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It is full winter now:  the trees are bare,
Save where the cattle huddle from the cold
Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear
The autumn’s gaudy livery whose gold
Her jealous brother pilfers, but is true
To the green doublet; bitter is the wind, as though it blew

From Saturn’s cave; a few thin wisps of hay
Lie on the sharp black hedges, where the wain
Dragged the sweet pillage of a summer’s day
From the low meadows up the narrow lane;
Upon the half-thawed snow the bleating sheep
Press close against the hurdles, and the shivering house-dogs creep

From the shut stable to the frozen stream
And back again disconsolate, and miss
The bawling shepherds and the noisy team;
And overhead in circling listlessness
The cawing rooks whirl round the frosted stack,
Or crowd the dripping boughs; and in the fen the ice-pools crack

Where the gaunt bittern stalks among the reeds
And ***** his wings, and stretches back his neck,
And hoots to see the moon; across the meads
Limps the poor frightened hare, a little speck;
And a stray seamew with its fretful cry
Flits like a sudden drift of snow against the dull grey sky.

Full winter:  and the ***** goodman brings
His load of ******* from the chilly byre,
And stamps his feet upon the hearth, and flings
The sappy billets on the waning fire,
And laughs to see the sudden lightening scare
His children at their play, and yet,—the spring is in the air;

Already the slim crocus stirs the snow,
And soon yon blanched fields will bloom again
With nodding cowslips for some lad to mow,
For with the first warm kisses of the rain
The winter’s icy sorrow breaks to tears,
And the brown thrushes mate, and with bright eyes the rabbit peers

From the dark warren where the fir-cones lie,
And treads one snowdrop under foot, and runs
Over the mossy knoll, and blackbirds fly
Across our path at evening, and the suns
Stay longer with us; ah! how good to see
Grass-girdled spring in all her joy of laughing greenery

Dance through the hedges till the early rose,
(That sweet repentance of the thorny briar!)
Burst from its sheathed emerald and disclose
The little quivering disk of golden fire
Which the bees know so well, for with it come
Pale boy’s-love, sops-in-wine, and daffadillies all in bloom.

Then up and down the field the sower goes,
While close behind the laughing younker scares
With shrilly whoop the black and thievish crows,
And then the chestnut-tree its glory wears,
And on the grass the creamy blossom falls
In odorous excess, and faint half-whispered madrigals

Steal from the bluebells’ nodding carillons
Each breezy morn, and then white jessamine,
That star of its own heaven, snap-dragons
With lolling crimson tongues, and eglantine
In dusty velvets clad usurp the bed
And woodland empery, and when the lingering rose hath shed

Red leaf by leaf its folded panoply,
And pansies closed their purple-lidded eyes,
Chrysanthemums from gilded argosy
Unload their gaudy scentless merchandise,
And violets getting overbold withdraw
From their shy nooks, and scarlet berries dot the leafless haw.

O happy field! and O thrice happy tree!
Soon will your queen in daisy-flowered smock
And crown of flower-de-luce trip down the lea,
Soon will the lazy shepherds drive their flock
Back to the pasture by the pool, and soon
Through the green leaves will float the hum of murmuring bees at noon.

Soon will the glade be bright with bellamour,
The flower which wantons love, and those sweet nuns
Vale-lilies in their snowy vestiture
Will tell their beaded pearls, and carnations
With mitred dusky leaves will scent the wind,
And straggling traveller’s-joy each hedge with yellow stars will bind.

Dear bride of Nature and most bounteous spring,
That canst give increase to the sweet-breath’d kine,
And to the kid its little horns, and bring
The soft and silky blossoms to the vine,
Where is that old nepenthe which of yore
Man got from poppy root and glossy-berried mandragore!

There was a time when any common bird
Could make me sing in unison, a time
When all the strings of boyish life were stirred
To quick response or more melodious rhyme
By every forest idyll;—do I change?
Or rather doth some evil thing through thy fair pleasaunce range?

Nay, nay, thou art the same:  ’tis I who seek
To vex with sighs thy simple solitude,
And because fruitless tears bedew my cheek
Would have thee weep with me in brotherhood;
Fool! shall each wronged and restless spirit dare
To taint such wine with the salt poison of own despair!

Thou art the same:  ’tis I whose wretched soul
Takes discontent to be its paramour,
And gives its kingdom to the rude control
Of what should be its servitor,—for sure
Wisdom is somewhere, though the stormy sea
Contain it not, and the huge deep answer ‘’Tis not in me.’

To burn with one clear flame, to stand *****
In natural honour, not to bend the knee
In profitless prostrations whose effect
Is by itself condemned, what alchemy
Can teach me this? what herb Medea brewed
Will bring the unexultant peace of essence not subdued?

The minor chord which ends the harmony,
And for its answering brother waits in vain
Sobbing for incompleted melody,
Dies a swan’s death; but I the heir of pain,
A silent Memnon with blank lidless eyes,
Wait for the light and music of those suns which never rise.

The quenched-out torch, the lonely cypress-gloom,
The little dust stored in the narrow urn,
The gentle XAIPE of the Attic tomb,—
Were not these better far than to return
To my old fitful restless malady,
Or spend my days within the voiceless cave of misery?

Nay! for perchance that poppy-crowned god
Is like the watcher by a sick man’s bed
Who talks of sleep but gives it not; his rod
Hath lost its virtue, and, when all is said,
Death is too rude, too obvious a key
To solve one single secret in a life’s philosophy.

And Love! that noble madness, whose august
And inextinguishable might can slay
The soul with honeyed drugs,—alas! I must
From such sweet ruin play the runaway,
Although too constant memory never can
Forget the arched splendour of those brows Olympian

Which for a little season made my youth
So soft a swoon of exquisite indolence
That all the chiding of more prudent Truth
Seemed the thin voice of jealousy,—O hence
Thou huntress deadlier than Artemis!
Go seek some other quarry! for of thy too perilous bliss.

My lips have drunk enough,—no more, no more,—
Though Love himself should turn his gilded prow
Back to the troubled waters of this shore
Where I am wrecked and stranded, even now
The chariot wheels of passion sweep too near,
Hence!  Hence!  I pass unto a life more barren, more austere.

More barren—ay, those arms will never lean
Down through the trellised vines and draw my soul
In sweet reluctance through the tangled green;
Some other head must wear that aureole,
For I am hers who loves not any man
Whose white and stainless ***** bears the sign Gorgonian.

Let Venus go and chuck her dainty page,
And kiss his mouth, and toss his curly hair,
With net and spear and hunting equipage
Let young Adonis to his tryst repair,
But me her fond and subtle-fashioned spell
Delights no more, though I could win her dearest citadel.

Ay, though I were that laughing shepherd boy
Who from Mount Ida saw the little cloud
Pass over Tenedos and lofty Troy
And knew the coming of the Queen, and bowed
In wonder at her feet, not for the sake
Of a new Helen would I bid her hand the apple take.

Then rise supreme Athena argent-limbed!
And, if my lips be musicless, inspire
At least my life:  was not thy glory hymned
By One who gave to thee his sword and lyre
Like AEschylos at well-fought Marathon,
And died to show that Milton’s England still could bear a son!

And yet I cannot tread the Portico
And live without desire, fear and pain,
Or nurture that wise calm which long ago
The grave Athenian master taught to men,
Self-poised, self-centred, and self-comforted,
To watch the world’s vain phantasies go by with unbowed head.

Alas! that serene brow, those eloquent lips,
Those eyes that mirrored all eternity,
Rest in their own Colonos, an eclipse
Hath come on Wisdom, and Mnemosyne
Is childless; in the night which she had made
For lofty secure flight Athena’s owl itself hath strayed.

Nor much with Science do I care to climb,
Although by strange and subtle witchery
She drew the moon from heaven:  the Muse Time
Unrolls her gorgeous-coloured tapestry
To no less eager eyes; often indeed
In the great epic of Polymnia’s scroll I love to read

How Asia sent her myriad hosts to war
Against a little town, and panoplied
In gilded mail with jewelled scimitar,
White-shielded, purple-crested, rode the Mede
Between the waving poplars and the sea
Which men call Artemisium, till he saw Thermopylae

Its steep ravine spanned by a narrow wall,
And on the nearer side a little brood
Of careless lions holding festival!
And stood amazed at such hardihood,
And pitched his tent upon the reedy shore,
And stayed two days to wonder, and then crept at midnight o’er

Some unfrequented height, and coming down
The autumn forests treacherously slew
What Sparta held most dear and was the crown
Of far Eurotas, and passed on, nor knew
How God had staked an evil net for him
In the small bay at Salamis,—and yet, the page grows dim,

Its cadenced Greek delights me not, I feel
With such a goodly time too out of tune
To love it much:  for like the Dial’s wheel
That from its blinded darkness strikes the noon
Yet never sees the sun, so do my eyes
Restlessly follow that which from my cheated vision flies.

O for one grand unselfish simple life
To teach us what is Wisdom! speak ye hills
Of lone Helvellyn, for this note of strife
Shunned your untroubled crags and crystal rills,
Where is that Spirit which living blamelessly
Yet dared to kiss the smitten mouth of his own century!

Speak ye Rydalian laurels! where is he
Whose gentle head ye sheltered, that pure soul
Whose gracious days of uncrowned majesty
Through lowliest conduct touched the lofty goal
Where love and duty mingle!  Him at least
The most high Laws were glad of, he had sat at Wisdom’s feast;

But we are Learning’s changelings, know by rote
The clarion watchword of each Grecian school
And follow none, the flawless sword which smote
The pagan Hydra is an effete tool
Which we ourselves have blunted, what man now
Shall scale the august ancient heights and to old Reverence bow?

One such indeed I saw, but, Ichabod!
Gone is that last dear son of Italy,
Who being man died for the sake of God,
And whose unrisen bones sleep peacefully,
O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto’s tower,
Thou marble lily of the lily town! let not the lour

Of the rude tempest vex his slumber, or
The Arno with its tawny troubled gold
O’er-leap its marge, no mightier conqueror
Clomb the high Capitol in the days of old
When Rome was indeed Rome, for Liberty
Walked like a bride beside him, at which sight pale Mystery

Fled shrieking to her farthest sombrest cell
With an old man who grabbled rusty keys,
Fled shuddering, for that immemorial knell
With which oblivion buries dynasties
Swept like a wounded eagle on the blast,
As to the holy heart of Rome the great triumvir passed.

He knew the holiest heart and heights of Rome,
He drave the base wolf from the lion’s lair,
And now lies dead by that empyreal dome
Which overtops Valdarno hung in air
By Brunelleschi—O Melpomene
Breathe through thy melancholy pipe thy sweetest threnody!

Breathe through the tragic stops such melodies
That Joy’s self may grow jealous, and the Nine
Forget awhile their discreet emperies,
Mourning for him who on Rome’s lordliest shrine
Lit for men’s lives the light of Marathon,
And bare to sun-forgotten fields the fire of the sun!

O guard him, guard him well, my Giotto’s tower!
Let some young Florentine each eventide
Bring coronals of that enchanted flower
Which the dim woods of Vallombrosa hide,
And deck the marble tomb wherein he lies
Whose soul is as some mighty orb unseen of mortal eyes;

Some mighty orb whose cycled wanderings,
Being tempest-driven to the farthest rim
Where Chaos meets Creation and the wings
Of the eternal chanting Cherubim
Are pavilioned on Nothing, passed away
Into a moonless void,—and yet, though he is dust and clay,

He is not dead, the immemorial Fates
Forbid it, and the closing shears refrain.
Lift up your heads ye everlasting gates!
Ye argent clarions, sound a loftier strain
For the vile thing he hated lurks within
Its sombre house, alone with God and memories of sin.

Still what avails it that she sought her cave
That murderous mother of red harlotries?
At Munich on the marble architrave
The Grecian boys die smiling, but the seas
Which wash AEgina fret in loneliness
Not mirroring their beauty; so our lives grow colourless

For lack of our ideals, if one star
Flame torch-like in the heavens the unjust
Swift daylight kills it, and no trump of war
Can wake to passionate voice the silent dust
Which was Mazzini once! rich Niobe
For all her stony sorrows hath her sons; but Italy,

What Easter Day shall make her children rise,
Who were not Gods yet suffered? what sure feet
Shall find their grave-clothes folded? what clear eyes
Shall see them ******?  O it were meet
To roll the stone from off the sepulchre
And kiss the bleeding roses of their wounds, in love of her,

Our Italy! our mother visible!
Most blessed among nations and most sad,
For whose dear sake the young Calabrian fell
That day at Aspromonte and was glad
That in an age when God was bought and sold
One man could die for Liberty! but we, burnt out and cold,

See Honour smitten on the cheek and gyves
Bind the sweet feet of Mercy:  Poverty
Creeps through our sunless lanes and with sharp knives
Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily,
And no word said:- O we are wretched men
Unworthy of our great inheritance! where is the pen

Of austere Milton? where the mighty sword
Which slew its master righteously? the years
Have lost their ancient leader, and no word
Breaks from the voiceless tripod on our ears:
While as a ruined mother in some spasm
Bears a base child and loathes it, so our best enthusiasm

Genders unlawful children, Anarchy
Freedom’s own Judas, the vile prodigal
Licence who steals the gold of Liberty
And yet has nothing, Ignorance the real
One Fraticide since Cain, Envy the asp
That stings itself to anguish, Avarice whose palsied grasp

Is in its extent stiffened, moneyed Greed
For whose dull appetite men waste away
Amid the whirr of wheels and are the seed
Of things which slay their sower, these each day
Sees rife in England, and the gentle feet
Of Beauty tread no more the stones of each unlovely street.

What even Cromwell spared is desecrated
By **** and worm, left to the stormy play
Of wind and beating snow, or renovated
By more destructful hands:  Time’s worst decay
Will wreathe its ruins with some loveliness,
But these new Vandals can but make a rain-proof barrenness.

Where is that Art which bade the Angels sing
Through Lincoln’s lofty choir, till the air
Seems from such marble harmonies to ring
With sweeter song than common lips can dare
To draw from actual reed? ah! where is now
The cunning hand which made the flowering hawthorn branches bow

For Southwell’s arch, and carved the House of One
Who loved the lilies of the field with all
Our dearest English flowers? the same sun
Rises for us:  the seasons natural
Weave the same tapestry of green and grey:
The unchanged hills are with us:  but that Spirit hath passed away.

And yet perchance it may be better so,
For Tyranny is an incestuous Queen,
****** her brother is her bedfellow,
And the Plague chambers with her:  in obscene
And ****** paths her treacherous feet are set;
Better the empty desert and a soul inviolate!

For gentle brotherhood, the harmony
Of living in the healthful air, the swift
Clean beauty of strong limbs when men are free
And women chaste, these are the things which lift
Our souls up more than even Agnolo’s
Gaunt blinded Sibyl poring o’er the scroll of human woes,

Or Titian’s little maiden on the stair
White as her own sweet lily and as tall,
Or Mona Lisa smiling through her hair,—
Ah! somehow life is bigger after all
Than any painted angel, could we see
The God that is within us!  The old Greek serenity

Which curbs the passion of that
RAJ NANDY Aug 2015
Dear Readers, President Theodore Roosevelt wanted
to save this marvelous Natural Wonder for posterity! So
the Grand Canyon National Park was set up in 1919. In
1979 it was declared as World Heritage Site! With the
portion “Sun rises and sets over the Grand Canyon”, -
I have concluded this poem. Kindly take your time to read,
no need to comment in a hurry please ! Thanks, -Raj

CONCLUDING THE GRAND CANYON
STORY IN VERSE – RAJ NANDY

INTRODUCTION
Literature about great natural features include
two personal types of writing;
Description of things observed, and impressions
of what is known and seen!
The story of the Grand Canyon takes us back
to the Pre-Cambrian Age,
When violent forces were unleashed from within
the Earth, during its formative stage;
When mighty forces of erosion began to sculpture
her undulating landscapes!
Therefore, I begin with a quote about Erosion,
From the great poet Alfred Lord Tennyson; -
“The hills are shadows and they flow,
From form to form, and nothing stands.
They pass like clouds, the solid lands.
Like clouds they shape themselves and go!”

TO RECAPITULATE PART ONE:
In Part One we have seen, how movement of
earth’s tectonic plates unleashed violent forces
from within!
It formed mountains and lakes, shaping our
landscapes, which now appear so peaceful,
grand, and serene!
Over millions of years the forces of erosion in
the form of wind, rain, sun and snow,
Sculptured earth’s evolving features creating
majestic, panoramic vistas as we know!
Geologists now opine, that the Grand Canyon
was carved out by the Colorado River, -
cutting through ‘layers of Geological time’!

THE COLORADO RIVER CARVED THE CANYON:
In the state of Colorado, from the high country,
Where snow and ice lasts well beyond the dawning
days of Spring;
There the majestic peaks of the Rockies form the
perennial fountain head from which springs, -
One of the great rivers of the world the Colorado;
Which travels 1400 miles through seven States
reaching the Californian Gulf west of Mexico!
Now during prehistoric days, the pristine Colorado
had flowed almost along the same path as today!
But after the magical rise of the Colorado Plateau
some five million years ago, (Refer Part One)
It had blocked the river’s path making it flow
south-east into the Gulf of Mexico!
Few Geologists now opine, that this diverted river
had formed the pre-historic Lake Bidahochi,
Which later drained out to form the Little Colorado
River, which today we get see!
But the cut-off western portion of the river (named
Hualapai Drainage) continued to eat away through
the Plateau’s southern portion,
Through a gradual process known as ’Headwater
Erosion’!
For the river flowing at a steeper gradient along
the ‘Grand Staircase’ of the Plateau, carried
stones, rocks and debris,
Which formed the cutting tools, deepening the
Canyon over countless centuries!
When the softer sedimentary layers of the Plateau
below the top rocky layers gave away, - it resulted
in several rock falls!
While flash floods and erosion continued to breach
the sides of the canyon walls!
Thus over millions of years the width of the Canyon
gradually increased;
While the gushing and untamed Colorado River
chiseled through the depths of those Cyclopean walls, -
running deep!
Now the ancient Lake Bidahochi which had breached its
banks, had captured our pristine Colorado;
And their combined power increased the volume of
water and river’s chiseling power, with its rapid flow!

ENDANGERED COLORADO RIVER :
It is unfortunate that today, the Colorado no longer
reach the mighty Pacific as in the olden days!
With the progress of civilization and the spawning
of big cities,
Like Denver, Las Vegas, Phoenix and Los Angeles;
And to cater for the agricultural farmlands and the
Industries,
Many dams got built to divert its water and to
generate electricity!
Thus over a century of overuse and abuse of this
precious natural resource,
Gradually choked up the great Colorado, as it
became a mere trickle at the end of its course!
Ecologists now debate, while USA has launched
‘Save the Colorado River Project’!
Let us now cheer up by getting back to our
Grand Canyon’s scenic beauty,
Before concluding this wondrous Canyon Story!

SUN RISES AND SETS OVER GRAND CANYON!
To see the sunrise from Mather, Yaki, or the
Hopi Point, - located on the Southern Rim,
Becomes a life time experience, better than any
surreal dream!
First a glimmer then a glow, when a faint blue-white
sheen begins to show!
As the sun gradually sprinkles its light, streaks of
crimson red spreads across the eastern sky!
Soon orange and yellow shafts of light, light up the
Canyon walls up high!
Squirrels scurry out of sight, and birds twitter in
the sky!
The Hummingbird hovers like a helicopter, and
Big Horn sheep are also seen;
The Hummingbird which can even fly backwards,
enlivens this early morning scene!
The sun now rising in its resplendent glory,
showers the canyon with its kaleidoscopic beams;
With streaks of yellow, gold and red, it chases out
lurking shadows from within!
Like a curtain lifting before their eyes, the tourists
view this panoramic sight!
As the Grand Canyon awakens to greet the day,
With cameras madly clicking away!
The great ancestors of the Hopi tribe, Hopi
meaning both peaceful and wise;
Had inhabited these areas some eight thousand
years hence!
Their scooped out granaries and tools found inside
Canyon walls, - have an ancient story to tell !
The Spaniards were the first Europeans to reach,
in search for gold which they never found!
But for the Hopis the Canyon remains, as their
sacred Holy ground!
When those Spaniards saw the Colorado way
down below, from the Canyon’s upper rim’s side;
They said that this thin blue streaked River, was
barely five feet wide! (In mid-16th century)
The average width of the Canyon is around 10 miles;
While the River at its narrowest point is 600 yards
wide!
The Condor the largest American bird, catching an
upward draft circles up high;
Like an uncrowned monarch he surveys his kingdom
below, nothing escapes his watchful eyes!
Temperature at the Canyon’s floor is 20 degrees
higher, when compared to its outer rim;
Supports an ecosystem of plants and animals,
With the river as chief nourisher of all things!
Evergreen pines and furs grow along the cooler
areas of the Canyon’s outer rim;
While cactus species are found on its arid floor,
Their exotic flowers bloom during Summer and Spring!
The Northern Rim a thousand feet higher, offers many
spectacular sites!
But the Southern Rim remains open throughout the
year, while the Northern closes during Winter time.
From the Hopi Point west of the Canyon, the visitors
enjoy the beauty of the silent, sinking sun;
When the sky gets diffused with vermillion red, as
darkening shadows engulf those Canyon walls!
The mighty Canyon with its Cyclopean walls,
perhaps the playground of the Titans from eons past;
Shaped by some mythical Vulcan, shall remain till
this World continues to last!

CONCLUDING THE GRAND CANYON STORY:
I conclude my Grand Canyon Story by quoting a
poem I had once read;
Written by an Anonymous author, whose name
I had failed to get!
“BUILT WITH PATIENCE OF ENDLESS TIME,
YEARS ERODE AND SHAPES DEFINE.
LAYERS YIELD THEIR COUNTLESS AGE,
EYES CAN SEE BUT CANNOT GAUGE!
STAND AGAPE WITH AWE INSPIRED,
IMAGE READS OF LIFE TRANSPIRED.
CLIFFS REACH OUT TO TOUCH THE SKY,
PATHS LEAD DOWN WHERE RIVER LYE.
COLORS, SHAPES AND SHADOWS MELD,
HERE, A PLACE FOREVER HELD.
WALK AWAY YET NEVER PART,
BODY LEAVES BUT NOT THE HEART!”
- Anonymous
……………………………………………………………
ALL COPYRIGHTS WITH THE AUTHOR RAJ NANDY
OF NEW DELHI, E-MAIL: rajnandy21@yahoo.in
KINDLY READ PART ONE OF THIS STORY IF YOU HAD MISSED OUT!
THANKS, -Raj Nandy
A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before
me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of
the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second comer, waiting.

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.

And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?

Was it cowardice, that I dared not **** him? Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him? Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.

And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would **** him!

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid, But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.

He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste.
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how ******, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the albatross
And I wished he would come back, my snake.

For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.

Taormina, 1923
Ziphozihle Kati Jun 2014
TO AFRIKA, THE POWERFUL GIANT WHO IS BOUND, TEARS AT HER OWN FLESH AND CAN NOT SEE HER OWN BEAUTY

How long shall we grind our teeth?
As old man's bones crack to the beat
Of their picks digging white man gold in black man land
Afrika mama, you soul is sold

Vuka Afrika Mama
Ikati lilele eziko
As vultures tap dance on your corrugated iron roof
Hyenas point and cackle baring sharpened tooth

All the while you slumbered
They shackled you and tore your treasure asunder
Now is the time to break free
Clear those scales from your eyes so you can see

How long shall we cry these crocodile tears?
As the swollen belly babies, eyes filled with fear
Watch the queen who bore them, cowered in the corner, face to the ground
Battered by the head of the household, asserting his authority
No mercy to be found

Zijonge Afrika mama
Ubone ubuhle bakho
They lied and said your ebony skin wasn't beautiful
At all cost remain dutiful
Head bowed, queen uncrowned

All the while  you doubt yourself
There are those who eye and pillage your riches
May our united voice bring you to your senses
Lest you find yourself stripped naked, while balancing on fences
Expressing my frustration at the current level of dysfunction within Afrika as a whole. There is an accompanying video that is still a work in progress. http://youtu.be/LibStfY-TPc
RAJ NANDY Dec 2018
Dedicated to all my Poet Friend, as I wish them a Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year - 2019 ! Kindly read the footnotes too. If you like it, do re-post this poem for wider circulation please! Thank You, - Raj

A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM !
             * By Raj Nandy
“We three kings of Orient are,
  Bearing gifts we travel afar;
  Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
  Following the yonder star ! “
                               - A Christmas Carol.

Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Travelling west guided by a Bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the 'uncrowned
King' one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolised His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume ! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life -
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolising His sorrowing, suffering
and crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!

So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children
and bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
Of His kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
……………………………………………………………….......................
NOT­ES : - @ = One 8th Century AD Manuscript says that these Three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne !!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC, which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes, & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming , - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
           *ALL COPY RIGHTS WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY

,
RAJ NANDY Dec 2016
Dedicated to Ms Valsa George & my Poet Friend, as I wish them a Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year - 2017 !

A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM !
             * By Raj Nandy*
“We three kings of Orient are,
  Bearing gifts we travel afar;
  Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
  Following the yonder star ! “
                               - A Christmas Carol.

Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Traveling west guided by a Bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the uncrowned
King one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolized His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume ! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life -
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolising His sorrowing, suffering
and crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!

So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children
and bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
HIS kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
………………………………………………………………...........................­¬..
NOTES : - @ = One 8th Century AD Manuscript says that these Three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne !!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC,
which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes, & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming , - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
,
Edit poem
Edna Sweetlove Sep 2015
Barry Hodges goes all autobiographical in this one

O well-renowned upper-class *banlieue
#, gorgeous Gosforth,
(blest suburb of the mighty Novocastrian metropolis
majestically situated on the Northern side
of the glorious industrial River Tyne
which wends its stately way towards the sea
only pausing to absorb greedily the teeming outflow
of the sewage farm at charming South Shields),
Thrice hail to thee##, O uncrowned queen of Northumbria!


And selbstverständlich### Gosforth's greatest claim to fame
In the annals of literature and cultural glory
Is to be the proud birthplace of yours truly,
Barry Hodges, the immortal Bard of Gosforth;
O sweet Mary mother of God (Ave Maria, cha cha cha),
How could I ever forget my dearest memory there,
Of my first immense accidental ****** incurred
Whilst washing myself manfully in the bathtub one day,
Thus causing a really **** teenage soapy squirt?

Let my ardent fans gawp in terror and wonder
At my countless amorous encounters
And their tragic yet inevitable consequences;
How sad must you be reading how mistress after mistress
Comes to a sticky end (to coin an unfortunate phrase)?
And, verily, other blood relatives are not spared:
Aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, (parents even),
All are prone to going under a runaway bus or charabanc
Or even tumbling into a frothily noisome manhole,
Gargling sadly in eldritch agony as they drown
In lumpy brown-ale-flavoured untreated Geordie sewage.

And yet, one day, un bel di di maggio#### perhap,
I too may encounter a fate too utterly horrid,
Too utterly horrid to contemplate, oy vay#####;
Maybe involving a blunt machete wielded gaily
By some poor demented cuckolded old *******
Whose pathetic bedroom skills have been derided
By his gloating lady wife after a taste of love's Nirvana
At the hands of the magnificent Master ******* (me).

O dear Lord and Father of Mankind######,
Look down kindly on el gran Casanova,
El Señor Hodges, and thus let me complete
My mighty oeuvre of awe-inspiring poems,
Before the Grim Reaper takes me in his arms
Dragging me screaming o'er that sad bourne of no return,
To the shivering shores of the benighted Underworld.
But, take pause for a moment, dear reader:
If that other poetic genius (by which I mean
sweet, sweet William, the Bard of Avon)
Could manage 154 bleeding sonnets no less
(and Christ knows how much else besides)
Before kicking the *******' bucket
(and he poked that Ann Hathaway too,
a right totally tasty piece I have heard
with a gorgeously provocative keester),
Surely I may be permitted to churn out a thousand odes
(thus ensuring a few dozen golden trophies from my peers)?


If I am to be denied my just literary deserts,
Even allowing for the occasional day off
To respectfully attend the odd funeral or two
of exhausted bed partners and bystanders,
(followed by the happier reading of the will
in which I get the benefits so richly due to me
as a just reward for sleeping with some ugly cow
and thereby giving her the treat of her pathetic life),
I think it's totally out of ******* order
And a right liberty to boot, squire.
Some notes to assist my fans:
# A pretentious bit of French.
## A Macbeth reference.
### A pretentious bit of German.
#### A Puccinian reference for those in the know.
##### A Yiddish joke.
###### A reference to a hymn I used to sing at school (in between groping my fellow pupils behind the bikeshed)
RAJ NANDY Dec 2014
A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM!
* By Raj Nandy*

“We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we travel afar;
Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
Following the yonder star ! “
- A Christmas Carol.

Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Traveling west guided by a bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the uncrowned
King one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolized His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolizing His sorrowing, suffering, and
crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!

So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children and
bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
HIS kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
………………………………………………………………...........................­...............

A Very Happy Christmas To All My Reader!
NOTES : - @ = One 8th Century AD manuscript says that these three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that
King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC,
which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes , & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming ; - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
,
Valsa George Oct 2016
What wealth for us humans to fare
The gift of power, the will to dare
Wit so sharp and insights rare
Hearts to share and souls to care

      The prime motif in God’s divine design
In us, the body and soul mysteriously intertwine
We are bestowed with intelligence to discern
And light and warmth like candles to burn

In kingly glory we stand ***** n’ tall
Over all animals that beneath us crawl
Blessed generously with copious gifts and skills
And discretion to ward off all sinister ills

Though here on Earth, uncrowned we be
We are the royal princes of the life to be
And legal heirs to celestial glee
After our perilous voyage across the sea

We are flung unasked into this world
And the gift of life to us is generously furled
Never let the vessel of life go adrift
      Steer clear of the shoals n'storms and guard this gift!
Man is a bundle of contradictions and possibilities… His ingenuity has no limits! In fact life is a wondrous Gift from God! Unfortunately many try to quit it in the face of adversities! If we wait patiently and brave the storms, we will see the turbulence calming down! This is the message I want to give through this poem! ‘Life a gift’…. Love the topic and thanks to Jordan rains for choosing such a beautiful topic!
Left Foot Poet Feb 2018
commissioned by and for those
who constant comment on my
            poems, my indenture


moi,
handy with verbal weapons,
cut down a few trees for my necessities,
duels or dams, written Odyssey long and Tombstone OK quick,
who was it said, I lay down verse cause it’s my daddy’s curse?

why it was me and thus the free and easy flowing from the obligatory urges, cannot be disobeyed or disturbed, ignored,
this one, inherent, so fast comes the flow steady, unbending,
the six easy pieces come up half heads and three tails

it is just dictation from the *mental musing committee
and  as far as they’re concerned, they’re the tator and I’m the tot, the
dic who just has to get it down like I knowed it complete
before they decided to speak it

ain’t deprecating and ain’t saying that a thousand or more poe’s ain’t time used well, but this one has a pale, almost Elizabethan white powdery dusted pallor, caused it spilled out in 10 minutes
with no time to get tanned or tamed

to the skilled individuated commentators
who Tennessee volunteer their skill, sight, their time, unbidden to savvy and to savage say what they see beneath the surface,
a place I’d prefer not to visit or even, just hang,
lest I find out what the heck I actually meant!

hats off to the reactors and the actors
who write their own lines
pithy and for pity sake,
hot and cold, youthful and old,
who speak without long considered pauses
and so often write in two lines the summary
of hours labor and the product of decades,
of the good and bad, the thirty one flavors in my mind stored

hats off to the gallant and the uncredited uncrowned,
who are the validators and the gladiators who enter the arena with but a short sword and yet subjugate the army of
the many verses and see close up and offer freely their
heart warming frostings over my écritures

you gladden an old man’s heart,
by the hearth, and egg him on
asking without asking for but one mort~more,
with the unintentional inspired commissions
that their comments instigate

you lay and slay me down repeatedly
and I ‘m held harmless
but not wordless for so oft have I exclaimed:

anything you say can and will be used by me
in the court of poetry**

the next to the bottom line is this:

those who comment commend condemn are the extenders
and should claim legit the greater credit

<•>
2/20/18 2:00 ~ 2:10am.

writ in a single seating without hesitation and consideration
the sojourn a quick ten minutes and with thanks and bowed head to all that commentate on my given words, a hearty god bless and accept my pitiful thumbs up for annotating isn’t a skill in my possession or my permitting; thank god for emoji's and icons and
XOXOXO's
John Dunn Jan 2022
Pen beats sword to edge the better part
Chosen by the sister that loved to fawn
At feet before the uncrowned nail hurt

So good it met to gather blood at heart
To tow the line of yous king hammered on
Pen beats sword to edge the better part

Discreet of valour won up sleeveless shirt
Then **** back crowing barrels to the dawn
At feet before the uncrowned nail hurt

Mother corn infected to taste ****
In bread of life with lover revealed John
Pen beats sword to edge the better part

Played by woman in secret out to blurt
To father time to turn on writing wrong
At feet before the uncrowned nail hurt

Cause affecting heavenly now art
Thou in prayer to ask O Lord how long
Pen beats sword to edge the better part
At feet before the uncrowned nail hurt
Alice Burns Jul 2013
Slowly the sounds of my constant haunting are drowning out
As the city wakes up, irrepressible noise of life overpowers the shouting whispers of the non existent
And I strive to stay awake to have this sweet music soften the blows from the night before
Weariness grabs a hold, and starts pulling me down into slumber
The tug of war still goes on, just the opponents have tagged out
Sleep being a friend missed dearly, holds the other end
I want to go, but give me a few more moments here
Let me feel time pass obediently to the sun
Hear the chaos of people going about their daily routine
Let me see my skin glow as light hits the surface

It's seems that in the night I cross over against my will
My pure desire to live honestly and for love is the one thing that keeps me here
Holds thought in brain
Brain in head
Head above feet
And feet on earth
But my mind, is stolen away from me
I become undead trapped in a timeless limbo
That consumes me, leaving just my memory
But that's enough
Memories of who I am, what I choose to be remind me
I have reason to stand firm, I have strength take their hits

So I lie here
Invisible bruises suffocate my dreamers skin
I can feel her pain, all too real
Just as I feel all other sensations, or injuries that pass through mind
That crawl out in secrecy to find place on my uncrowned body
The wounds ache and force sleep to tug harder
I'm fading out of view
And losing sight of a life I could have
Just for one day
But they've won, as they always do
Maybe tomorrow, maybe.
I.

He’s
put on
the ****’s watch,
a peaked tower
who stands at far reach
to throw shadows with square
limbs. Loose-draped in rough
skins, he’s wary
of Dawn’s creep,
its lies.
He
sips fire
to fillip
flagged spirits, fix
the one-hundred eyes
rung monstrously about
his uncrowned head. Sleep
comes as well-timed
jaunts, its blinks
rolling
round
in thin-
lid cascades;
these hoodless winks
non-stop projecting
scenes from green grazing fields
where he keeps a girl-
beast, the jealous
prop of fast-
fading
robes.

II.

She’s
ill-changed
by blind rage,
a punishment
brought down for baring
another’s intentions—
his wont of too much,
never sought for
or seeking.
Her sleek
nymph’s
lines were
well-drawn till
smudged and pulled wide
they broke open, spilled
a dark spotted bulk, she
awkwardly carries
on spindly legs.
A mind’s led
circling
back
to gnarled
trunks that clutched
at blackened soil.
The tether’s chain, forged
silver with heavy links,
stretches taut to cut
circumscribed arcs
through bitter,
dying
blades.

III.

He’s
foggy
as he spies
morning ride in
rosy on the curled
back of low-rising mist.
Its errand breezes
were sent to spell
a lyric’s
deceit—
blow-
whispers
to drowse him
with wedded tunes.
Needle-sharp leaves spin,
making olives hum, while
their twigs clatter-knock
dull drums and lull
fifty pairs
to close.
What
was kept
is loosed with
thunder-less flash—
the quickening catch
that foils Argus by writ
mischief and wraps him
in its coiled tale
of never
slipping
free.

IV.**

She’s
twisted
and drags clanked
metal tangles
behind, while ahead
lie the first halting steps
of her re-formed path-
ways. They spoke out
a blurred wheel
beyond
the
sentry’s
fallen bulk,
but malodor
beckons to its sky-
enthroned mistress who tasks
cloud-effacing pests
to descend and
buzz-beat words,
erstwhile
known,
to non-
sense. The winged
confusion goads
Io, who released
from cowed thoughts will make mad-
apparent wanders.
She’ll chase earthbound
love and birth
mortal
time.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Tommy Johnson Mar 2015
The Mecca is the trifecta of the vertex of the epicenter of the apex
But we just use that as a reference point
We refused to be swayed by centripetal force
And peeled back the layers of the mind to find the inertia that had given us the centrifugal force to push us in our quest to find the ultimate reality

I saw a vandal giving in to voyeurism
When a watershed moment happened

He had a sudden premonition
There were nervous virgins about to take the plunge
There were people giving hi 5's to each other and making pinky promises they swore to keep
There were poor soul's trying to quit cold turkey
Eating molten ****** cakes

I looked to the East and visions came to me as well
I saw kids having fever dreams of pitching fits and fever pitches
I saw liberated lesbian librarians eating their feelings and playing
"**** one, **** one, marry one"
I saw the extinction of guilty pleasures
I saw a man being caught up in getting up to speed with
I trifling teenagers
Low on money but high off drugs
I saw myself checking in to check up on the check out line to pick out and pick up a new catcher's mitt
I caught a case
A call
And a cold

I saw the love of my life running towards me on a soft white beach
As she came closer I could see her beginning to decay
Her skin melted
Her organs and blood fell from her
Her eyes and teeth dropped out of her head
Her hair fell out
And her skeleton came into my arms and I heard a whisper
"I will always be with you, my uncrowned king"
Rep Van Andrews Dec 2014
Excuses

The appointment is set
You’re not to be late
The time then passes
Another failed date

Open with excuses
Words prove nothing
Blister your chances
Miss your blessings

Blind to the fact
That results only add
The mind that can’t change
Then stays the same

Alas the uncrowned king
The unknown dreams
The world does cater
to evolving things

The castrated bull
Is as happy as ever
Unaware to the life
That he could of ruled
In the end results are the only thing that add up.
Selcæiös Apr 2018
So, here's the cache:
Make sure
all & any & every
single move you make
you won’t regret

in years or even days
keeping you at 3am
in the bath wide awake


So
as a preventive
bound tight to this vow, I stay


say what you mean
& mean what you say


Like champange with *******,
you'll have been overcame with duende
for this phrase


& it’ll keep your subconscious feeling clean
while you continue to slay away
at just your normal hygiene for today
or maybe a few disarrayed prey
it'll even help trick it when you actually are totally aware
you’re instigating & quite quietly steering
some rather nasty foul play


but besides the fact the move’s today
and still, I attempt to cajole
and I’m now regretting not only an action
but a whole section
an entire chunk of my life spun out and
became some mangled & ******-up black hole


& the worst part is, its long past,
I mean it's looooong since slipped outta my control
& it's long past me being the one looked to for decisions
& its long past when I sorta lost
all & any & every
bit of possibly existing trust


& long past, I just now noticed it all
mid-through one of countless attempts to self-console

because when I went crazy, everyone still called me Superman

Because when Superman bumps his head,
who’s gonna get past the
Super in Superman
and ****** pick him up and put him back on solid ground?


Because that’d really **** if Superman wound up dead
Because no one thought the dude that shut down the Ku Klux ****
Could be uncrowned &
end up all bled out & drowned
i hope you mean it.
Nina McNally Jan 2011
Alice in Wonderland** --
Who is This Person?
This person who, says things like, "I'm investigating things that begin with the letter M," and "Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"
He asks Alice a lot of questions and says funny sayings.
But by doing this he helps her find her place in this Life and helps her forget the Drama and Time.
So who is it?
Someone who has a lot of Memories and very good advice.
...give up?
Why it's The Mad Hatter.
The Mad Hatter does this because simply he wants order in Underland and he needs Alice's help to uncrowned The Red Queen.
copyright; 2011 McNally, Inc.
I took the titles of the poems that I wrote so far and made 5 poems.
Mary Winslow Nov 2017
The bronze-scorched mud knobbed unhinged sculpture grows
Cinderella down to root knots, ground is grubbed

chapped hats of acorns hit porticoes before snows
honeybees cake their hives closed and wax hubbed

humiliation hardens as color dapples
swelling seed-commas split beneath the frost

piety’s ignored until next year’s apples
night sky is grape-leafed, blackberry sauced

ineffable brutes grow cold to the pinnacle
rhetorical dross groundswells legislations

the long-legged wind tramples our spectacle
rains mock each leaf into pickled munitions

rocks are nothing but hermitages sent by the moon
prescient hardness sets its chin to the ground

hankering for battle, totalitarianism thrives by noon
each soldered twig unloomed, unraveled, uncrowned

we have severed ties to reason’s substantial contents
in the muddle it’s not the empowerment you had

democracy dies bewildered blind with miscontents
unhinged, unconcerned to find the hanging chad

we’re scissored down to our primary chaos all
paralogisms who dwell in a dream that justifies our fall.
©marywinslow2017
Mary-Eliz Jun 2017
A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before
me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of
the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
i o And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second comer, waiting.

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.

And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?

Was it cowardice, that I dared not **** him? Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him? Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.

And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would **** him!

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid, But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.

He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste.
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how ******, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the albatross
And I wished he would come back, my snake.

For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.
james nordlund Apr 2019
Neither do I embrace.

Rather, the struggle well run,

Which uplifts us uncrowned,

Every moment humans race!
At 16 I postulated that the bi-headed (now RumputiN/vlad-the-impaler), bi-polar axi of worldly suppossed power (republican, capitalist, notsee, materialists/communist, socialist, totalitarian materialists) were like the opposing two sides of a coin (surrealistically like mirrored images), running towards each other; in terms of supposedly fighting, supposedly diametrically opposed, and as they proceeded the coin, Earth, humanity, etc., continually disappeared, etc.- and when they reached each other, humanity would be extinct, the Earth possibly destroyed.  That was 43 years ago and after the 2016 election, Russia's hacking, buying, social media manipulating of it to install RumputiN/vlad-the-impaler into the Blackhouse and the subsequent heir Mueller (because he was head of the FBI and part of the republican elite who, along with king george and his ****, cheney, purposely didn't prevent the attacks on 9-11-01, and the report that followed it, which was also a cover-up) report, which is a sophisticated cover-up, notseeism, also Nancy 'Chamberlain' Pelosi's desires not to impeach, totalitarianism, as well as the Gov't not actually trying to stop Russia's shenanigans for the republican conspiracy and the global oligarchy; that global big 'fix', seemingly, permanently 'in', ending actual elections in the united **** of assassins- is the actual extinction of humanity and large mammals, if not the total destruction of the Earth, in a con, or coined, if you'll allow.   reality
I know of a boy
Who knew of pain
Endured empty promises
Whose dreams were charred
Who always hurt at heart
Who bled from the blades
Who tried to breathe
Who was struggling

I know of a boy
Who faded
But smiled even then
Who couldnt collect his broken pieces
Who couldnt stich his own wounds
Who gave and gave even his own soul
Whose pillow was stained with blood tears
Whose reflection is no more
Who is the boy beneath the earth
The Hero no one knew about

T.OKILENG
Larry Potter Nov 2018
My heart is a labyrinth,
A cage of my own making;
Den of demons tamed,
Empire of uncrowned kings.
Built over a precipice
Of dead infatuations,
Forsaken nostalgia,
And ruined vanities.
To trap a beast yet again,
I visited its familiar walls;
Gladly I lost my self
And paid a high toll;
Only to save my soul.
Not long did I linger
Within the hollow chambers;
Echoing broken lullabies,
Sung in refrains of lies.
I stormed the champion's gate,
And marched toward east,
Where the sun does not rest,
At the cry of a thousand dawns;
But rather from the silence,
Of my war-torn chest.
Sin Mar 2016
Darkest soul take my hand ride into the night I beg
For far away I need to be under the blood red moon I'll see
That upon the hill is where my love now lay
With silver blade and life ebbing away
For wrong I was with his heart so true
I did stab him for a lie that grew
Within his lips it feel upon
My ears and heart a poisoned song
Played out through day and night
And now I fear this deadly sight
Ride oh shadow of death's wish now
Let me stop the life gone sour
For my breast the knife should hang
Not in the ***** of my love now stained
And as we rode faster than the night
The dark soul looked at my eyes so wide
And stopped his steed and set me down
Beside the love that I uncrowned
Fools blowin' alot of hot air  like I ******' care
About all that yappin' and flappin' guns is clappin' cappin' the back
Ya dome like a fitted hat no imaginery stats
Million dinero racks don of the coldest macks
Girls ***** I smack Iceberg with the words the verbal
swords
Slash Mics with no chord the rap lord most largely
ignored
Never bored draws crowds on the tour boards
Check out the melody no petty in me haters envy
Cause the money green brings jealously
in-between know what I mean addicted fiends
Come back as pains siblings i'm dribblin'
Through the industry like Cousy so you'll loose me
On the stage of my courts blazin' a Newport
takin' no shorts shatterin'
forts
With the lyrical battering rams Sam I am
No green eggs and ham gives a ****
About the haters frontin' and stuntin'
Im huntin' ya every moves with Krueger's grooves
So you'll sleep tight night night it's **** tight
Every where I don't care sound the snare
From the rhythms of R'Za at the Apex of Giza
Pyramids uncrowned kid got y'all careers hid
From the auctioned out bid see me smash gigs
Redden wigs like Peg Bundy y'all can't touch me
Branded by mic at birth knew my golden worth
Star child saw my soul running a mile
The unorthodox style insane as Gomer Pyle the black
Owl
Usin' Night snipin'
tactics makin' bodies throw fit yo you too old for it
my gun range ain't got no age limit no ****?
It's a no brainier cash strangler jaw re-arranger
My militant killaz will stain ya a graphic painter
Wont do ya much good
if you come round the neck of my woods filled with
dogwoods
Tatum O'Brien Nov 2014
Come sit beside me here on this beach.
Take off your shoes, throw your jacket awry.
Lay beneath the sky and put your arms at widest reach.

Beauty most profound,

Take a breath that starts from your toes,
and makes its way up in your head in dizzying air.
And let it go so softly, that nobody knows.

Beauty that goes uncrowned.

Our mother knows how to comfort us.
She sings in tunes we recall from childhood.
Love her, we must.
Rachael Judd Mar 2015
Loneliness makes my heart scream
For something more than just
An empty room
It makes my head swim
For anything more than
These uncrowned waters
Left for me to drown in
It makes my bones ache
For something more than just this paper and pen
It makes my ears ring
For anything rather than this screaming silence
Making my skin crawl
Daniel Magner Oct 2017
A soft golden tongue
flickering over oaken bark.
The leaf light patterns
playing through the trees.
A warm and gentle forest
to pause under in wonder,
then live in forever.
The depths of Mother Nature.
The jewels for the uncrowned
Queen of the World.
Daniel Magner 2017
Aiyo I lay spells like my ***** Marley bars hardly ever weak once a master speak fools lose peak
Once I reach the pinnacle I a miracle flows so subliminal smooth criminal like Mike say I'm wrong? When ya know **** well I'm right fly as kite takin' heavens heights entice fright
See my careers excite an enemies fight so none can't shake me or break me cold with the cannons meaner than banner incredible with the hulk once I get a whiff of green mash things turn em into death siblings earned ya angel wings afterworld sings
Welcome to another phase where you see my name for days huh quoted in ****** like a scriptures snapped on ya memory picture so ya won't forget tha
Coldest brother to hold the microphone raised outta my coffin throne came from King Tuts Mother's Gut so what?
The **** ya wanna do I'll battle you and ya crew get you gassed like a Jew nuttier than a cashew got more trade offs than Vincent Askew bash you til ya face turn midnight blue still holding on strong spark up the **** mind goes on feel my flowin' marathon with no breaks spikin' heart rates with my rhythmic earthquakes it's a chaos in the make uhh..

Once inhale my power I'll devour like Rogue I'll shower ya brain til ya completely drained tougher than a coffee stains it's Yosef increasing the **** pains worse than mid aged ******* migraine sinister with the Cain as long as I'm able broke the sable of the cables that try to label me in this stupid society but my pyschology of ology to powerful g so some how they gotta bow to the uncrowned child destiny reachin' for the status of a King emeritus bars is golden touch makin' clutch
Like Horry critics bore me **** other rappers stories who can't out soar me?
Once I spread my vicious mentality over a beat a grit with telekinesis wit the hardest to spit in the pit my flows kin to a tsunami  wet hoes punnani shinnin' like liverachi carbon copies try to lock me but can't see me at the t-o-p
Top of the pyramid ya dig pop wigs like corks to wine bottles guns half throttle tryna sell ya out like lotto rowdy as Rallo Soo many wanna follow
The leader might become Ebenezer for past in the present but no futures
Ghost from other realms comin' to boost ya
Energy time for you exit the physical plantation off into a Black nation victimized of a Black Jason no times to be wastin' foes blood tastin'
Even in the afterlife I'll still be chasin' ya soul til it's becomes a mural painting
Roj Nov 2018
Lots of stars in the sky
there is one that greatly shine
With all their numbers in the sky
No one can outshine.

Songs that we hear
there is one that we adhere
A song that beats with our heart
the one that will make us feel love

Among any other girls
you are one of a kind
like a star in the sky
like a music in my heart

You are a princess
I am an uncrowned Prince
I have nothing
except for you that became my everything.
All hindrances which doth come against me
I deem thee unwound and broken down
All powers which doth hinder and refrain me
I deem thee uncrowned, and henceforth bound
All blocks and breaks thee hast forced upon me
I return upon thee three hundred fold
All chains with which thee hath so long bound me
I imprison thee for unending time untold
All blessings thee hath withheld from me
I claim and receive with all heart, mind, and soul
All abundance thee hath withheld from me
I claim and receive, not in part, but in whole
Daniel Smith
Diary of the ******
Chapter 2
Tuesday, February 4th, 2020
md-writer Nov 2019
infant son of lust and power,
union of a king uncrowned
and wife of Gentile warrior -
I shall bear the burden of my
grieving father's sin

the prophet spoke, my fate is sealed
the sickness set upon me
- this terrible privilege of atonement -
will consume my
tiny life
and I will die

but my father?
he shall live

and from his ***** my brother
shall come forth
that other Son in whose shadow
I shall stake my
checkered hidden place

Solomon first,
and later, when the sun
bursts forth,
our mutual fulfilment:

Christ the Lord
David R Sep 2022
Evening will come, however determined the late afternoon,
Limes and oaks in their last green flush, pearled in September mist.
I have conjured a lily to light these hours, a token of thanks,
Zones and auras of soft glare framing the brilliant globes.
A promise made and kept for life - that was your gift -
Because of which, here is a gift in return, glovewort to some,
Each shining bonnet guarded by stern lance-like leaves.
The country loaded its whole self into your slender hands,
Hands that can rest, now, relieved of a century's weight.

Evening has come. Rain on the black lochs and dark Munros.
Lily of the Valley, a namesake almost, a favourite flower
Interlaced with your famous bouquets, the restrained
Zeal and forceful grace of its lanterns, each inflorescence
A silent bell disguising a singular voice. A blurred new day
Breaks uncrowned on remote peaks and public parks, and
Everything turns on these luminous petals and deep roots,
This lily that thrives between spire and tree, whose brightness
Holds and glows beyond the life and border of its bloom.
by Simon Armitage, Poet Laureate, on occasion of the expiration of our esteemed Queen Elizabeth II
(if alive...though way up in years,
the cherished divine endearing gent,
would nonetheless captivate ears
of all colors with hearty, gracious cheers,
yet though long since gone to dust,
his posthumous belated birthday still registers blares.)

Two score and eleven years ago come
April fourth, two thousand nineteen
father of civil rights movement the,
Reverend Martin Luther King Junior honored
as benevolent demigod figure to the

oppressed African American population
without whose bold risks and subsequent
assassination April fourth
ninety sixty eight at the hands of a crazed
gunman (James Earl Ray),  

wrought empowerment advancing dreams
of slaves recent descendents
allowing, enabling and providing
once attainable aspirations
only bestowed upon the self anointed

masters and early settlers
of the virginal North
American contiguous land mass
yet…generations prior to this
prestigious public personality

Abolitionists pitted themselves against
the institution of slavery
incrementally raising awareness
per the abomination
forced servitude incurred

on those shackled
thus setting the stage for this
grandson of A.D. Williams,
a rural parsonage, who
ministered spiritual support

for the small congregation
(initially only thirteen members)
comprising attendants at Ebenezer Baptist
Church in Atlanta Georgia
setting precedent for freedom

(at risk of life and limb)
against scourge of
racial prejudice courtesy
of sharecropper grand parents
whose objection to racial segregation based

on an affront to the will of God
whereby the young
whip smart precocious lad,
(whose impact we now memorialize)
showed his true colorful promise,

when a young student at
Liberal Crozer Theological Seminary
in Chester, Pennsylvania
where the yet uncrowned eminent King
came under the influence

of theologian Reinhold
Niebuhr, a classmate
of his father's at Morehouse College
who became a mentor
by exposing his protégée

to liberal views of theology
planting the seeds of ardent
activism that gave rise to
The Southern Christian
Leadership Conference (SCLC)

an initial platform hoisting his status as
thee most articulate orator
spelling binding the listeners
with his soaring metaphors
about his emphatic march

to a promised land
where all men/women
could be brothers/sisters
and no person will be judged
by the color of his/her skin
raising morale of many dirt poor ebony
(and lighter skin toned) masses
to feel a glimmer of hope!
See where the most pain is felt is through evilness dealt
I got many welts from mammas belt
Tryna to escape the pain leased into my brain
Wish I could see the change but the scenery
So many younginz rushing into the cemetery
When our existence is out of the ordinary
How many of us gotta die for us to un-multiply repolish the stories
Of the media's flashback retrospect back
To the days when they downed us blacks why we constantly under attack down the henneys rack to retract
My thoughts before i drown myself
Cuz too many shots ain't good for my wealth
I try to hide my outer self from my inner self

Its too many cains ablin' out cuz of the lost clout
No ties to the skies only see the ****** sunrise
In my eyes i saw a blind man shoot himself
Saw the same game that played *** Bias Left his career on the shelf
On the shoulders tomb tryna heal the womb
But the wickedness too deep so it only consumes
Sadness over happiness **** I miss
All of the fallin' uncrowned legendaries I'm keepin' yalls legacy alive **** the
jive
I'm talkin' about all the artists that was live
From rock country hip hop jazz to the blues
Blacks set the spark to the fuse through *****
Once again let the smooth mellow sounds comprehend


See the preyin' hawks that love to stalk unspoken with they verbal hearts lay out the chalks
picking victims in the dark
Only to park and spark
Up another catastrophe what's new to you aint new to me you see
They engineered these plans way before humanity
Livin' in a Concrete jungle but the deaths humble
Life over creativity release my energy
To the celestials that be visions of the sticky
Icky green burnin' tracks to up destinys fiend
Intervene the negativity that clings and sings
In between a lullaby and the souls that cry
This is cradle music it's hard to abuse it
That craft I hold I'm a stay true to it
And if I don't my critics speak on well
Or forever hold ya casket shell a slow roastin' from Hell prepare fo the veiled

— The End —