"neighbouring" poems
It was a hundred years ago,
When, by the woodland ways,
The traveller saw the wild deer drink,
Or crop the birchen sprays.
Beneath a hill, whose rocky side
O'erbrowed a grassy mead,
And fenced a cottage from the wind,
A deer was wont to feed.
She only came when on the cliffs
The evening moonlight lay,
And no man knew the secret haunts
In which she walked by day.
White were her feet, her forehead showed
A spot of silvery white,
That seemed to glimmer like a star
In autumn's hazy night.
And here, when sang the whippoorwill,
She cropped the sprouting leaves,
And here her rustling steps were heard
On still October eves.
But when the broad midsummer moon
Rose o'er that grassy lawn,
Beside the silver-footed deer
There grazed a spotted fawn.
The cottage dame forbade her son
To aim the rifle here;
"It were a sin," she said, "to harm
Or fright that friendly deer.
"This spot has been my pleasant home
Ten peaceful years and more;
And ever, when the moonlight shines,
She feeds before our door.
"The red men say that here she walked
A thousand moons ago;
They never raise the war-whoop here,
And never twang the bow.
"I love to watch her as she feeds,
And think that all is well
While such a gentle creature haunts
The place in which we dwell."
The youth obeyed, and sought for game
In forests far away,
Where, deep in silence and in moss,
The ancient woodland lay.
But once, in autumn's golden time,
He ranged the wild in vain,
Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer,
And wandered home again.
The crescent moon and crimson eve
Shone with a mingling light;
The deer, upon the grassy mead,
Was feeding full in sight.
He raised the rifle to his eye,
And from the cliffs around
A sudden echo, shrill and sharp,
Gave back its deadly sound.
Away into the neighbouring wood
The startled creature flew,
And crimson drops at morning lay
Amid the glimmering dew.
Next evening shone the waxing moon
As sweetly as before;
The deer upon the grassy mead
Was seen again no more.
But ere that crescent moon was old,
By night the red men came,
And burnt the cottage to the ground,
And slew the youth and dame.
Now woods have overgrown the mead,
And hid the cliffs from sight;
There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon,
And prowls the fox at night.
5.9k
Thinking that maybe there is music on planets other than our own
With different tones that we just can’t seem to hone
And instruments like triple necked trombones made of recycled robotic bones
Rockstar aliens playing in bands and doing gigs on planets in neighbouring zones
A gigantic galactic space tour to call their own and silver and chrome skyscraper cities to rock and roam
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
Nigeria our great and beloved motherland,
where multitudes of tribes unitedly stand.
Our land of hope by two rivers divided,
with lush vegetation by nature provided.
Nigeria our home of people resilient.
A land of great icons in works diligent.
We hail thee our great and revered black nation,
our land of human dignity and redemption.
God arise and take your place as sovereign Lord.
Enthrone Thyself in Nigeria's seat of power.
Make her edicts and laws Thy eternal word.
Let justice prevail in her courts by the hour.
Our flag will peace and industry symbolize,
whilst our history will always immortalize
the deeds and sacrifices of our heroes past.
Help us Lord to serve our beloved land with zest.
Nigeria the blessed will pervasive peace know,
even when the threats of tumults seem to flow.
Her crops and yields will neighbouring countries nourish,
from her fields that inexhaustibly flourish.
Sep 17, 2021
Sep 17, 2021 at 5:01 PM UTC
The wild duck startles like a sudden thought,
And heron slow as if it might be caught.
The flopping crows on weary wings go by
And grey beard jackdaws noising as they fly.
The crowds of starnels whizz and hurry by,
And darken like a clod the evening sky.
The larks like thunder rise and suthy round,
Then drop and nestle in the stubble ground.
The wild swan hurries hight and noises loud
With white neck peering to the evening clowd.
The weary rooks to distant woods are gone.
With lengths of tail the magpie winnows on
To neighbouring tree, and leaves the distant crow
While small birds nestle in the edge below.
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Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro’ the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark’d with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary’s sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev’ning sweeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
2.8k
Once there was a man who had only one friend.
Every day, just before the demise of a cyclamen orange burning ball on the horizon ~ he swam to the shore, waving with a magnificent tail, blowing bubbles and bundles of water and air into the wide open skies.
Under the darkening heavens, he sang the muffled song. Tempting his beloved. . .reaching magic, farther then any sonar's ability. Abnormal coldness froze Icelandic Beauty. But beneath the surface, life was warmer without wars. Dwarf seals were jumping into the laced ocean; trying to cry each time they were cut off the Earth's gravity.
This Mighty friend of an old man, was his only link to the global world. The man was old-fashioned; had no telecommunication facilities, his radio were gulls, stray cats, shepherd dogs and sheep on a green hill, behind his wooden hut.
Sometimes he looked over his shoulder, only to determine whether his elderly donkey is able to follow. . . or do they both need a little rest, just to postpone the books from the saddle for later and spread the beautifully ornamented Indian carpet under the great great grand olive tree ~ to take a reviving little nap in the shade.
When he woke up, the old man lit his wooden pipe, puffed few beautiful rings of indigo smoke, smirked to a buzzing bee and found that the air is still pure enough. The pressure was normal, the wind was playing with wave foams in the neighbouring bay.
Under the olives, hanging from the tree canopy, the quietness was fulfilling the old man's heart. Motionless peace was heard. Tranquility.
And the motion of a Humpback Whale. Leaving.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
Plant a fertile garden in summer & harvest all of the fruits and vegetables.
PIckle all of the vegetables.
preserve all of the fruits-leave some
Apples for pie.
Place pickles and preserves in the darkness of the root cellar.
Order How to ****** a Farmhand in 10 Days from the book catalogue.
Order the Art of War also just in case
Invite Handsome Jimmy Pike from the neighbouring farm over for pie.
Get Uncle Abe to cover the dirt floor with planks.
As Mama always said a frozen dirt floor is just for the dirt poor.
Bake Pie. Place on windowsill.
Waft the smell
Of hot pie over toward the woodpile where Uncle Abe is chopping wood.
Invite Jimmy to play Gin Rummy the evening when Uncle Abe is mysteriously ill of a stomach complaint and sleeping in the barn.
Show Jimmy Uncle Abe's tongue and groove method of log cabin construction.
Ask Jimmy to show me the **** and pass method of using unmilled logs to **** up against each other without notching.
Spike Jimmy's tea with ***
Show Jimmy the root cellar.
**** up against Jimmy with notching.
WITH LOTS OF NOTCHING.
Fall pregnant.
Tell Uncle Abe and have a shotgun wedding.
Bake another special pie.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 6:28 PM UTC
A STRANGE thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought
Upon the Norman upland or in that poplar shade,
Should find no burden but itself and yet should be worn out.
It could not bear that burden and therefore it went mad.
The south wind brought it longing, and the east wind
despair,
The west wind made it pitiful, and the north wind
afraid.
It feared to give its love a hurt with all the tempest
there;
It feared the hurt that shc could give and therefore it
went mad.
I can exchange opinion with any neighbouring mind,
I have as healthy flesh and blood as any rhymer's had,
But O! my Heart could bear no more when the upland
caught the wind;
I ran, I ran, from my love's side because my Heart went
mad.
HDR II
The Heart behind its rib laughed out. "You have called me mad,' it said,
"Because I made you turn away and run from that young child;
How could she mate with fifty years that was so wildly bred?
Let the cage bird and the cage bird mate and the wild
bird mate in the wild.'
"You but imagine lies all day, O murderer,' I replied.
"And all those lies have but one end, poor wretches to betray;
I did not find in any cage the woman at my side.
O but her heart would break to learn my thoughts are far away.'
'Speak all your mind,' my Heart sang out, "speak all your mind; who cares,
Now that your tongue cannot persuade the child till she mistake
Her childish gratitude for love and match your fifty years?
O let her choose a young man now and all for his wild sake.'
1.8k
I'd like to mention that my city Karnal was once the bastion of the armed forces.
Close to my house in NDRI campus until half-a-decade ago stood remnants of the old British Barracks - an irksome reminder of the colonial period.
But we went inside the rickety ruins of an olden period to play hide and seek and sometimes just for fun as an adventure.
I had seen them - the erstwhile barracks in that dilapidated state only, carrying the Union Jack painted at some places, and I had seen the ruins crash to ground - a reinstated taste of Indian freedom.
The Colonial army camped here until the occupying British chose to shift the army camp to Ambala due to high occurrence of mosquitoes in the city of Karnal and found this place fit only for a great cattle yard.
Karnal has seen negligence & side-lining ever-since along the course of history.
The Indian Oil Corporation's petroleum refinery was decided to be built in the neighbouring Panipat city & so was the National Fertilizers Limited's manufacturing plant built there and not in Karnal.
In Karnal they built research institutes, filled with greenery these make the city a comfortable place to relax at ease.
But ****** shameless people don't realize the value of plants & trees and keep removing them off the face of Karnal & even where I live, in the NDRI campus - acronym for the National Dairy Research Institute campus.
****** blood sucker stupid human beings are sometimes more irritating than the malarial mosquitoes.
They cut trees assuming trees shelter mosquitoes!
True they might be but I keep wondering what about the potholes dug by them into the coal-tar & gravel roads to facilitate the installing of religious & marriage tents.
But nothing can be done to change the people whose mindset has been falsely ligated with the thought of we are the best & we won't change.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
MY DEAR HUMANIST
You are an imperialist
He is a terrorist
You promote cold war
And declare unilaterally real war
He does the so called holy war
Both of you stretch it too far
He kills the people indiscriminately
And you discriminately
Saddam Hussain and Bin Laden were once your friends
Ultimately they became your rivals
Saddam was hanged by you
But Bin Laden still eludes you
You have the riches and power
And feel as if you were the law giver
UNO and the World Bank bow to your power
But the terrorist could demolish your tower
You divide and rule the world
He terrorizes it with his deed and word
Do you know how many people you murdered in the war?
None has stopped your inhuman actions so far
You make friends with one state
The neighbouring country your buffer state
You call yourself a great democrat and humanist
We know you are an imperialist
And worse than a terrorist
You never listen to the pacifist
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:33 AM UTC
i could never ever forget the night i met nari. it was like magic, like the powers that be wanted our destinies to collide, to crash, to blend.
it was the night a meteor shower was to come to my small town. people came from neighbouring cities just to see them, these bright lights, these shooting stars. everyone was camping out, the high school's football field covered with trucks and blankets and tents. There were even people cuddling with blankets wrapped around them in the bleachers, their words filling the air as they prepared to stare at the sky, prepared to see something more beautiful than anything they'd ever seen.
i was doing the same, sitting in the back of my dad's truck with a blanket over my shoulders, but i was beginning to doze off. i was feeling a sensation much like falling, when i heard a someone speaking in my direction.
"need help staying awake?"
it turns out, i didn't need to stare at the sky and see a meteor shower to see something more beautiful than anything i'd ever seen. i just needed to open my eyes and look at her. she was smiling, and god, she had a smile that grow flowers, birth stars, and mend butterfly wings. and she was smiling. at. me.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 7:03 PM UTC
Classing class as I class colour
One is one and one is the other
Finding freedom in fervour
Can one lonely soul discover?
Touching seeing hearing things
Sensation's where it all begins
To start the start of anything
Is to start the start of everything
Counselling countless souls
Neighbouring wanted rogues
Harbouring heavy loads
To shed’s to sheer to shake things clear
Maybe sometimes I’m not me
Maybe sometimes I can’t see
Maybe sometimes I’m not me
Maybe maybe she can see
Now I know when not to squander
Feel through feet the wildest thunder
Open up let me discover
Your wildest wishes up and under.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:59 PM UTC
It was a cold night,
I was coming home,
And I didn't inform her,
As I wanted it to be a surprise.
War was over and I was going home,
The terrorists had been terminated.
I had stopover en route,
At a distant town I paused,
Famous for its winery,
I had got the finest ***
For both me & my wife.
Obstructed en route by a blizzard,
I thought about my wife at home.
Waiting for the way to be cleared,
I slept because I felt so very tired.
A dream sequence started,
It was so bright and warm.
I was basking in the Sun,
My wife accompanied me.
Holding hands we're in the backyard,
Not a cloth shielded us from the Sun.
Composing poems we were,
Warm and hot ones as well.
I had said:
***"Oh my honeybunch,
My buttercup,
I love you,
From the core,
Of my purest heart."***
She had replied:
***"Oh my sweetiepie,
My bigger baby,
I love you too,
From my heart,
And even my body."***
But then the dream ended,
They had cleared the road.
The driver again started driving,
At a slow speed fit only for snails,
Still my rifle rattled inside the bad.
Now I reached my town,
I expected her in nightgown,
In the velvety green one she had.
Edging closer on foot to my home,
I observe incandescence in the hall,
Glimmering through the curtains,
I thought she was waiting for me,
Basking in the heat of the fireplace,
After a tiring day's work at the office,
She should have slept peacefully,
But here she was, I thought,
Waiting for her man to be back,
From the neighbouring state's capital.
With these positive thoughts on my mind,
I parried forwards in the snow,
And I thought I'd surprise her,
Telling that my work was done,
Earlier, much earlier than I had expected.
I produced my copy of the key,
And silently opened the door,
But then I heard some sounds.
Totally unexpected sounds,
Like the intimate ones in bed,
I wanted it to be some teleseries,
But then I noticed an overcoat,
And a pair of oversized boots,
Neither the overcoat belonged to me,
Nor the huge gumboots were mine.
It dawned upon me,
My wife had been cheating,
She was in the hall,
The indecent incandescence,
With the noises of it,
Filled the home after issuing,
From the main hall.
I immediately stepped back,
Closing the door silently behind me,
Then I went to the bus stop.
I entered the lodge nearby,
Took the bottle of *** out,
Drank it full slowly but surely,
Then I took the gun out,
Sank the *** in & pulled the trigger,
BANG!!!
The bullet dug under my chin,
It pierced me through my head,
Shattering the lamp overhead.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
A Lily never lies
unlike a neighbouring plant
where shrub and grub
are given a rub
like lavender to enchant
A Lily never lies
like your eyes
even if you tried
you can’t recant
you send a scent
and as soon as it’s sent
like lavender you replant
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 3:14 AM UTC
#*
Green meadows and distant hills
The shepherd sings to the herd
An old folk song, of sparkling rills
The sheep graze, heads bent down
Little bells around their necks
Dance to the tune of the old folk song
The sheep love the water mud pools
Monsoon brings greens and browns
Shelter and food
The shepherd and his herd
From the neighbouring town
Enjoy the picnic, up the hills*#
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 1:27 PM UTC
would want to be here alone,
wander the books and paintings,
use resources quiety, not guarded.
yet we came together nicely to share
experience, information, cheesecake
and pastries.
black book of carmarthen on diplay
from hengwrt, a
neighbouring house.
some books are tied,
some have no labels.
there was a draught
at the national library of wales.
sbm.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
The Vanishing
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the ****** excited at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,
For the daylight was nearly past.
"There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Bellman said.
"He is shouting like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found a Snark!"
They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
"He was always a desperate wag!"
They beheld him--their Baker--their hero unnamed--
On the top of a neighbouring crag,
***** and sublime, for one moment of time,
In the next, that wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and listened in awe.
"It's a Snark!" was the sound that first came to their ears,
And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words "It's a Boo--"
Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air
A weary and wandering sigh
That sounded like "--jum!" but the others declare
It was only a breeze that went by.
They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.
In the midst of the word he was trying to say
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away--
For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.
1.5k
Another ambulance siren sounds
Another death waits around
Everyday, increasing counts
But its nothing to worry about
We have it under control
Government says
It's fine it's alright
It's just a few people dying
Gruesome rapes the headlines say
But who believes them anyways
It's worse in the neighbouring state
It's their migrants doing it anyways
(We have no proof
But believe it, it's true)
There's nothing we can do except
Wait till the anger wanes
It's fine it's alright
You'll forget it in no time
Poor die of hunger,"why?,
Are you making this statue?.""To unify
For national pride, comes reply
Reason enough to justify"
Payments of millions less cash more kind
Its fine it's alright
Irreversible damage done
To nature and environment
"Well, it's irreversible, so nothing can be done
Just sign a meaningless treaty, a pact
Just for fun"
Climate change its all a hoax
All this science is satanic folks
Just believe us when we say you won't die
The living conditions will only drastically decline
It's fine it's alright
Turn off the TV station
They sell.fake news to this nation
Lapdogs of the opposition
Just believe what The Republic says
And other government outlets
It's truth, all ahem no lies
It's fine it's alright
Wars, genocides
Crisis of humanitarian right
It isn't our fault this time(it is)
Or anytime
There are things that can't be understood
Just agree, it's for your own good
Anyways, you'll.never know
It's fine it's alright
Nothing to eat
Nothing to wear
Nothing to do
But swear
"It's fine it's alright"
Don't get too fiesty child
(No revolution coming anytime soon)
Rebel all.you want
(We will crush you with our iron fists)
It's your freedom
It's your right
It's a democracy, your government
(Hahahahaha)
It's fine it's alright
Another ambulance siren sounds
Nothing to worry about
Oh it's for you, there's no bed
(As if we care)
Just die
Don't defy(us)
Deny(reality)
Don't cry
No whys
Goodbye
It's fine it's alright
(THERE'S NO POINT IN OPENING YOUR MOUTH
THERE IS NO POINT IN PROTESTING ALOUD
THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN CHANGE
ITS ALL BEEN DECIDED
WHATEVER YOU WANT TO SAY
ITS ALREADY BEEN SAID
WE'LL STEAL IN FRONT OF YOUR EYES
DO NOTHING, EXCEPT CRIMES
WELL LEAVE YOU IN RUINS
BLAME SOMEONE ELSE
AND YOU'LL STILL ELECT US
CAUSE THERE'S NO ONE ELSE
AND YOU'RE JUST SO DIVIDED
WE ARE THE MASTERS, YOU ARE THE SLAVES
THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO WORSHIP.US BLIND
SO BLIND WONT EVEN BELIEVE WHATS INFRONT OF THEIR EYES
THERE NOTHING YOU CAN DO
EXCEPT REPEAT THESE LINES)
Really, it's fine, it's alright
-Issued by the loving government of the world
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 12:27 PM UTC
You say you love, and yet your eye
No symptom of that love conveys,
You say you love, yet know not why,
Your cheek no sign of love betrays.
Ah! did that breast with ardour glow,
With me alone it joy could know,
Or feel with me the listless woe,
Which racks my heart when far from thee.
Whene’er we meet my blushes rise,
And mantle through my purpled cheek,
But yet no blush to mine replies,
Nor e’en your eyes your love bespeak.
Your voice alone declares your flame,
And though so sweet it breathes my name,
Our passions still are not the same;
Alas! you cannot love like me.
For e’en your lip seems steep’d in snow,
And though so oft it meets my kiss,
It burns with no responsive glow,
Nor melts like mine in dewy bliss.
Ah! what are words to love like mine,
Though uttered by a voice like thine,
I still in murmurs must repine,
And think that love can ne’er be true,
Which meets me with no joyous sign,
Without a sigh which bids adieu;
How different is my love from thine,
How keen my grief when leaving you.
Your image fills my anxious breast,
Till day declines adown the West,
And when at night, I sink to rest,
In dreams your fancied form I view.
’Tis then your breast, no longer cold,
With equal ardour seems to burn,
While close your arms around me fold,
Your lips my kiss with warmth return.
Ah! would these joyous moments last;
Vain HOPE! the gay delusion’s past,
That voice!—ah! no, ’tis but the blast,
Which echoes through the neighbouring grove.
But when awake, your lips I seek,
And clasp enraptur’d all your charms,
So chill’s the pressure of your cheek,
I fold a statue in my arms.
If thus, when to my heart embrac’d,
No pleasure in your eyes is trac’d,
You may be prudent, fair, and chaste,
But ah! my girl, you do not love.
1.4k
Give me just two of your fingers, it is more frisky;
When excited why act out platonically.
Skin me;
No need to falsify.
Your small hands hold an ocean, then tide me;
Send more white horses to step on my rocky heart;
Of course, sunk already.
Not a submerged foreign object;
Down there I am a reef;
Living for eons, heartily.
You are dear as nature.
I am thirsty, near which slippery cliff is your river.
In the ocean of your hands;
I am fished.
As time passes by, I am more aware of you;
I feel the ocean is not a piece of you;
It is you.
It is like you are offering yourself.
Why is it pellucid?
I can see miles away;
Miles away a dissolving wine.
Your mother calls you;
A crystal big cat emerges from your ocean.
A friend calls you;
You shut your eyes.
Noone comes around.
I notice that I am going to hear a sound;
I hear it, coming from far-flung;
Makes you more chaotic.
Vortical eyes.
Your face is too hot;
It starts to boil;
Rivers come out of your eyes and mouth;
Pouring into your ocean.
No overflow.
What do you represent?
What if you are an atypical?
What do you remind me of?
A bare white-bluish waterfall who offers everything has got?
You have mentioned me in your genome, with a deep shade.
Unclad is an old-hat, we should reveal what we have inside;
By playing with locks.
Suggest me, l will romance you.
Your touch reminds me of the untold.
You freeze, no flow, like it was in the cards.
Your scent, strange.
I should leave to buy.
I hover around you.
My vulnerable bare;
It is up to me to protect you.
I should leave to buy a huge opaque.
I couldn't find my clothing and shoes;
Can I wear yours? Is it weird?
I hear from the neighbouring flat, someone crying in the bath.
You start to tilt and smudge like you were a design on a rug;
I fold it;
Put it in a suitcase;
And leave to exit.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
To-day we have dividing of parts. Yesterday,
We had arguing. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after separating. But to-day,
To-day we have dividing of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighbouring gardens,
And to-day we have dividing of parts.
This is the book I was given. And this
Is a present from Aunty, whose use you will see,
When you have departed. To be shared with a new partner
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in your case you have not got.
This is the video, which is way outdated
But will play memories. You can do it quite easy
If you only read the manual. You can watch
Our daughter on the beach with the waves. The pages
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any sentimental reminiscence.
And this you can see is the album. The purpose of which
Was to record our joys, as you see. The pages
Have not been filled since the advent of digital: you call this
Shameful neglect. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call this shameful neglect.
They call this shameful neglect: it is perfectly easy
If you only read the manual: like the albums
And the tapes, and the pictures, and the shame
Which in your case you have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have dividing of parts.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 4:11 PM UTC
Ongoing
The pretty lady screams
**** ME NOW!!!
Putin’s bombs just murdered her baby
What life will the young mum have now?
In a shattered country war death hate killing
The ******* waited decades for this
And acted not caring the cost
Of Russia’s neighbouring nation
Plus thousands of dead Russian soldiers
Let the traumatised lady be an example
Of what it’s like to be in Putin’s war
Like the husband’s family also killed
By Putin’s mortar bombs while waiting
To flee their devastated homeland
Remember them all make him pay
For every single death and injury
And ruined town and city…
Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 5:48 PM UTC
The pail hurriedly fills to its brim
From a gushing river, pure and deep.
Unsullied by the chrysanthemums and lilies
Which encircle the babbling brook.
‘Almost full!’ proclaims the Lark
Perched atop an aged oak,
As the wet trickles down the bail,
‘Soon, soon, soon’ he sings his song.
Down flutters the Owl with a hoot,
‘What say you, Lark?’
‘With your songs so sweet and pail bursting,’
Feathered talons grasp the neighbouring birch.
The tinkling warble resumes,
‘Not yet full!’ the Lark weeps,
In a melodic trill.
‘Still. More must be filled.’
Amidst the river stones and collapsed trunks,
The pail sits, engulfed in the serene.
O'er the vessel the Owl hovers,
As talons clutch the sopping bail.
Suddenly, the jaws separate, delivering a soft hoot;
‘To be bursting is no more complete than to be hollow’,
Warns the venerable Owl with its warm,
Serrated feathers surrounding its pale face.
‘Well, when shall I quit?’ asks the Lark in a daze,
Raising its beak to the Heavens.
‘You shan’t quit. For we all strive to be full.’
Asserts the Owl, bathed in divine light,
‘The water shall forever drip in this stream, as it shall drip in you.’
As he ascends in a flurry, the pail too flies,
Splashing upon the adjacent foliage,
Now it rests
Neither full nor empty.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 4:45 PM UTC
Who tends these flowers, sweet maiden of mine?
A soft touch do you use, or do you cut
Your stems deep? In Athens garden; along silvery waves,
Even poppies, even the dewy tamarisks, duly inquire.
And I'll pluck you, O laurels, and you neighbouring myrtle.
I beg your pardon; open your gates, fling wide,
My delicate Muse, speak those stories you
Gently gift, memory, your forte also; for a poet,
I am your poet; unmask hard effort to vision your eyes.
A burdening task to cause clouds to weep, weep too
The drooping lilacs, crimson roses even bow
Their leafy heads towards the soiled earth.
Damp Nights bright torch visits her love
On the Oceans depths; abandoning her steeds;
Eternal sleep covers eternally his punished eyes.
Too much; too much do I miss of swimming
In your chestnut pools; which my sight always loved.
To bathe in clear springs; on either side, to be touched on
The temple by sleeps ivory wand; too drift into dreams.
Do you tend this garden, lovely young girl, is it you,
Who gently prunes these thousand petals, Emily?
An essence divine, for you, the Nymphs perfume the air
Like these flowers; baskets full, you care for. Let
The woods beyond all else please you and me. May
Your powers, my casualty, last long: till the burning sun,
Sees conquered love underneath his blue skies.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC