goes forward to greet her) shake my fore-limb my
daughter.

Nanyuli: (shaking Chenje’s hand) Thank you.
Chenje: I don’t know if your father has ever told you. I was circumcised the same year with your grand-gather. In fact we were cut by the same knife. I mean we shared the same circumciser.
Nanyuli: No, he has not yet. You know he is always at school. He never stays at home.
Chenje: That is true. I know him, he teaches at our mission primary school at Bokoli market.
Nanyuli: Yes.
Chenje: What is your name my daughter?
Nanyuli: My name is Loisy Nanyuli Lusaaka.
Chenje: Very good. They are pretty names. Loisy is a Catholic baptismal name, Nanyuli is our Bukusu tribal name meaning wife of an iron-smith and Lusaaka is your father’s name.
Nanyuli: (laughs) But I am not a Catholic. We used to go to Catholic Church upto last year December. But we are now born again, saved children of God. Fellowshipping with the Church of Holy Mountain of Jesus christ. It is at Bokoli market.
Chenje: Good, my daughter, in fact when I will happen to meet with your father, or even your mother the brown lady, I will comment them for having brought you up under the arm of God.
Nanyuli: Thank you; or even you can as well come to our home one day.
Chenje: (laughs) actually, I will come.
Nanyuli: Now, I want to go
Chenje: But you have not stayed for long. Let us talk a little more my daughter.
Nanyuli: No, I will not. I had just brought some tea leaves for Kuloba the old grandmother.
Chenje: Ooh! Who gave you the tea leaves?
Nanyuli: I do hawk tea leaves door to door. I met her last time and she requested me to bring her some. So I want to give them to you (pointing at Namugugu) so that you can give them to her when she comes.
Namugugu: No problem. I will.
Nanyuli: (takes out a tumbler from the paper bag, fills the tumbler twice, pours the tea leaves  into an old piece of  newspaper, folds and gives  it to Namugugu) you will give them to grandmother, Kuloba.
Namugugu: (taking) thank you.
Chenje: My daughter, how much is a tumbler full of tea leaves, I mean when it is full?
Nanyuli: Ten shillings of Kenya
Chenje: My daughter, your price is good. Not like others.
Nanyuli: Thank you.
Namugugu: (To Nanyuli) What about money, she gave you already?
Nanyuli: No, but tell her that any day I may come for it.
Namugugu: Ok, I will not forget to tell her
Nanyuli: I am thankful. Let me go, we shall meet another day.
Chenje: Yes my daughter, pass my regards to your father.
Nanyuli: Yes I will (goes out)
Chenje: (Biting his finger) I wish I was a boy. Such a good woman would never slip through my fingers.
Chenje: But father she is already a tea leaves vendor!
(CURTAINS)


SCENE THREE
Nanyuli and Kulecho in a common room Nanyuli and Kulecho are standing at the table, Nanyuli is often suspecting a blow from Kulecho, counting coins from sale of tea leaves; Lusaaka is sited at couch taking a coffee from a ceramic red kettle.


Kulecho: (to Nanyuli) these monies are not balancing with your stock. It is like you have sold more tea leaves but you have less money. This is only seventy five shillings. When it is supposed to be one hundred and fifty. Because you sold fifteen tumblers you are only left with five tumblers.
Nanyuli: (Fidgeting) this is the whole money I have, everything I collected from sales is here.
Kulecho: (heatedly) be serious, you stupid woman! How can you sell everything and am not seeing any money?
Nanyuli: Mama, this is the whole money I have, I have not taken your money anywhere.
Kulecho: You have not taken the money anywhere! Then where is it? Do you know that I am going to slap you!
Nanyuli: (shaking) forgive me Mama
Kulecho: Then speak the truth before you are forgiven. Where is the money you collected from tea leaves sales?
Nanyuli: (in a feat of shyness) some I bought a short trouser for my child.
Kulecho: (very violent) after whose permission? You old cow, after whose permission (slaps Nanyuli with her whole mighty) Talk out!
Nanyuli: (Sobbingly) forgive me mother, I thought you would understand. That is why I bought a trouser for my son with your money!
Lusaaka: (shouting a cup of coffee in his hand, standing charged) teach her a lesson, slap her again!
Kulecho (slaps, Nanyuli continuously, some times ******* her cheeks, as Nanyuli wails) Give me my money! Give me my money! Give me my money! Give me my money! You lousy, irresponsible Con-woman (clicks)
Lusaaka: Are you tired, kick the *** out of that woman (inveighs a slap towards Nanyuli) I can slap you!
Nanyuli: (kneeling, bowedly, carrying up her hands) forgive me father, I will never repeat that mistake again (sobs)
Lusaaka: An in-corrigible, ****!
Kulecho: (to Nanyuli) You! Useless heap of human flesh. I very much regret to have sired a sell-out of your type. It is very painful for you to be a first offspring of my womb.
I curse my womb because of you. You have ever betrayed me. I took you to school you were never thankful, instead you became pregnant. You were fertilized in the bush by peasant boys.
You have given birth to three childlings, from three different fathers! You do it in my home. What a shame! Your father is a teacher, how have you made him a laughing stock among his colleagues, teachers? I have become sympathetic to you by putting you into business. I have given you tea leaves to sell. A very noble occupation for a wretch like you. You only go out sell tea leaves and put the money in your wolfish stomach. Nanyuli! Why do you always act like this?
Nanyuli: (sobbing) Forgive me mother. Some tea leaves I sold on credit. I will come with the money today?
Kulecho: You sold on credit?
Nanyuli: Yes
Kul
this is a manuscript of a play, please guys help me get any publisher who can do publishing of this play
i  will appreciate. thanks
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
     Hesperus entreats thy light,
     Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear when day did close:
Bless us then with wishèd sight,
Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal-shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever;
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.
abecedarian Sep 2017
he said/begged,
make love to me just like a woman!

kiss me toe to head, linger on my neck,
trace my waist, begin at my lips, pause at my hips,
quibbles intersperse, quips and licks on eyelids,
nibble me, near me, close and closer yet
unto the glorious victorious near death experience...

whisper me sweet everythings
before during after and over again,
when you must pause to exhale, blow all their warmth
upon thy fingers and bring that warmth inside

Columbus
me with tongue and eyes,
take me slow then again,
even slower, for thy pleasure,
than execute summary judgement upon me

falsely accept, then deny, deny, deny
my every appeal to
oh my god
for anyone's mercy!

adjudge me then guilty yet again,
and to the tower take me
to drown in mine own lashing lamentations,
thy incontrovertible evidence,
mine own uncensored revelations
execute me twice,
slowly, goodly with lengthy and lovely measures


she said,  and so I shall, eventually,
do what you beseech, what you most excellently seek

but you may recall, somewhat earlier, I called out
shotgun
so you must start my dear by following
all the precise driving instructions you just stated,
and bring your GPS^, and, oh yes,
I'm waiting...


too wit and sod this!
he gruffingly huffingly, hurrumphingly, replied,
all hell and damnation,
treat me like a woman just once pity-please!"

can't can't can't -
she be-witchingly cackled!

then sang to me the lyrical words of a
Nobel Prize winner!

"
You fake just like a woman
Yes you do, you make love like a woman
Yes you do, and then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little boy
"
^GPS is a permanently attached male guidance system.
The P does nots stand for Positioning.
And Ulysses answered, “King Alcinous, it is a good thing to hear a
bard with such a divine voice as this man has. There is nothing better
or more delightful than when a whole people make merry together,
with the guests sitting orderly to listen, while the table is loaded
with bread and meats, and the cup-bearer draws wine and fills his
cup for every man. This is indeed as fair a sight as a man can see.
Now, however, since you are inclined to ask the story of my sorrows,
and rekindle my own sad memories in respect of them, I do not know how
to begin, nor yet how to continue and conclude my tale, for the hand
of heaven has been laid heavily upon me.
  “Firstly, then, I will tell you my name that you too may know it,
and one day, if I outlive this time of sorrow, may become my there
guests though I live so far away from all of you. I am Ulysses son
of Laertes, reknowned among mankind for all manner of subtlety, so
that my fame ascends to heaven. I live in Ithaca, where there is a
high mountain called Neritum, covered with forests; and not far from
it there is a group of islands very near to one another—Dulichium,
Same, and the wooded island of Zacynthus. It lies squat on the
horizon, all highest up in the sea towards the sunset, while the
others lie away from it towards dawn. It is a rugged island, but it
breeds brave men, and my eyes know none that they better love to
look upon. The goddess Calypso kept me with her in her cave, and
wanted me to marry her, as did also the cunning Aeaean goddess
Circe; but they could neither of them persuade me, for there is
nothing dearer to a man than his own country and his parents, and
however splendid a home he may have in a foreign country, if it be far
from father or mother, he does not care about it. Now, however, I will
tell you of the many hazardous adventures which by Jove’s will I met
with on my return from Troy.
  “When I had set sail thence the wind took me first to Ismarus, which
is the city of the Cicons. There I sacked the town and put the
people to the sword. We took their wives and also much *****, which we
divided equitably amongst us, so that none might have reason to
complain. I then said that we had better make off at once, but my
men very foolishly would not obey me, so they stayed there drinking
much wine and killing great numbers of sheep and oxen on the sea
shore. Meanwhile the Cicons cried out for help to other Cicons who
lived inland. These were more in number, and stronger, and they were
more skilled in the art of war, for they could fight, either from
chariots or on foot as the occasion served; in the morning, therefore,
they came as thick as leaves and bloom in summer, and the hand of
heaven was against us, so that we were hard pressed. They set the
battle in array near the ships, and the hosts aimed their
bronze-shod spears at one another. So long as the day waxed and it was
still morning, we held our own against them, though they were more
in number than we; but as the sun went down, towards the time when men
loose their oxen, the Cicons got the better of us, and we lost half
a dozen men from every ship we had; so we got away with those that
were left.
  “Thence we sailed onward with sorrow in our hearts, but glad to have
escaped death though we had lost our comrades, nor did we leave till
we had thrice invoked each one of the poor fellows who had perished by
the hands of the Cicons. Then Jove raised the North wind against us
till it blew a hurricane, so that land and sky were hidden in thick
clouds, and night sprang forth out of the heavens. We let the ships
run before the gale, but the force of the wind tore our sails to
tatters, so we took them down for fear of shipwreck, and rowed our
hardest towards the land. There we lay two days and two nights
suffering much alike from toil and distress of mind, but on the
morning of the third day we again raised our masts, set sail, and took
our places, letting the wind and steersmen direct our ship. I should
have got home at that time unharmed had not the North wind and the
currents been against me as I was doubling Cape Malea, and set me
off my course hard by the island of Cythera.
  “I was driven thence by foul winds for a space of nine days upon the
sea, but on the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus-eater,
who live on a food that comes from a kind of flower. Here we landed to
take in fresh water, and our crews got their mid-day meal on the shore
near the ships. When they had eaten and drunk I sent two of my company
to see what manner of men the people of the place might be, and they
had a third man under them. They started at once, and went about among
the Lotus-eaters, who did them no hurt, but gave them to eat of the
lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it left off caring
about home, and did not even want to go back and say what had happened
to them, but were for staying and munching lotus with the
Lotus-eater without thinking further of their return; nevertheless,
though they wept bitterly I forced them back to the ships and made
them fast under the benches. Then I told the rest to go on board at
once, lest any of them should taste of the lotus and leave off wanting
to get home, so they took their places and smote the grey sea with
their oars.
  “We sailed hence, always in much distress, till we came to the
land of the lawless and inhuman Cyclopes. Now the Cyclopes neither
plant nor plough, but trust in providence, and live on such wheat,
barley, and grapes as grow wild without any kind of tillage, and their
wild grapes yield them wine as the sun and the rain may grow them.
They have no laws nor assemblies of the people, but live in caves on
the tops of high mountains; each is lord and master in his family, and
they take no account of their neighbours.
  “Now off their harbour there lies a wooded and fertile island not
quite close to the land of the Cyclopes, but still not far. It is
overrun with wild goats, that breed there in great numbers and are
never disturbed by foot of man; for sportsmen—who as a rule will
suffer so much hardship in forest or among mountain precipices—do not
go there, nor yet again is it ever ploughed or fed down, but it lies a
wilderness untilled and unsown from year to year, and has no living
thing upon it but only goats. For the Cyclopes have no ships, nor
yet shipwrights who could make ships for them; they cannot therefore
go from city to city, or sail over the sea to one another’s country as
people who have ships can do; if they had had these they would have
colonized the island, for it is a very good one, and would yield
everything in due season. There are meadows that in some places come
right down to the sea shore, well watered and full of luscious
grass; grapes would do there excellently; there is level land for
ploughing, and it would always yield heavily at harvest time, for
the soil is deep. There is a good harbour where no cables are
wanted, nor yet anchors, nor need a ship be moored, but all one has to
do is to beach one’s vessel and stay there till the wind becomes
fair for putting out to sea again. At the head of the harbour there is
a spring of clear water coming out of a cave, and there are poplars
growing all round it.
  “Here we entered, but so dark was the night that some god must
have brought us in, for there was nothing whatever to be seen. A thick
mist hung all round our ships; the moon was hidden behind a mass of
clouds so that no one could have seen the island if he had looked
for it, nor were there any breakers to tell us we were close in
shore before we found ourselves upon the land itself; when, however,
we had beached the ships, we took down the sails, went ashore and
camped upon the beach till daybreak.
  “When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, we admired
the island and wandered all over it, while the nymphs Jove’s daughters
roused the wild goats that we might get some meat for our dinner. On
this we fetched our spears and bows and arrows from the ships, and
dividing ourselves into three bands began to shoot the goats. Heaven
sent us excellent sport; I had twelve ships with me, and each ship got
nine goats, while my own ship had ten; thus through the livelong day
to the going down of the sun we ate and drank our fill,—and we had
plenty of wine left, for each one of us had taken many jars full
when we sacked the city of the Cicons, and this had not yet run out.
While we were feasting we kept turning our eyes towards the land of
the Cyclopes, which was hard by, and saw the smoke of their stubble
fires. We could almost fancy we heard their voices and the bleating of
their sheep and goats, but when the sun went down and it came on dark,
we camped down upon the beach, and next morning I called a council.
  “‘Stay here, my brave fellows,’ said I, ‘all the rest of you,
while I go with my ship and exploit these people myself: I want to see
if they are uncivilized savages, or a hospitable and humane race.’
  “I went on board, bidding my men to do so also and loose the
hawsers; so they took their places and smote the grey sea with their
oars. When we got to the land, which was not far, there, on the face
of a cliff near the sea, we saw a great cave overhung with laurels. It
was a station for a great many sheep and goats, and outside there
was a large yard, with a high wall round it made of stones built
into the ground and of trees both pine and oak. This was the abode
of a huge monster who was then away from home shepherding his
flocks. He would have nothing to do with other people, but led the
life of an outlaw. He was a horrid creature, not like a human being at
all, but resembling rather some crag that stands out boldly against
the sky on the top of a high mountain.
  “I told my men to draw the ship ashore, and stay where they were,
all but the twelve best among them, who were to go along with
myself. I also took a goatskin of sweet black wine which had been
given me by Maron, Apollo son of Euanthes, who was priest of Apollo
the patron god of Ismarus, and lived within the wooded precincts of
the temple. When we were sacking the city we respected him, and spared
his life, as also his wife and child; so he made me some presents of
great value—seven talents of fine gold, and a bowl of silver, with
twelve jars of sweet wine, unblended, and of the most exquisite
flavour. Not a man nor maid in the house knew about it, but only
himself, his wife, and one housekeeper: when he drank it he mixed
twenty parts of water to one of wine, and yet the fragrance from the
mixing-bowl was so exquisite that it was impossible to refrain from
drinking. I filled a large skin with this wine, and took a wallet full
of provisions with me, for my mind misgave me that I might have to
deal with some savage who would be of great strength, and would
respect neither right nor law.
  “We soon reached his cave, but he was out shepherding, so we went
inside and took stock of all that we could see. His cheese-racks
were loaded with cheeses, and he had more lambs and kids than his pens
could hold. They were kept in separate flocks; first there were the
hoggets, then the oldest of the younger lambs and lastly the very
young ones all kept apart from one another; as for his dairy, all
the vessels, bowls, and milk pails into which he milked, were swimming
with whey. When they saw all this, my men begged me to let them
first steal some cheeses, and make off with them to the ship; they
would then return, drive down the lambs and kids, put them on board
and sail away with them. It would have been indeed better if we had
done so but I would not listen to them, for I wanted to see the
owner himself, in the hope that he might give me a present. When,
however, we saw him my poor men found him ill to deal with.
  “We lit a fire, offered some of the cheeses in sacrifice, ate others
of them, and then sat waiting till the Cyclops should come in with his
sheep. When he came, he brought in with him a huge load of dry
firewood to light the fire for his supper, and this he flung with such
a noise on to the floor of his cave that we hid ourselves for fear
at the far end of the cavern. Meanwhile he drove all the ewes
inside, as well as the she-goats that he was going to milk, leaving
the males, both rams and he-goats, outside in the yards. Then he
rolled a huge stone to the mouth of the cave—so huge that two and
twenty strong four-wheeled waggons would not be enough to draw it from
its place against the doorway. When he had so done he sat down and
milked his ewes and goats, all in due course, and then let each of
them have her own young. He curdled half the milk and set it aside
in wicker strainers, but the other half he poured into bowls that he
might drink it for his supper. When he had got through with all his
work, he lit the fire, and then caught sight of us, whereon he said:
  “‘Strangers, who are you? Where do sail from? Are you traders, or do
you sail the as rovers, with your hands against every man, and every
man’s hand against you?’
  “We were frightened out of our senses by his loud voice and
monstrous form, but I managed to say, ‘We are Achaeans on our way home
from Troy, but by the will of Jove, and stress of weather, we have
been driven far out of our course. We are the people of Agamemnon, son
of Atreus, who has won infinite renown throughout the whole world,
by sacking so great a city and killing so many people. We therefore
humbly pray you to show us some hospitality, and otherwise make us
such presents as visitors may reasonably expect. May your excellency
fear the wrath of heaven, for we are your suppliants, and Jove takes
all respectable travellers under his protection, for he is the avenger
of all suppliants and foreigners in distress.’
  “To this he gave me but a pitiless answer, ‘Stranger,’ said he, ‘you
are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me,
indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? We Cyclopes do
not care about Jove or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so
much stronger than they. I shall not spare either yourself or your
companions out of any regard for Jove, unless I am in the humour for
doing so. And now tell me where you made your ship fast when you
came on shore. Was it round the point, or is she lying straight off
the land?’
  “He said this to draw me out, but I was too cunning to be caught
in that way, so I answered with a lie; ‘Neptune,’ said I, ’sent my
ship on to the rocks at the far end of your country, and wrecked it.
We were driven on to them from the open sea, but I and those who are
with me escaped the jaws of death.’
  “The cruel wretch vouchsafed me not one word of answer, but with a
sudden clutch he gripped up two of my men at once and dashed them down
upon the ground as though they had been puppies. Their brains were
shed upon the ground, and the earth was wet with their blood. Then
he tore them limb from limb and supped upon them. He gobbled them up
like a lion in the wilderness, flesh, bones, marrow, and entrails,
without leaving anything uneaten. As for us, we wept and lifted up our
hands to heaven on seeing such a horrid sight, for we did not know
what else to do; but when the Cyclops had filled his huge paunch,
and had washed down his meal of human flesh with a drink of neat milk,
he stretched himself full length upon the ground among his sheep,
and went to sleep. I was at first inclined to seize my sword, draw it,
and drive it into his vitals, but I reflected that if I did we
should all certainly be lost, for we should never be able to shift the
stone which the monster had put in front of the door. So we stayed
sobbing and sighing where we were till morning came.
  “When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, he again
lit his fire, milked his goats and ewes, all quite rightly, and then
let each have her own young one; as soon as he had got through with
all his work, he clutched up two more of my men, and began eating them
for his morning’s meal. Presently, with the utmost ease, he rolled the
stone away from the door and drove out his sheep, but he at once put
it back again—as easily as though he were merely clapping the lid
on to a
And now, as Dawn rose from her couch beside Tithonus—harbinger of
light alike to mortals and immortals—the gods met in council and with
them, Jove the lord of thunder, who is their king. Thereon Minerva
began to tell them of the many sufferings of Ulysses, for she pitied
him away there in the house of the nymph Calypso.
  “Father Jove,” said she, “and all you other gods that live in
everlasting bliss, I hope there may never be such a thing as a kind
and well-disposed ruler any more, nor one who will govern equitably. I
hope they will be all henceforth cruel and unjust, for there is not
one of his subjects but has forgotten Ulysses, who ruled them as
though he were their father. There he is, lying in great pain in an
island where dwells the nymph Calypso, who will not let him go; and he
cannot get back to his own country, for he can find neither ships
nor sailors to take him over the sea. Furthermore, wicked people are
now trying to ****** his only son Telemachus, who is coming home
from Pylos and Lacedaemon, where he has been to see if he can get news
of his father.”
  “What, my dear, are you talking about?” replied her father, “did you
not send him there yourself, because you thought it would help Ulysses
to get home and punish the suitors? Besides, you are perfectly able to
protect Telemachus, and to see him safely home again, while the
suitors have to come hurry-skurrying back without having killed him.”
  When he had thus spoken, he said to his son Mercury, “Mercury, you
are our messenger, go therefore and tell Calypso we have decreed
that poor Ulysses is to return home. He is to be convoyed neither by
gods nor men, but after a perilous voyage of twenty days upon a raft
he is to reach fertile Scheria, the land of the Phaeacians, who are
near of kin to the gods, and will honour him as though he were one
of ourselves. They will send him in a ship to his own country, and
will give him more bronze and gold and raiment than he would have
brought back from Troy, if he had had had all his prize money and
had got home without disaster. This is how we have settled that he
shall return to his country and his friends.”
  Thus he spoke, and Mercury, guide and guardian, slayer of Argus, did
as he was told. Forthwith he bound on his glittering golden sandals
with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea. He took the
wand with which he seals men’s eyes in sleep or wakes them just as
he pleases, and flew holding it in his hand over Pieria; then he
swooped down through the firmament till he reached the level of the
sea, whose waves he skimmed like a cormorant that flies fishing
every hole and corner of the ocean, and drenching its thick plumage in
the spray. He flew and flew over many a weary wave, but when at last
he got to the island which was his journey’s end, he left the sea
and went on by land till he came to the cave where the nymph Calypso
lived.
  He found her at home. There was a large fire burning on the
hearth, and one could smell from far the fragrant reek of burning
cedar and sandal wood. As for herself, she was busy at her loom,
shooting her golden shuttle through the warp and singing
beautifully. Round her cave there was a thick wood of alder, poplar,
and sweet smelling cypress trees, wherein all kinds of great birds had
built their nests—owls, hawks, and chattering sea-crows that occupy
their business in the waters. A vine loaded with grapes was trained
and grew luxuriantly about the mouth of the cave; there were also four
running rills of water in channels cut pretty close together, and
turned hither and thither so as to irrigate the beds of violets and
luscious herbage over which they flowed. Even a god could not help
being charmed with such a lovely spot, so Mercury stood still and
looked at it; but when he had admired it sufficiently he went inside
the cave.
  Calypso knew him at once—for the gods all know each other, no
matter how far they live from one another—but Ulysses was not within;
he was on the sea-shore as usual, looking out upon the barren ocean
with tears in his eyes, groaning and breaking his heart for sorrow.
Calypso gave Mercury a seat and said: “Why have you come to see me,
Mercury—honoured, and ever welcome—for you do not visit me often?
Say what you want; I will do it for be you at once if I can, and if it
can be done at all; but come inside, and let me set refreshment before
you.
  As she spoke she drew a table loaded with ambrosia beside him and
mixed him some red nectar, so Mercury ate and drank till he had had
enough, and then said:
  “We are speaking god and goddess to one another, one another, and
you ask me why I have come here, and I will tell you truly as you
would have me do. Jove sent me; it was no doing of mine; who could
possibly want to come all this way over the sea where there are no
cities full of people to offer me sacrifices or choice hecatombs?
Nevertheless I had to come, for none of us other gods can cross
Jove, nor transgress his orders. He says that you have here the most
ill-starred of alf those who fought nine years before the city of King
Priam and sailed home in the tenth year after having sacked it. On
their way home they sinned against Minerva, who raised both wind and
waves against them, so that all his brave companions perished, and
he alone was carried hither by wind and tide. Jove says that you are
to let this by man go at once, for it is decreed that he shall not
perish here, far from his own people, but shall return to his house
and country and see his friends again.”
  Calypso trembled with rage when she heard this, “You gods,” she
exclaimed, to be ashamed of yourselves. You are always jealous and
hate seeing a goddess take a fancy to a mortal man, and live with
him in open matrimony. So when rosy-fingered Dawn made love to
Orion, you precious gods were all of you furious till Diana went and
killed him in Ortygia. So again when Ceres fell in love with Iasion,
and yielded to him in a thrice ploughed fallow field, Jove came to
hear of it before so long and killed Iasion with his thunder-bolts.
And now you are angry with me too because I have a man here. I found
the poor creature sitting all alone astride of a keel, for Jove had
struck his ship with lightning and sunk it in mid ocean, so that all
his crew were drowned, while he himself was driven by wind and waves
on to my island. I got fond of him and cherished him, and had set my
heart on making him immortal, so that he should never grow old all his
days; still I cannot cross Jove, nor bring his counsels to nothing;
therefore, if he insists upon it, let the man go beyond the seas
again; but I cannot send him anywhere myself for I have neither
ships nor men who can take him. Nevertheless I will readily give him
such advice, in all good faith, as will be likely to bring him
safely to his own country.”
  “Then send him away,” said Mercury, “or Jove will be angry with
you and punish you”‘
  On this he took his leave, and Calypso went out to look for Ulysses,
for she had heard Jove’s message. She found him sitting upon the beach
with his eyes ever filled with tears, and dying of sheer
home-sickness; for he had got tired of Calypso, and though he was
forced to sleep with her in the cave by night, it was she, not he,
that would have it so. As for the day time, he spent it on the rocks
and on the sea-shore, weeping, crying aloud for his despair, and
always looking out upon the sea. Calypso then went close up to him
said:
  “My poor fellow, you shall not stay here grieving and fretting
your life out any longer. I am going to send you away of my own free
will; so go, cut some beams of wood, and make yourself a large raft
with an upper deck that it may carry you safely over the sea. I will
put bread, wine, and water on board to save you from starving. I
will also give you clothes, and will send you a fair wind to take
you home, if the gods in heaven so will it—for they know more about
these things, and can settle them better than I can.”
  Ulysses shuddered as he heard her. “Now goddess,” he answered,
“there is something behind all this; you cannot be really meaning to
help me home when you bid me do such a dreadful thing as put to sea on
a raft. Not even a well-found ship with a fair wind could venture on
such a distant voyage: nothing that you can say or do shall mage me go
on board a raft unless you first solemnly swear that you mean me no
mischief.”
  Calypso smiled at this and caressed him with her hand: “You know a
great deal,” said she, “but you are quite wrong here. May heaven above
and earth below be my witnesses, with the waters of the river Styx-
and this is the most solemn oath which a blessed god can take—that
I mean you no sort of harm, and am only advising you to do exactly
what I should do myself in your place. I am dealing with you quite
straightforwardly; my heart is not made of iron, and I am very sorry
for you.”
  When she had thus spoken she led the way rapidly before him, and
Ulysses followed in her steps; so the pair, goddess and man, went on
and on till they came to Calypso’s cave, where Ulysses took the seat
that Mercury had just left. Calypso set meat and drink before him of
the food that mortals eat; but her maids brought ambrosia and nectar
for herself, and they laid their hands on the good things that were
before them. When they had satisfied themselves with meat and drink,
Calypso spoke, saying:
  “Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, so you would start home to your
own land at once? Good luck go with you, but if you could only know
how much suffering is in store for you before you get back to your own
country, you would stay where you are, keep house along with me, and
let me make you immortal, no matter how anxious you may be to see this
wife of yours, of whom you are thinking all the time day after day;
yet I flatter myself that at am no whit less tall or well-looking than
she is, for it is not to be expected that a mortal woman should
compare in beauty with an immortal.”
  “Goddess,” replied Ulysses, “do not be angry with me about this. I
am quite aware that my wife Penelope is nothing like so tall or so
beautiful as yourself. She is only a woman, whereas you are an
immortal. Nevertheless, I want to get home, and can think of nothing
else. If some god wrecks me when I am on the sea, I will bear it and
make the best of it. I have had infinite trouble both by land and
sea already, so let this go with the rest.”
  Presently the sun set and it became dark, whereon the pair retired
into the inner part of the cave and went to bed.
  When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, Ulysses put
on his shirt and cloak, while the goddess wore a dress of a light
gossamer fabric, very fine and graceful, with a beautiful golden
girdle about her waist and a veil to cover her head. She at once set
herself to think how she could speed Ulysses on his way. So she gave
him a great bronze axe that suited his hands; it was sharpened on both
sides, and had a beautiful olive-wood handle fitted firmly on to it.
She also gave him a sharp adze, and then led the way to the far end of
the island where the largest trees grew—alder, poplar and pine,
that reached the sky—very dry and well seasoned, so as to sail
light for him in the water. Then, when she had shown him where the
best trees grew, Calypso went home, leaving him to cut them, which
he soon finished doing. He cut down twenty trees in all and adzed them
smooth, squaring them by rule in good workmanlike fashion. Meanwhile
Calypso came back with some augers, so he bored holes with them and
fitted the timbers together with bolts and rivets. He made the raft as
broad as a skilled shipwright makes the beam of a large vessel, and he
filed a deck on top of the ribs, and ran a gunwale all round it. He
also made a mast with a yard arm, and a rudder to steer with. He
fenced the raft all round with wicker hurdles as a protection
against the waves, and then he threw on a quantity of wood. By and
by Calypso brought him some linen to make the sails, and he made these
too, excellently, making them fast with braces and sheets. Last of
all, with the help of levers, he drew the raft down into the water.
  In four days he had completed the whole work, and on the fifth
Calypso sent him from the island after washing him and giving him some
clean clothes. She gave him a goat skin full of black wine, and
another larger one of water; she also gave him a wallet full of
provisions, and found him in much good meat. Moreover, she made the
wind fair and warm for him, and gladly did Ulysses spread his sail
before it, while he sat and guided the raft skilfully by means of
the rudder. He never closed his eyes, but kept them fixed on the
Pleiads, on late-setting Bootes, and on the Bear—which men also
call the wain, and which turns round and round where it is, facing
Orion, and alone never dipping into the stream of Oceanus—for Calypso
had told him to keep this to his left. Days seven and ten did he
sail over the sea, and on the eighteenth the dim outlines of the
mountains on the nearest part of the Phaeacian coast appeared,
rising like a shield on the horizon.
  But King Neptune, who was returning from the Ethiopians, caught
sight of Ulysses a long way off, from the mountains of the Solymi.
He could see him sailing upon the sea, and it made him very angry,
so he wagged his head and muttered to himself, saying, heavens, so the
gods have been changing their minds about Ulysses while I was away
in Ethiopia, and now he is close to the land of the Phaeacians,
where it is decreed that he shall escape from the calamities that have
befallen him. Still, he shall have plenty of hardship yet before he
has done with it.”
  Thereon he gathered his clouds together, grasped his trident,
stirred it round in the sea, and roused the rage of every wind that
blows till earth, sea, and sky were hidden in cloud, and night
sprang forth out of the heavens. Winds from East, South, North, and
West fell upon him all at the same time, and a tremendous sea got
up, so that Ulysses’ heart began to fail him. “Alas,” he said to
himself in his dismay, “what ever will become of me? I am afraid
Calypso was right when she said I should have trouble by sea before
I got back home. It is all coming true. How black is Jove making
heaven with his clouds, and what a sea the winds are raising from
every quarter at once. I am now safe to perish. Blest and thrice blest
were those Danaans who fell before Troy in the cause of the sons of
Atreus. Would that had been killed on the day when the Trojans were
pressing me so sorely about the dead body of Achilles, for then I
should have had due burial and the Achaeans would have honoured my
name; but now it seems that I shall come to a most pitiable end.”
  As he spoke a sea broke over him with such terrific fury that the
raft reeled again, and he was carried overboard a long way off. He let
go the helm, and the force of the hurricane was so great that it broke
the mast half way up, and both sail and yard went over into the sea.
For a long time Ulysses was under water, and it was all he could do to
rise to the surface again, for the clothes Calypso had given him
weighed him down; but at last he got his head above water and spat out
the bitter brine that was running down his face in streams. In spite
of all this, however, he did not lose sight of his raft, but swam as
fast as he could towards it, got hold of it, and climbed on board
again so as to escape drowning. The sea took the raft and tossed it
about as Autumn winds whirl thistledown round and round upon a road.
It was as though the South, North, East, and West winds were all
playing battledore and shuttlecock with it at once.
  When he was in this plight, Ino daughter of Cadmus, also called
Leucothea, saw him. She had formerly been a mere mortal, but had
been since raised to the rank of a marine goddess. Seeing in what
great distress Ulysses now was, she had compassion upon him, and,
rising like a sea-gull from the waves, took her seat upon the raft.
  “My poor good man,” said she, “why is Neptune so furiously angry
with you? He
Kelley A Vinal Aug 2015
Well-tempered
As Bach's staccato joy takes hold
Of Book 1: Prelude No. 3
A clavier so mild, calm
Lagavulin-scented air
Peat moss, weather fair
The happy harpsichord
And the placid piano
Join in my glass
Mingling, giving the whisky
A nuance
Of elegance
Balancing the burn
Excellently
Emeka Mokeme Aug 2018
Life is so funny in its
uncanny and unpredictable
ways.
It reaches out to us
with powerful grip,
yet allows us to make decisions
about what we think we want
without interference
but with consequences
of our actions.
Molded in our favour,
fashioned to bring succour
and comfort to ameliorate
the pains to be encountered.
This helps to do things
the right way the first time,
allowing things to manifest
and work the way they should,
not the other way around.
It’s like when we brush
our teeth before we go to
the dentist to have
a teeth cleaning or
when we wash the dishes before
we put them in the dishwasher
or when we clean up the house
before the maid arrives.
These are not following
the natural order of things.
Yield to the kindness of nature.
Listen to the rhythm it beats
into your consciousness,
it's wisdom is of superior quality.
Accept whatever it gives you,
for the miraculous is woven
and hidden inside it.
The notion is to take you to the apex
of your mountain if patience is excellently
exercised and not be distracted.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,
With the old moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.

I

Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Aeolian lute,
Which better far were mute.
For lo! the New-moon winter-bright!
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o’erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live!

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
In word, or sigh, or tear—
O Lady! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle wooed,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green:
And still I gaze—and with how blank an eye!
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen:
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue;
I see them all so excellently fair,
I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III

My genial spirits fail;
And what can these avail
To lift the smothering weight from off my breast?
It were a vain endeavour,
Though I should gaze forever
On that green light that lingers in the west:
I may not hope from outward forms to win
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.

IV

O Lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does Nature live:
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud!
And would we aught behold, of higher worth,
Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd,
Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the Earth—
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

V

O pure of heart! thou need’st not ask of me
What this strong music in the soul may be!
What, and wherein it doth exist,
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful and beauty-making power.
Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne’er was given,
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour,
Life, and Life’s effluence, cloud at once and shower,
Joy, Lady! is the spirit and the power,
Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower,
A new Earth and new Heaven,
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud—
Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud—
We in ourselves rejoice!
And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight,
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colours a suffusion from that light.

VI

There was a time when, though my path was rough,
This joy within me dallied with distress,
And all misfortunes were but as the stuff
Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,
And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth:
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth;
But oh! each visitation
Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of Imagination.
For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient, all I can;
And haply by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man—
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

VII

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality’s dark dream!
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream
Of agony by torture lengthened out
That lute sent forth! Thou Wind, that rav’st without,
Bare crag, or mountain-tairn, or blasted tree,
Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches’ home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark-brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,
Mak’st Devils’ yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty poet, e’en to frenzy bold!
What tell’st thou now about?
’Tis of the rushing of an host in rout,
With groans, of trampled men, with smarting wounds—
At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the cold!
But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!
And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,
With groans, and tremulous shudderings—all is over—
It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud!
A tale of less affright,
And tempered with delight,
As Otway’s self had framed the tender lay—
’Tis of a little child
Upon a lonesome wild,
Not far from home, but she hath lost her way:
And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,
And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother hear.

VIII

’Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayst thou ever, evermore rejoice.
Michael Ryan Sep 2015
Today I bought a square plate
it's not for me, but for an enemy
that I could do worse things to, if I was a less noble person
as the things they've done I will not speak.

The plate is porcelain and quite finely made
elegant and excellently finished for how not so pricey it was
hints of history seems to hide in it's shell--
as seams are weaved into
what has probably lived a long and unused existence
this handcrafted masterpiece.

Separately painted by some fancy artist
to whom I do not recognize the name of,
although it is said he may have done something wrought with his ear
or did this man's uncle make this plate, oh well, I am unsure.

It is these very details to why,
I am now in possession of this piece of the past
that will be priceless to those who know more craftsmanship,
at least more knowledgeable than the man who sold it to me.

From the gleaming in your eyes
I can tell this plate may even mean a great deal to you
is this true my good friend?
oh well, I guess I can give the plate to you
instead of the devil I spoke of before.

*As I handed my prize to them
it began to feel heavier than any ordinary plate should,
gravity granted the greatest reprise I've ever sought
as the demon's face whelmed with depression
and mine satisfaction--
for being such a convincing storyteller.
It's fun, I want to write a poem on other topics, but I feel like people think I write too many of those so I am just having some fun.  (Also I have not found the words for those poems either, hah.)
Mya Jan 2019
He hides in my closet
he has a scary look
with ridged nails
and pointy sharp white teeth

But he is shy and doesn't come out
till nightfall
when no one can see him
because he is insecure
and he doesn't want to be made fun of
by the other monsters who wander around

Every time I hear him come out
he is humming a tune
I would softly request him to sing
because I cannot sleep
when he would open his mouth

Wonderful words would come out
sounding excellently in tune
even though there was no background music
in my head, his singing sounded like a symphony
was playing the most lovely melody

If I could I would stay up all night
till dawn
when he would retreat back into the closet
I would listen to him all night

But as he sings
the melody floods me
and my eyes can not stay open
as I slip into a deep slumber
I would still hear him singing

When I wake up
my room is soundless
I would look in my closet to see if he is there
but he is hidden
where I cannot find him
Path Humble Sep 2017
I believe in myths.

Every naturel blonde was first someone else.  By that I mean, she was known as Norma Jean, maybe Katy, in high school (see reincarnation below).

My teenage glory days, when I was the king of cool,
will revisit when I am 75 years old, the man-in-demand (wink), wearing his lucky wide cord corduroys and letting my man-bun,
all the way down, at the prom in the senior citizen home, getting lucky, say once a month...

God, yup, after all, he/she cometh to me regular-like,
when he needs a poet~father to take his confession,
and pays me most excellently for refusing him forgiveness,
with the most excellent poem suggestions or lesser valuable things.

Love at first sight, of course, happens to me all the time,
twenty, thirty times when I am walking home.  I tell ya, it's exhausting, the stress of living in the big city

Not only will I win the lottery someday,
will take down both,  Powerball and MegaMillions,
in the very same week the odds for which
there ain't enough zeroes in HP's servers. (See God, above).

Reincarnation. One time they Hale(d) and then hanged me (my "namesake") and I said: " I only regret, that I have but one life to lose for my country."  Well, the selfies all show oh-boy-o-boy, was I ever grinning and winking.

Only boys are bullies, girls get off easy, by getting called
just mean.

One day my city's teams will win the World Series, the Stanley Cup, the NBA Finals and the Superbowl all in the same year but only after I die and me, well, only after they will have buried me in Wyoming or France, just for spite, and nobody will hear me screaming.

My children will speak fondly of me even after they find out I died broke, well maybe not fondly, but they will most definitely call out my name, regularly.

After my demise, all the typoes in my poems will magically disappear.

All these good things will come to fruition, because I am a believer, and walked the humble path. The autopsy will also show that my tongue was permanently stuck to my cheek.
Bella Isaacs Mar 2022
I can do this too, when I'm not au naturel
And trying to beat all of your @sses with how well
I make the gentleman, how excellently I am the imp,
How swell I step, dancing, aside, how terribly I simp -
Sometimes catch me getting back and giving the barman a chance -
I heeded their call; I washed off the day, and stepped into a trance
Of raspberry, rose and sandalwood; I donned my blue and pink silk,
And my black boots, tights and blazer - She's got style; And in that ilk
I also painted my face, with blues, whites, pinks, blacks, golds
And it was late when I stepped out, and in the very holds
Of the night that a lady like I should find terrifying, but I walked
The quarter of an hour to the Silk Mill; talked
For something more like four or five,
Face sharp, hair artfully mad, alive
In every sense, aided by the fine cocktails in this student setting
I could enchant all in four languages, and I did, forgetting
For a bit that another one of my faces I believe to be repugnant:
Because it begs for attention; and my current, commanded it
Because I came expecting nothing, and asking nothing,
And I quite frankly didn't give a d@mn about much of anything,
But if I wasn't very much a part of the room, and very much she
Whom every boy needed to speak to, and would ideally keep the company
Of, if that wasn't I
Then every lie's a truth, and every truth, a lie.
I need to remember more often that I can be stunning, easily, if I just remember that I have standards.
All I ask is an antidote allowing all adults around the atmospher an appointment about arguing.
Because brother basic bodies are bound to believe bragging & bribing basically being broad brings about the best. But be
Cautious, cause carpets can't carry couches alone, concrete creeps. Causing careless catholic christians to create children.
Don't **** the deranged, dedicate the distaste to the drugs. drinking, and dumb deeds that did it.
Even Eminem explains enternal emotions excellently.
For fear feeds frusttration, though frustration can find fun in fornitcation. Foul. Focus on friends and family.
Getting grouchy gonorrhea grants graves too gorgeous gilrs. Game over.
However, having ****** hardly helps handsome happy hands.
Indicating interesting intakes, involving inception in indecive individuals.
Just joking, jealousy just justifies Jose Cuervo.
Kinddling kindness kidnaps king kong's kingdom.
Learn like lovers, loathing little, liking largely, letting laughs live loudly.
Maning mold mountains out of mud, make missery monogamous with merry.
Never neglect the notion of nice.
Optimism overcomes others opinions.
Personally, persisting perfection probably puts pessimistic patterns in people's personalities.
Quietly questioning their quality.
Rest assured reading random reactions really is redundant.
Searching someones soul secretely sends self salvation.
Take turns, tell truths, talk, these things take time, they are talents to be treasured.
Understanding ultimatums unlocks unlimited unison.
Emilija Feb 2013
At times it happens that I sleep for days
wherever I am
in an absolute, uninterrupted dream.
Almost no one notices, I myself
Don’t notice it half of the time

At times like that, I’d sit with you
With a quiet blue feeling
I’d be morose or joyful
I’d breathe you
Relaxed
And be afraid when there is a reason to be.


I would tremble with my new found arrhythmia,
Faint over devils,
Over beautiful lads with sunny eyes
Because my body follows my mind
And my mind is patching together a long time now
Strength
For new attacks,
From past attacks.

And it can’t seem to gather more than a cord
A ******* cord, umbilical
From when I was born
Stored in a drawer in the bedroom
Which formerly had paint brushes but
Lately, after my mother makes more mosaics
Than paintings
There is only years’ worth of junk

The other day, I opened it,
And found the cord
In excellent condition
I considered selling it on an auction
so I have more money for a dress
But realized that people don’t normally care for
excellently kept umbilical cords.

Then I decided that I’d tie it around my head
Like a turban
I figured it would bring me back the connection
It would erase my independence
In the past twenty years
That it would make me less alone
in myself.

But what it did was:
It wrapped tighter around my ears
Forcing me to hear my cry
Right after I got out of there
Right after I’d taken my breath

And believe me,
I haven’t cried like that since.
Wade Redfearn Jun 2010
A little known secret of actors:
you can force yourself to cry by
simply thinking about how badly
you want to.

Here's how it's done.

Start with fertilizer. Remember how
you felt that first year you
did so excellently at school, all-year
struggling and so devoted, woke up
Christmas to your mother's purchase,
eager for sugar plums and hedonist
things, ripped merrily into math workbooks.
The seed comes next, budding in the
open tunnels of self-worth - when
he told you that the thing you were
best used for could be done by anyone, really,
the oldest profession, and how you
liberated your oils on canvas long exiled
to make a scene of Rahab and Joshua,
and cried yourself away on alien bedding.

Water it all in whatever leaves the garden hose.

When they whistled without a name.
When your first time hosting supper was a catastrophe.
When you failed to keep certain things alive.
When the housecat burrowed in your warm
motor, and you just wanted to leave so badly.

Funerals of people you never knew, and
bugspray in your eyes.

One neglected message stays: anyone can cry.
The living shall worship 🛐 thy Lord as the Angels adore Him on the throne. Off their faces with their golden crowns 👑+ bowing down. Their songs is hallelujah, 🙌 glory, giving holiness, admiring the everlasting living being. Who made heaven is holy place of abode. Make audible roaring, let the pillars of heaven tremble, and the waters surrounding the universe from the peak of heaven shallow down the depth of sea bowing🙇 before His presence Every powers and knees worship, 🛐 before his presence, glory, salvation, healing, blessing, devine favor, love, peace, life hove in His presence, sing melodiously shout excellently even with poetry, sing palm unto thy Lord who is worthy, on whose hands lies everythang. Holy, holy spirit, holy is thy Lord Almighty God. Blessing be the name of thy Lord God. Amen! 🙏
Palm Sunday inspiration.
Mary Ab Mar 2014
It was a special peaceful Monday
Spreading hope as any happy day
Sitting there in front of the bus window
Observing,thinking,enjoying nature's gleam
Playing with words,revealing an artistic beam
Meditating with focusing mind and cheerful heart
Leaving all the mope far apart
The gentle breeze kissed my cheeks
Vanishing all fears of my countless breaks...

A certain station was reached by the bus
Some people left and others stepped up
Among them was an old lady
Her features conveyed sort of a weakness
Oh! her age didn't permit ! she can't stand up
A sitting girl by my side leaved her the seat  
The old lady smiled cheerfully spreading her gratitude
And thanked her with every heart beat ...

As she sat by my side
we both indulged in the ride
Didn't know how I felt
An awkward feeling has been just sent
I turned back my eyes towards the window pane
To continue my meditation dreaming in a fairy tale...

Suddenly an ice cold hand hold mine
It was the lady's hand so fret and frown !
I comforted her with a smile so bright
"Oh granny ! don't panic we're alright "
My meditation twisted towards her light
As she appealed my keenest staring sight !

She looked exactly the same as my passing  granny !
Her  wrinkly skinny hand with appearing blue veins,
Wearing beautiful golden rings mingled with silver bracelets on her arm !
Her red nails and amazing henna in her palm
Refreshed my memory and turned me up side down!

I slowly sent a peep checking her face features;
She looked excellently as my beloved granny !
Her everything was more her than herself !
Expect the color of the eyes !

Her deepest features took me higher  
Bringing me old ,happy scenes tighter
Oh my granny is here by my side! I secretly shouted !
Wanted to kiss her , hug her all along this ride !
I was swallowing my tears of yearning ;
Couldn't breath ! oh! I was suffocating !

My hasty heart beats played a symphony
Called my super magical fairy !
Heart beats enchantingly danced !
I listened carefully to what they performed   !
As the merry trills were floating in the air
A cute little fairy showed me her care !!
She was there to embrace my desire
To achieve my dream and put out this fire !

Oh dear fairy, for a while , just stop this time
Let me feel the moment and fix my rhyme !

In a glimpse of an eye ,there was nobody but us
Living the dream,getting her back here in that bus!

At that moment poetry rang the bell
Asking my heartbeats to play the shell
Rhymed verses flowed fluently in side my mind
Toying and tickling with words happily from side to side !


My granny was here sitting by me
Couldn't believe it ,she was there with me!
I kissed her cheeks and so her front!
A warm cozy everlasting hug was about to start
To whisper a very special love mingled with tears!
My heart drowned in a deep peculiar sea!
Her icy blue eyes that had just been fixed on mine !
I was  the dreamy princess and she was my happy queen ;
A dazzling terrific moment that could be clearly seen !
Once upon a midnight, there in the kingdom of my dreams !

My fairy moment had been reached its absolute end;
Planting a special inspiring roses on my heart fertile land !

The old inspiring lady reached  her station
Leaving me with a blossomed sensation !
She had sort of magical features ,
Took me beyond the limits of place and time
Magical was the looks in her deep brown eyes ;
They outlined heavily such a fascinating story with glitter ...

As she left the bus, her place was vacant
I've been folded inside a rose pud
My memories refreshed my longing heart !
Distance melted in the melody ...
Of what once was between her and me !
It was yesterday that I dreamed of what we could be
Together once again you and me !!


When you died , I didn't have a clue
That horrifying moment shifted me blue !
I struggled and faced the reality that I clearly knew;
I found my escape and relief through writing !
Filling pages by honest expressions;
Dictated by my loving heart
And perfumed by your pure love !!


Thoughts of you I can never let go
They will be with me wherever I go
The impact you had on me , I strongly know
As I grow older, the lessons you taught me start to show !

Spreading love ,
Sending hope ,
Vanishing all the mope !!

My lord awakened this meditation feature inside of me ;
So whenever I miss you,I'll pray and sent blessings for you ...
Life is so beautiful , even if we lost precious features !

I awakened from this astonishing dream
In a glimpse of an eye,finding myself beneath another's gleam ...
I was wandering in a picturesque sparkling field;
Of blossoming flowers and dancing butterflies !
That stranger lady softly refreshed my love ;
Her magical countenance kindled my inspiration candle ,
Brought me lessons about  how to handle !

Optimism,yearning,joy and magic
Were kissing softly the blossomed petals
Bleeding gently in the meadows...

Piles and piles of dreams were drown
On a colored paper by that shining crown ...
My granny passed away in 2009!! It was a dreary moment !
Once she left I found my escape in writing !! she's my biggest inspiration !!
may ALLAH bless her soul and may she rest in peace !
.
.
.
This poem was inspired in the bus in front of that lady,when I had a deep eye contact with her !!
^__^
Kenna Mar 2017
I am my
self and your
self and her
self and his
off-rhyme of a frayed encyclopedia—
the crippling arch of a fingertip and the kink of its self-
awareness.  

I’d like to keep me trapped
in the amber of this moment
but I find myself,
in chemical waste—
and fumigation of my miscommunication—
tasting the smoke,
ripe and ripping up
soil and self .

I am my
self if the self you are
is you and her self,
is her and his self is
the afterthought of a decomposed anthology—
made mechanically—
the wrapping of roots.
The dipping of leaves
into steamed puddles on
cement streets, evaporating,
*******—
mechanically.

I’d like to be
a rock,
excellently.
The telos of my terrain trembles
beneath the benign boredom of being
myself,
excellently.
Adero Barasa Jun 2019
She pulled her chair close to the bedroom window
This time she did not see the beautiful red roses in the lawn
Neither the shiny dew from the eastern golden sun
Her day was gloomy, mistier than Limuru’s fog
The birds’ twits were as noisy and messy as her Twitter
She had virtually nowhere to turn to
Her face could not tolerate the embarrassment on Facebook
Her instinct made her avoid Instagram like the plague
She was on the spotlight, yet her heart was dark
The lacuna of her being
And the confusion of her personality was eminent
For a week she cried and ate nothing
Drinking water to keep her eyes wet and allow herself to cry more
The world was bitter; the embarrassment was unbearable
She went through her contact
Out of the two hundred contacts, she saw no one worthy of talking to
Her WhatsApp status received an average of one-twenty views
This used to fascinate her, but this moment it did not
The statuses were full of memes, inspirations, and bitter statements
Most were also seeking online justification
With tears dry, she went back to her bed and took a bible
She stared at it for a while before closing it
She also tried to sing along the midi of her hymnal app
However, life oomph, enthusiasm, passion had vanished
The mustard hope was almost decaying,
Crying and sleeping were the only active verbs
While at the verge of collapse, her status read
Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus; Tomorrow will never be mine!
As usual, I scan through my WhatsApp statuses
But this got my attention because I love hymns
Unbelievably, I sang and replied to her status
One day at a time! Which she only responded with smiley emoji
I cared less and proceeded to twitter- my favorite app
Days went by; the active virtual user turned dormant
Nobody bothered to ask why,
Her wet eyes were now dry, crimson red
Her smooth skin was now pale,
Her beautiful dimples had almost disappeared
She could not believe that the man she loved,
Could play with her emotion in-front of the camera.
That fateful day she had put on her fitting pink, khaki pants,
White top with pinkish flowers and striped jacket
Off she went to Sarova Stanley Hotel where she was to meet him
Unlike before, this time he came half an hour late
After meals and pleasantries, he was on his knee
'Will you marry me?' he asked with a red ring box in his hand
Yes! She said blushing as the flashing got intense
He opened the box, lo and behold, 'twas empty
I was joking; he said while smiling
He stood, went forth and kissed another lady
Who was sitting on the adjacent table
Shocked, embarrassed and angry, she stormed out
Since then she swore never to step out nor contact him.
Seemingly, he dared not to phone or checked out on her
Her house was her new cell,
Though the caged bird sing, she was mute
Her gregarious personality faded as she longed for the worse
The date attires were still laying on the poorly spread bed
She went to the bathroom mirror and looked at her miserable self
She was a perfect embodiment of depression and sedentary lifestyle
Death where is thy sting- she hissed and smiled.
But this was a new day, a day that promised rejuvenation
After cleaning herself and refreshing her body-with water
She wore a red dress, applied a dark red lipstick
Which excellently marched her skin tone
The stencil drawing on the eyebrow was neatly done
Her black heels perfectly fitted her heels
She looked at the mirror again and smiled
And whispered, goodbye my dear friend
She stepped out of the self-imposed cell with a little optimism
Looking for those people she perceived as friends
She chose to visit her former classmate
Unlike other days where she could cry and sleep
And wake up, and cry, and drink water and sleep again
She looked happy, she smiled and laughed at the slightest provocation
They talked, and slandered, and laughed and ate
She never mentioned her boyfriend
And evaded any discussion that would make her remember it
Since it was a long time since they saw each other- physically
She decided to accompany her classmate to catch up with her colleagues
In the company of other acquaintances, she took wine
A ****** experience for the ******
After a moment of absent-minded conversation, she excused herself
When the time came for them to leave she was nowhere to be seen
Her phone was on but seemingly deserted
They grew impatient and desperate
No iota of her whereabouts was known
Not even the security within the premise could locate her
Her friend decided to text her through WhatsApp
Her' last seen' was just a few minutes ago
Her status read:
Somethings are too heavy to feel
They don’t let you breath
Neither do they let you forget
Your heart may be crying in pain
Beg for forgiveness, genuine love and care
But no matter how hard you try
They slowly eat you alive.
The status was concluded with smiley emoji
After searching for forty-five minutes
They gave up and drove home
Arguing that she was a grown up and could trace her way back
Hours later during the prime-time news
They were astonished when they saw the place they were broadcasted
The headline was 'suicide in the tub.'
People die in silence. they lack trusted friends to share their innermost feeling. In the contemporary world, emotional intelligence is key in enhnacing cognitive wellbeing of people.
Ignatius Hosiana Feb 2017
Across a million faces
in a thousand different places
I find you in blossoms of flowers
like am a captive of your magical powers
I find you in the depth of my heart
even if we are completely worlds apart
in cold days mocked by soothing patters of rain
pattering right above the echo of my pain
I see you here with my eyes shut
in the emptiness, as my mind is dead alert

I hear your voice in whispers of the wind
maybe you're invisible to me since love's blind
you might be right here as well, trapped to this moment
on the same wave at war in the torrent of torment
bearing painful blisters of regret from burns of desire
enduring stifling emotions that won't retire
reeking of an excellently brewed obsession  that won't expire
and since you were my breath I can hardly respire
even the hardest of scotch and wines couldn't lift me higher
out of the abyssal deep doldrums of this mire


I smell your scent of roses at night beneath my sheets
and as I walk feeling isolated along these crowded streets
at every single thought about you my confused heart beats
while in my palm where your fingers fitted, cold emptiness slits
I see you in the hovering birds of prey as they bask in the sky
flamboyantly spreading their vast wings as they fly
under the sweltering haze of Sun where I burn for you
in recollection of your entrancingly licentious sigh


*everywhere I go, in different places
I see you masked upon a million faces
I feel you in the roseate blossom of flowers
in every second of every minute of my hours
for am still a captive of your enchanting powers
Darling, it’s no spring yet
am going again to bed
no one problem to think about
please, don’t say it too loud

Of course am doing my best
rhyming excellently for the rest
of my HelloPoetry family
of course, scapegoats enough, ne’er my glee

Scapegoats what for?
writers' block and the more?
no muse ever drops in at mine
luckily the sun always shines

Am I the only one without a muse?
oh dear I am not amused !
must I hire or just call?
Wait, I just give a kick, and have a rollicking ball


© Sylvia Frances Chan
Created on 13th March 2015
posted on 17th March 2015
A Muse? Am not amused !
John Mahoney Feb 2012
i woke last night
listened for some sound
that might have disturbed
     my sleep
the moon hangs low
over the treeline, just
     past full,
moonlight floods,
reflected by winter's
snows, to light the
house with a silver,
        incandescence

i step down the
stairs and stand at
the picture window
overlooking the
     gardens
wrapped against mid-winter,
nighttime chills i see that,
    overnight
the pane has been lined with
     frost
and i know

reaching to the pane,
the frost is most excellently
cold, and i come alive,
burning with
     desire
frost melting beneath my
         fingertips

for i know, now, whose
distant thoughts have
     sought mine
to wake me
at this new and
     wondrous
hour of the morning

looking out the
     window
the garden rests,
deep in snow, with
bits of straw poking through
and burlap wrapped
         shrubs

imagination brings forth
a summer's growth of
Victorian roses
for my distant love
as she thinks
         of me

here, burgundy, to say
she is beautiful to me;
there, the yellow of
joy and friendship;
next to a pink,
a wild rose bush,
the color of gratitude
     and grace;
and, of course, the
     red,
for passion, standing with the
white rose, the mix which
conveys
             unity
1)The living shall worship 🛐 thy Lord as the Angels adore Him on the throne.

2)Off their faces with their golden crowns 👑+ bowing down.

3)Their songs is hallelujah, 🙌 glory, giving holiness, admiring the everlasting living being.

4)Who made heaven is holy place of abode.

5)Make audible roaring, let the pillars of heaven tremble, the foundation of the Earth quake.

6)And the waters surrounding the universe from the peak of heaven.

7) Shallow down the depth of sea bowing🙇 before His presence.

8) Every powers and knees worship, 🛐 before his presence.

9) Glory, salvation, healing, blessing, divine favor, love, peace, life hove in His presence.

10) Sing melodiously, gloriously shout excellently even with poetry.

11) Sing palm unto thy Lord who is worthy, on whose hands lies everythang.

12) Holy, holy spirit, holy is thy Lord Almighty God.

13) Blessing be the name of thy Lord God. Amen! 🙏
Inspired by the holification and glorification of God the father.
Mohammad Skati Jan 2015
Like a pretty and clear mirror                                                                               That reflects our pictures anytime ,                                                                         Our images do  the same work ...                                                                         If we understand others fully,then                                                                           We can give excellently our points-of-views                                                           Greatly,wonderfully,and clearly about                                                                   People anywhere and everywhere ...                                                                      People like to be praised ,so                                                                                     Never exaggerate things ....
To tell your point-of-view in a good way or people will be sad .
K Balachandran Jun 2013
He met her in the courtyard by chance,
though pitted against each other
in a fierce competition, both willingly enrolled,
they fell in love, at fist sight, as if by a hidden cue.

Left out, by this turn, unexpected
they felt, no spirit of competition in them is now left;
two yarns in the magical weave of life
braided in perfect design, excellently blended in quick time,
can any one orchestrate a moment like this?
It's an apparition from the womb of time,  on its iridescent wings
flew down to intervene, on behalf of some spirit, evil or noble
who can tell, except when,  time is ripe.

Life is a walk through dark and enchanted woods
we stop a while where, paths diverge,
and  take one, sometimes by sudden impulse,
most take the beaten ones, the less traveled appeal some,
holding the hand of a beloved bathed in silver light, at the moment,
will it lead to destination or not, one knows not,  that moment is decisive,
at the end as much intervention of fate, if one views that way, as human proclivities.
LaToya Taylor Oct 2013
I’m seconds from emotionally breaking, down but I hide it well
Behind this bright smile I carry on my face, so no one can tell
I poise my voice proud and strong as steady as can be
But when it comes to my eyes, that never tell lies, I simply can’t compete

I can trick my muscles to turn upwards when I conversate face to face
But that only works if I keep my distance and avoid any personal space
I can go through the motions of my daily routine as if I didn’t have a worry in the world
But with tears in my eyes I begin to cry when I’m alone and my barriers unfurl

Underneath these layers, lay a broken heart desperately searching for love
But it’s concealed and covered up, tucked in tight, with veils of confidence above
It’s one of my greatest talents that took years to perfect and serves excellently at protecting
My heart from my fears, after all these years,
but still, it never fails,
no matter how hard I try – my eyes always seem to tell - on me
PK Wakefield Jul 2011
in your body(nexttomine)is a small electricity
tingling directly against my skin freshly glued
so bones velvetly lavished in groping cuddles
of perhaps hands. a sort of like the sky is puddles
of kissing faces excellently. and the world in
flowers snugly fits between womb and soil. where
i will say life briefly in your tiniest mouth,
                                                                          .

                                                                          '



                                                                           .










                                                                               ,
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
go hearts
you trip from chests
burst and rolling beautifully

extend and bend you yield
and fold impose
into empty

space your
clever face petals slink
and lance mine delving into

their right between crease
excellently that
impervious

tongue to mingle and marry
with my own voracious
love drunk
string
the story of the Colossus
is epic in dimension and size
to narrate it would require
an endless sunrise

enamored with his poetic skills
we all most certainly are
his radiant abilities shine
brighter than the evening star

the page comes to life
as we so attentively read
his phrases and figures of speech
are of the finest creed

the awesomeness
of his poetry doth so inspire  
with a wordage pool
that sets our hearts on fire

his quill's ink ne'er partakes of rest
for there is much he hath need to say
at his desk he labors on a stanza
to so sublimely and excellently array

marvelous, exemplary, outstanding
all of these superlatives and more
tells us of the rare prowess and style
the Colossus hath in spades galore
Emeka Mokeme Sep 2018
In other to have order
restored by the power
that be,
the elites must have a
message to harness
the rule of law to affect
the public and protect
the people they govern.
Restructuring is a
prerequisite for a
time such as this.
The states must be given
more power to handle affairs
of the people.
True federalism is to put up
a structure for the sake of
posterity and the benefits that
comes out of it for the
people involved.
As simple as it is,
we as a people must be
ready to confront all the
rigours of austerity of which
some amount of sacrifices
are expected regardless of the
outcome and results from our
collective decisions.
Restructuring is a must for proper performance and perfection for
a magnificent and excellently
successful unified progress.
Balance must be restated and restored.
A valued economic recovery and growth
is expected to reach its peak at the end.
Our lives as a people must be valued for all this to work and marvelously manifest itself.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Restructuring the Nigerian states is a call to end marginalization and a prerequisite to an economic growth and lasting peace.
Jon Shierling Apr 2014
"I fell in love with a fairytale."

Those were her words when I asked why our lives had become what they are now.

The first entrance to her flat, tapestries and flowers and shards of pottery assaulting me as soon as I set foot through the door. A six foot print of The Accolade embroidered like the Bayeux hanging in an alcove. The single rose I gave her placed in an empty wine bottle. She played Yo-Yo Ma on vinyl with something that looked like the first gramophone ever made. I always think of her now when I hear a cello, and whatever it is I'm doing at the time stops for the memory. I will always remember her curled up on that red loveseat like the empress she was to me. We first made love there, on old red satin or whatever it was. Corse to the touch, but beautiful. It was only after the first time that she would let me kiss her on the lips, like it was something allowed after passing a test. She never spoke of it, when or why she let me into her world, a world I had only ever been permitted to sojourn through before. The Kiss hung above her bed, and after she had fallen asleep the first night we lay there together I stared up at it with her in my arms thinking....thinking that I had been searching for this woman forever. I have not been the same man since that night. She became my faith.

You wouldn't know to see it now that we had bliss in this place for five years. Five years of being whole, of the absolute knowledge that we were exactly what we were supposed to be. There is nothing left of us here now. The door is gone. An explosion of some sort destroyed most of the living room. I believe her bedroom was used as a firing position for an anti-tank team at one point in the fighting. Shell casings are everywhere, all the glass is shattered and there are stains in abundance.

Where is she you ask?  

I didn't want to believe what I first heard, but after seeing her face again I knew it was true. Oh, you know her well I'm sure since you were able to find me. She is the reason the front has been extended. She is the reason there is bread now, even if it isn't quite palatable. She is the reason so many more have died than necessary. Over here, let me show you who she is. She's on this poster, the valiant People's Commandante leading us into a glorious future. You know who she is now, serve her excellently I have no doubt. But before you do whatever it is you were sent to do I want you to know that I saved The Kiss before our city burned. You will never find it. And even if she refuses it now, once upon a time she had a different name. Once, when she loved me, her name was Ivy.
From a book I'm starting to slowly weave together.
Das dunkoff deliberately drafted dis **** daffy drivel
dont denigrate doodling, deftly demonstrated,
diligently doled, dribs drabs, dosay doing dandy dancer
displaying dopen derived dimwitted drek.

Exercising effort encompassing expressing *******
eliminating every eminent excellently evolved equalizing
element er excruciating exertion earnestly elbowing explictly
each endowed equipoised eppaulted
essential earmaked e-z editorialized expose.

I reckon there must be a gamut of grammarians
waiting in the wings (shutterflying
at the speed of Soundgarden),
cuz soon after pumping iron heck,

kinetic, narcotic, pathetic, quixotic, rhapsodic,
poem within a flash fans descend and feast
upon thy warbling, twittering rocketing
my ego to the moon!

King Kong Kennedyesque Kappelmeister
cuckolded, cinched, canoodled, keepsake
capitalone Dixie Chicks, Indigo Girls,
Lady GaGa Godiva cagily,

knowingly, Kafkaesquely, kinesthetically  
kissed kepi's kewpie dolls causing capitulation
crushing Candy– clean cleft clear clobbering kaput -
clinched culture club moss commotion
calling Casper Weinstein the overly friendly ghost

granting clemency clearly convinced
crowning Charlie Chaplin chief corporal
kickstarting clandestine covenent
kept Locked Horns -

cleaved cloistered community cohesion
creating civil unrest
tandemly totally tubularly trounced
thru trumpetting Don debacle

detonating divisiveness driving Miss Daisy
(a hybrid flowering biracially
Black Eyed Susan) daringly declared debutante,
she sprouted sense and sensibility

without prejudice, but plenti pilgrims pride
paternally passed from Mayflower coterie Compact
Massachusetts Plymouth Rock venerated vocifersously,

near Salem witch trials bewitched secular citizens,
where Razzle Bathbone (held heretical liberalism)
freed Wicca Witches of Witchita
wayward wretches willingly casting their Lot
with fortunetelling forcefield manifestation
forecast, an Oracle of Delphi,  

where hurled discobulus trajectory traced arc
resembling Moisbus strip without nose hound
but distant barking brought bedlam
by half baked, battered, berserk
Betty Crocker brand Fitbit binnacle

encompassing blazed blitzkrieg
stymied mutiny on the bounty hunters
synchronized yelping at birth, sans this *******,
stirring cry of echoes,

which cosmic Flickr ring soundcloud reverberated
whimpering infant (Fingerhut size) detected
via uber reincarnated voodoo warlocks
twitching triggering happy full figured slug
hook gushed upon pressed release mechanism
screaming (Banshee like) bullet tin heard worldwide,

where webbed warped woeful Widowersdating wretch
woof whistled while witnessing
wondrous once in a lifetime phenomena

meanwhile kitsch hen squawked
with pan dim mown deem
signifying sell **** re:us son
settling Harris heir apparent,
wherein gyser spewing gremlins awoke gargoyles
grimacing grotesquely ouiji board blamed.

Well done rabbit reading ridiculous rodomontade
reaching runneled stream strewn with vibrant vistas
offering Avast Outlook Linkedin to a Yahoo mailer daemon
the Buzzfeed ding bugaboo badly crashing gateway
necessitating fix Uber Lyft via spell checking incantation
at the door, whence Earthlink from Godaddy helped Indeed.
Though reading horror stories (macabre),
     an only every now and again
     genre crazy wave
washing over me like
     a killer tsunami,
     (subsequently fueling
     desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****,

     (a derriere laughing stock,
     and hence cheeky of me to rave),
those rare occasions satiated, when
     hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
     rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
     nonetheless lock into
     critical opening sentence determining,
     whether adroit kingly author

     nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
     misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
     (me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself (by all counts once
     a bad little kid) deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,

     who fiendishly cackles
     when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence, an instantaneous
     possessive gnarly hand
     forcibly grabs my attention
     presaging and frightening
     yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),

     where within the bazaar
     of bad dreams epic,
     which seems like forever,
     when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
     masterfully, immediately,
     dramatically got woven
     lady chattery teeth and all

     withering wicked warp and woof
     establishing (proof positive),
     an excellently crafted
    Chiral Mad heavily shades
     of night are falling
     gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
     every cerebral space
with darkness, said

     sub rosa prime evil punctuates
     the mind this dream catcher,
     whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
     viz flight or fight blind

did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces
     blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
     up battleground formation
     from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
     the first page where the eyes
     of drag'n my afterlife shined!
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
let's say tomorrow we'll meet more usually than yesterday we didn't know each other
but today let's kiss and **** with our hearts pressed bleeding against our ribs let's drink
the big enormity of our conjoined figures wracked and bobbing let's say tomorrow we'll
meet and we'll get coffee and we'll talk about nothing and we'll just think our hands
in the twain of each others thighs and we'll say let's go catch a movie but we'll both
know that's not what we want so let's just skip saying and use those practiced oral tools
excellently with the others own; let's bump them and giggle
Don Bouchard Apr 2
I am smiling at your thought that the Apple Picker
has nearly died from standing on that ladder,
From hearing rumbling apples falling into the bins...

I have worked that hard as well, and I didn't die.

When a person works all day, standing on a ladder,
Or holding a paint brush, or swinging a hammer,
Or driving a tractor or truck, or shoveling manure....

You get the picture....

Yes, we grow blisters. Yes, we are exhausted.
Yes, we would rather be lounging on a beach
Almost anywhere else in the world...,

But the truth is this: After a long day's hard work,
Food fills most excellently,
The shower? The shower is the best shower ever,
And the sleep? The sleep is the sleep of the dead,
Dreamless, full of rest....
Daviaso Feb 2018
I find that paper lends itself
Excellently to flow of thought;
Far better than keystrokes and light.

A screen blasts its presence forward;
Takes what is does not possess and
Flings it into our tired eyes.

Paper takes what it is given
And dutifully holds it close
Until decay does to it part.

Like a soldier brave and hardy
It values its charge most highly
And gives up its life before it.
This is unfinished, both in idea and form.  At some future date I would like to revisit this, flesh it out, and put it in a proper meter instead of this freeform tetrameter.
River Reed Mar 2019
Suffocating loneliness
Drowning—deep seas of nothingness
Clenching fists
Squint through an emotional mist

Everyone will wallow
But what follows such sorrow?
A repeated pattern
As the rings circle Saturn
So too—your mind attempts to fathom

                                                                     Around and ‘round(?) them.

Trip, chase, flip, brace
Circle back
Nothing lies ahead
But dread and your tear tattered torn face

Push aside pleasures
Once valid safety measures
Empty—to be forgotten forever?
Unfortunately never

                                                                         Reach out—take a chance.

I…

Miss what once was, us two
Left stains of sadness, residue
Let words become lost, misconstrue
Feel excellently engraved, worn tattoo
Am at the end of your line, long queue
Was stupid, so Boo outgrew
Did all that I could, untrue
’m stuck—skin tugged, like glue

But all that choked through was—
I miss you

Seen—and scene

The cycle begins anew…
Ten hours and forty-two–

— The End —