The Lamp Post
Laugh your best, O blazoned forests,
Me ye shall not shift or shame
With your beauty: here among you
Man hath set his spear of flame.
Lamp to lamp we send the signal,
For our lord goes forth to war;
Since a voice, ere stars were builded,
Bade him colonise a star.
Laugh ye, cruel as the morning,
Deck your heads with fruit and flower,
Though our souls be sick with pity,
Yet our hands are hard with power.
We have read your evil stories,
We have heard the tiny yell
Through the voiceless conflagration
Of your green and shining hell.
And when men, with fires and shouting,
Break your old tyrannic pales;
And where ruled a single spider
Laugh and weep a million tales.
This shall be your best of boasting:
That some poet, poor of spine.
Full and sated with our wisdom,
Full and fiery with our wine,
Shall steal out and make a treaty
With the grasses and the showers,
Rail against the grey town-mother,
Fawn upon the scornful flowers;
Rest his head among the roses,
Where a quiet song-bird sounds,
And no sword made sharp for traitors,
Hack him into meat for hounds.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Planted A Flower
I planted me a flower
Though my friends say a weed
In my garden from a forgotten seed.
So I planted it deep
And around it I hoed
So someday my flower would grow.
But my flower never came
From the sunshine or the rain
That GOD placed above its head.
And so my friends would just laugh
Every time that they would pass
My garden, my plant and I.
Gardeners were them all
As though they have been called
To bring beauty upon our sight.
And a gardener wasn't I
Just a poet in disguise
And for that reason I sat and cried.
More care to my plant I gave
And more affection to it I showed.
While praying one day my flower would grow.
And my friends would just laugh at me
When they saw me on my knees
And to my flower when they heard me speak.
To ignorance they did blame
Its a weed they would exclaim
Then they would walk away.
For a madman I must be
Trying to create a flower out of a weed
Then I would bow my head to weep.
And every night that I went to bed
I dreamt of a rainbow in my head
Which was my flower I planted with my own hands.
And every morning when I awoke
I ran to my garden, but I was torn
For my flower was still unborn.
And I could hear my friends laugh at me
Hidden behind an old oak tree
And I could see them shake their heads and walk away.
But then came one magic morning
When in my head my dreams were forming
While in my garden, my dream, had awoke.
I awoke, to gasps and jeers
I arose, to shouts and cheers
Then in my garden, I walked in bitterness and fear.
Then I saw a rainbow with a halo
I saw my friends with a child's glow
And then I heard the wind, as she softly spoke to me.
You had faith in a weed,
A weed, had faith in you.
And nature, had faith in you two.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laugh Clown Laugh
Laugh Clown laugh,
that's what they want me to do.
I guess I'm doing something right
because this Clown made you laugh too.
Laugh Clown laugh,
make everyone laugh real hard.
Besides, Who would it hurt?
Will anyone notice
how it has scarred?
Laugh Clown laugh,
but only for a while,
at least until you see
that the humor is in your denial.
poem by Cecelia Warner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Always Laugh
I asked the flower
you always laugh
why so?
The flower replied,
I dont know how to weep
so, I always laugh
I laugh in hottest sun
I laugh in chilling cold and also
I laugh in valiant storm
I can die, but I can not weep
The answer of flower was surprising
Again I asked
how do you express your grief
the flower laughed loudly
and said
Grief comes to selfish only
we are not selfish
we know only to give
so, grief can not touch us
I appreciated answer of flower.
poem by Ramesh Rai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laugh
Love laughed at you and made you blue
Now heres what you should do
Well laugh, though your heart is breaking in two
Yeah laugh, dont let them know he hurt you
Well laugh and pretend true love will come again
Yeah laugh, laugh and laugh
Laugh, though the one you love is really gone
Yeah laugh, even though youll be alone
Yeah laugh and pretend true love will come again
Yeah laugh, laugh and laugh
Well let me hear you laugh now
Though its hard, so hard for you to do
Laugh with me, cos you see
Ive been there too
Well laugh and pretend true love will come again
Yeah laugh and believe its not the end
Yeah laugh like a clown
Dont let your heart break down
Yeah laugh, laugh and laugh
Love laughed, its true
But look at you
Now youre laughing too
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XXII: Laugh
there's laugh, forced laugh
laugh, gentle rejection without word
laugh, looking sympathy with laugh
laugh but actually doesn't laugh
hiding anger, hiding pain
cheerful laugh but alone inside
why you try hard to impress people?
tired and wounded more
laughing your foolish joke
and crying life in the dark room
laugh for yourself
laugh with your heart
and you'll never regret to try an honest laugh
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laugh song
(it's just a silly song, please sing with your own melody)
Drunken man: The bottle is empty
I’m still thirsty
What can we do right now?
Crowd: Let’s steal some wine!
Bar owner: It’s the time up now!
You must pay and go
Crowd: Why is she so cruel?
We’re just having fun
Bar owner: The wind goes strong
I’m afraid storm comes
What can I do old man
With drunken men and fool?
Crowd: Our friends with us
You are warm and nice
Bar owner: No more drink tonight
Go home, goodnight!
Servant boy: The rain goes heavy
The bridge is down!
Crowd: Lord has mercy
We can’t go right now!
Crowd: The road is dark
Hard storm around
What can we do right now?
Bar owner: Sit and wait sad clown!
Man: Thunder sparks wild
Do we have some bone?
The dog still barks
Crowd: Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark
Drunken man: The bone is gone
Tomorrow we’ll mourn
What can we do right now?
Crowd: What can we do right now?
Man: No feet dance here
No music I hear
Crowd: Let’s ask our dear!
She can cheer we here
Man: The fiddle’s asleep
Her cords are curling
Crowd: Let’s just sing a song!
La, la, la, la, la
Drunken man: Your song is bad
My ears are ache
Crowd: It’s the wine not song
Your sense goes wrong
Servant boy: The rain still falls
It’s not safe to home
Crowd: We own our fall
It’s not safe from fight
Drunken man: The bottles mad and fly
Too pity they’re empty
Bar owner: Play set in my rest
You’ll be kicked and wet!
Man: Let’s close to the fire
Till words are over
Crowd: Tell tales and stories
Till the world’s over
Crowd: Only wise can say
We crazy laugh and cry
In the middle of flood
The last laugh will shout!
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Laugh
Words and music by
Philip margo, mitchell margo, henry medress and jay siegel
Evry face that I see is all wrapped up in frowns,
And unfortunately, it kind of gets me down.
Laugh,
cause the music is funny
Yeah, the bass sounds off-beat.
Aint that neat.
Laugh,
When you lose all your money,
Or you cant find your shoes
To cover your feet.
Its not so hard to see exactly what Im after.
Sometimes a tear should fall, but I require giggles and chuckles
Laugh,
When youre keepin a secret
And it seems to be known
By the rest of the world.
Laugh,
When you go to a party,
And you cant tell the boys
From the girls.
Every face that I see is all wrapped up in frowns
And unfortunately, it kind of gets me down.
Laugh,
At the things that are wrong.
If you thinks its this song,
Then laugh.
Then laugh.
Then laugh.
[repeat and fade]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Magical
IF you had been where I have been
(Grey, grey the skies above),
And you had seen what I have seen,
You would not laugh at love.
Seek, seek till you find a rose
Red all through to its petal-tips,
And you shall know the curve of her mouth,
The scent of her breath and the red of her lips.
If you had heard what I have heard
(Dull, dull the beat of the sea).
Your heart would leap like a singing bird
Troubled and thrilled by ecstasy.
Stars sing in the dark o' the night,
Birds sing in the gold o' the noon;
Melody reigned in her speech a queen,
The song of the stars and the birds' tune.
The rose is dead that was her mouth
(Pale, pale on the earth it lies),
And East and West and North and South
The world is full of weeping eyes.
A noon is dark, a star is gone,
A rose is dead, a bird is mute;
And love that made sounds magical
Is silent like a broken lute.
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lamp of Poor Souls
[In many English churches before the Reformation there was kept a little lamp continually burning, called the Lamp of Poor Souls. People were reminded thereby to pray for the souls of those dead whose kinsfolk were too poor to pay for prayers and masses.]
Above my head the shields are stained with rust,
The wind has taken his spoil, the moth his part;
Dust of dead men beneath my knees, and dust,
Lord, in my heart.
Lay Thou the hand of faith upon my fears;
The priest has prayed, the silver bell has rung,
But not for him. O unforgotten tears,
He was so young!
Shine, little lamp, nor let thy light grow dim.
Into what vast, dread dreams, what lonely lands,
Into what griefs hath death delivered him,
Far from my hands?
Cradled is he, with half his prayers forgot.
I cannot learn the level way he goes.
He whom the harvest hath remembered not
Sleeps with the rose.
Shine, little lamp, fed with sweet oil of prayers.
Shine, little lamp, as God's own eyes may shine,
When He treads softly down His starry stairs
And whispers, "Thou art Mine."
Shine, little lamp, for love hath fed thy gleam.
Sleep, little soul, by God's own hands set free.
Cling to His arms and sleep, and sleeping, dream,
And dreaming, look for me.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Simple Fact
There was the simple fact
she was pregnant and by him.
Three months late. Morning
sickness. Throwing up after
breakfast. If she had breakfast.
And Thornton knew nothing
of it and that was the way she
wanted it: him ignorant of that
fact of her being with child as
Mother called it. She’d not seen
him since the big bust-up after
the Chekov play. He rang twice
but she put the phone down with
a mighty slam. That temper of
yours, Mother used to say, will
be the death of you. Not yet at
least, she thought. Mother always
thought she knew best; a childhood
of constant nags and slaps. She lay
in bed listening to birds. Father
was a bird watcher, knew them all,
where they laid and when and
what colour the eggs of the birds
were. She remembered him and
his binoculars and that hat which
made Mother laugh. Soon she’d
get up and puke. The smell itself
was enough to make her puke again.
Thornton’s one minute act of sex
brought all this. God’s seven days
of creating beauty and light were
reduced by Thornton one minute’s
sex, to making hell in a single night.
You’ll make it all work, a voice
inside her head said. But it was a
big step from single self to another
human being lying helpless in the
hands wailing and flailing its arms.
She sat up on the side of the bed.
All thoughts of Thornton, Mother
and Father all mixed up with puke
swirling in her guts and in her head.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Lina Spies
Sometimes you let me think
of a small girl
whose eyes are full of the shining stars,
sometimes I find
a sensible mature woman
who spreads her words free and full of spirit
and comely pours a glass of wine
you let me laugh, cry and make me happy
and your trust in the Lord
is true and solid like a rock
as if you are always looking up into His eyes
and time after time
it’s as if your verses fit into my mind,
as if things sometimes look the same to us both.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Mother's Wail
My babe! my tiny babe! my only babe!
My single rose-bud in a crown of thorns!
My lamp that in that narrow hut of life,
Whence I looked forth upon a night of storm!
Burned with the lustre of the moon and stars!
My babe! my tiny babe! my only babe!
Behold the bud is gone! the thorns remain!
My lamp hath fallen from its niche -- ah, me!
Earth drinks the fragrant flame, and I am left
Forever and forever in the dark!
My babe! my babe! my own and only babe!
Where art thou now? If somewhere in the sky
An angel hold thee in his radiant arms,
I challenge him to clasp thy tender form
With half the fervor of a mother's love!
Forgive me, Lord! forgive my reckless grief!
Forgive me that this rebel, selfish heart
Would almost make me jealous for my child,
Though thy own lap enthroned him. Lord, thou hast
So many such! I have -- ah! had but one!
O yet once more, my babe, to hear thy cry!
O yet once more, my babe, to see thy smile!
O yet once more to feel against my breast
Those cool, soft hands, that warm, wet, eager mouth,
With the sweet sharpness of its budding pearls!
But it must never, never more be mine
To mark the growing meaning in thine eyes,
To watch thy soul unfolding leaf by leaf,
Or catch, with ever fresh surprise and joy,
Thy dawning recognitions of the world.
Three different shadows of thyself, my babe,
Change with each other while I weep. The first,
The sweetest, yet the not least fraught with pain,
Clings like my living boy around my neck,
Or purrs and murmurs softly at my feet!
Another is a little mound of earth;
That comes the oftenest, darling! In my dreams,
I see it beaten by the midnight rain,
Or chilled beneath the moon. Ah! what a couch
For that which I have shielded from a breath
That would not stir the violets on thy grave!
The third, my precious babe! the third, O Lord!
Is a fair cherub face beyond the stars,
Wearing the roses of a mystic bliss,
Yet sometimes not unsaddened by a glance
Turned earthward on a mother in her woe!
This is the vision, Lord, that I would keep
Before me always. But, alas! as yet,
It is the dimmest and the rarest, too!
O touch my sight, or break the cloudy bars
That hide it, lest I madden where I kneel!
poem by Henry Timrod
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowers, Beautiful Flowers
Life is that precious and divine,
Souls journey as per schedule,
Visit places and people,
smile and laugh,
Weep and cry together,
Come alone and go alone,
Nothing brought, nothing taken!
Just it is like flower,
Blossom and spread its fragrance,
Put a signature on several hearts,
Gone flower, never come,
Memory of its beauty,
Aura remains all the time everywhere
In hearts of those who had seen it!
People too are like flowers,
That flowers in the garden of divine,
Some are beautiful,
Some by their wisdom and knowledge,
Some with deeds and virtues,
Flowers, beautiful flowers of God's Garden!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Félise
WHAT shall be said between us here
Among the downs, between the trees,
In fields that knew our feet last year,
In sight of quiet sands and seas,
This year, Félise?
Who knows what word were best to say?
For last year’s leaves lie dead and red
On this sweet day, in this green May,
And barren corn makes bitter bread.
What shall be said?
Here as last year the fields begin,
A fire of flowers and glowing grass;
The old fields we laughed and lingered in,
Seeing each our souls in last year’s glass,
Félise, alas!
Shall we not laugh, shall we not weep,
Not we, though this be as it is?
For love awake or love asleep
Ends in a laugh, a dream, a kiss,
A song like this.
I that have slept awake, and you
Sleep, who last year were well awake.
Though love do all that love can do,
My heart will never ache or break
For your heart’s sake.
The great sea, faultless as a flower,
Throbs, trembling under beam and breeze,
And laughs with love of the amorous hour.
I found you fairer once, Félise,
Than flowers or seas.
We played at bondsman and at queen;
But as the days change men change too;
I find the grey sea’s notes of green,
The green sea’s fervent flakes of blue,
More fair than you.
Your beauty is not over fair
Now in mine eyes, who am grown up wise.
The smell of flowers in all your hair
Allures not now; no sigh replies
If your heart sighs.
But you sigh seldom, you sleep sound,
You find love’s new name good enough.
Less sweet I find it than I found
The sweetest name that ever love
Grew weary of.
My snake with bright bland eyes, my snake
Grown tame and glad to be caressed,
With lips athirst for mine to slake
Their tender fever! who had guessed
You loved me best?
I had died for this last year, to know
You loved me. Who shall turn on fate?
I care not if love come or go
Now, though your love seek mine for mate.
It is too late.
The dust of many strange desires
Lies deep between us; in our eyes
Dead smoke of perishable fires
Flickers, a fume in air and skies,
A steam of sighs.
You loved me and you loved me not;
A little, much, and overmuch.
Will you forget as I forget?
Let all dead things lie dead; none such
Are soft to touch.
I love you and I do not love,
Too much, a little, not at all:
Too much, and never yet enough.
Birds quick to fledge and fly at call
Are quick to fall.
And these love longer now than men,
And larger loves than ours are these.
No diver brings up love again
Dropped once, my beautiful Félise,
In such cold seas.
Gone deeper than all plummets sound,
Where in the dim green dayless day
The life of such dead things lies bound
As the sea feeds on, wreck and stray
And castaway.
Can I forget? yea, that can I,
And that can all men; so will you,
Alive, or later, when you die.
Ah, but the love you plead was true?
Was mine not too?
I loved you for that name of yours
Long ere we met, and long enough.
Now that one thing of all endures—
The sweetest name that ever love
Waxed weary of.
Like colours in the sea, like flowers,
Like a cat’s splendid circled eyes
That wax and wane with love for hours,
Green as green flame, blue-grey like skies,
And soft like sighs—
And all these only like your name,
And your name full of all of these.
I say it, and it sounds the same—
Save that I say it now at ease,
Your name, Félise.
I said “she must be swift and white,
And subtly warm, and half perverse,
And sweet like sharp soft fruit to bite,
And like a snake’s love lithe and fierce.”
Men have guessed worse.
What was the song I made of you
Here where the grass forgets our feet
As afternoon forgets the dew?
Ah that such sweet things should be fleet,
Such fleet things sweet!
As afternoon forgets the dew,
As time in time forgets all men,
As our old place forgets us two,
Who might have turned to one thing then,
But not again.
O lips that mine have grown into
Like April’s kissing May,
O fervent eyelids letting through
Those eyes the greenest of things blue,
The bluest of things grey,
If you were I and I were you,
How could I love you, say?
How could the roseleaf love the rue,
The day love nightfall and her dew,
Though night may love the day?
You loved it may be more than I;
We know not; love is hard to seize,
And all things are not good to try;
And lifelong loves the worst of these
For us, Félise.
Ah, take the season and have done,
Love well the hour and let it go:
Two souls may sleep and wake up one,
Or dream they wake and find it so,
And then—you know.
Kiss me once hard as though a flame
Lay on my lips and made them fire;
The same lips now, and not the same;
What breath shall fill and re-inspire
A dead desire?
The old song sounds hollower in mine ear
Than thin keen sounds of dead men’s speech—
A noise one hears and would not hear;
Too strong to die, too weak to reach
From wave to beach.
We stand on either side the sea,
Stretch hands, blow kisses, laugh and lean
I toward you, you toward me;
But what hears either save the keen
Grey sea between?
A year divides us, love from love,
Though you love now, though I loved then.
The gulf is strait, but deep enough;
Who shall recross, who among men
Shall cross again?
Love was a jest last year, you said,
And what lives surely, surely dies.
Even so; but now that love is dead,
Shall love rekindle from wet eyes,
From subtle sighs?
For many loves are good to see;
Mutable loves, and loves perverse;
But there is nothing, nor shall be,
So sweet, so wicked, but my verse
Can dream of worse.
For we that sing and you that love
Know that which man may, only we.
The rest live under us; above,
Live the great gods in heaven, and see
What things shall be.
So this thing is and must be so;
For man dies, and love also dies.
Though yet love’s ghost moves to and fro
The sea-green mirrors of your eyes,
And laughs, and lies.
Eyes coloured like a water-flower,
And deeper than the green sea’s glass;
Eyes that remember one sweet hour—
In vain we swore it should not pass;
In vain, alas!
Ah my Félise, if love or sin,
If shame or fear could hold it fast,
Should we not hold it? Love wears thin,
And they laugh well who laugh the last.
Is it not past?
The gods, the gods are stronger; time
Falls down before them, all men’s knees
Bow, all men’s prayers and sorrows climb
Like incense towards them; yea, for these
Are gods, Félise.
Immortal are they, clothed with powers,
Not to be comforted at all;
Lords over all the fruitless hours;
Too great to appease, too high to appal,
Too far to call.
For none shall move the most high gods,
Who are most sad, being cruel; none
Shall break or take away the rods
Wherewith they scourge us, not as one
That smites a son.
By many a name of many a creed
We have called upon them, since the sands
Fell through time’s hour-glass first, a seed
Of life; and out of many lands
Have we stretched hands.
When have they heard us? who hath known
Their faces, climbed unto their feet,
Felt them and found them? Laugh or groan,
Doth heaven remurmur and repeat
Sad sounds or sweet?
Do the stars answer? in the night
Have ye found comfort? or by day
Have ye seen gods? What hope, what light,
Falls from the farthest starriest way
On you that pray?
Are the skies wet because we weep,
Or fair because of any mirth?
Cry out; they are gods; perchance they sleep;
Cry; thou shalt know what prayers are worth,
Thou dust and earth.
O earth, thou art fair; O dust, thou art great;
O laughing lips and lips that mourn,
Pray, till ye feel the exceeding weight
Of God’s intolerable scorn,
Not to be borne.
Behold, there is no grief like this;
The barren blossom of thy prayer,
Thou shalt find out how sweet it is.
O fools and blind, what seek ye there,
High up in the air?
Ye must have gods, the friends of men,
Merciful gods, compassionate,
And these shall answer you again.
Will ye beat always at the gate,
Ye fools of fate?
Ye fools and blind; for this is sure,
That all ye shall not live, but die.
Lo, what thing have ye found endure?
Or what thing have ye found on high
Past the blind sky?
The ghosts of words and dusty dreams,
Old memories, faiths infirm and dead.
Ye fools; for which among you deems
His prayer can alter green to red
Or stones to bread?
Why should ye bear with hopes and fears
Till all these things be drawn in one,
The sound of iron-footed years,
And all the oppression that is done
Under the sun?
Ye might end surely, surely pass
Out of the multitude of things,
Under the dust, beneath the grass,
Deep in dim death, where no thought stings,
No record clings.
No memory more of love or hate,
No trouble, nothing that aspires,
No sleepless labour thwarting fate,
And thwarted; where no travail tires,
Where no faith fires.
All passes, nought that has been is,
Things good and evil have one end.
Can anything be otherwise
Though all men swear all things would mend
With God to friend?
Can ye beat off one wave with prayer,
Can ye move mountains? bid the flower
Take flight and turn to a bird in the air?
Can ye hold fast for shine or shower
One wingless hour?
Ah sweet, and we too, can we bring
One sigh back, bid one smile revive?
Can God restore one ruined thing,
Or he who slays our souls alive
Make dead things thrive?
Two gifts perforce he has given us yet,
Though sad things stay and glad things fly;
Two gifts he has given us, to forget
All glad and sad things that go by,
And then to die.
We know not whether death be good,
But life at least it will not be:
Men will stand saddening as we stood,
Watch the same fields and skies as we
And the same sea.
Let this be said between us here,
One love grows green when one turns grey;
This year knows nothing of last year;
To-morrow has no more to say
To yesterday.
Live and let live, as I will do,
Love and let love, and so will I.
But, sweet, for me no more with you:
Not while I live, not though I die.
Goodnight, goodbye.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Ballad of London
AH, London! London! our delight,
Great flower that opens but at night,
Great City of the midnight sun,
Whose day begins when day is done.
Lamp after lamp against the sky
Opens a sudden beaming eye,
Leaping alight on either hand,
The iron lilies of the Strand.
Like dragonflies, the hansoms hover,
With jeweled eyes, to catch the lover;
The streets are full of lights and loves,
Soft gowns, and flutter of soiled doves.
The human moths about the light
Dash and cling close in dazed delight,
And burn and laugh, the world and wife,
For this is London, this is life!
Upon thy petals butterflies,
But at thy root, some say, there lies,
A world of weeping trodden things,
Poor worms that have not eyes or wings.
From out corruption of their woe
Springs this bright flower that charms us so,
Men die and rot deep out of sight
To keep this jungle-flower bright.
Paris and London, World-Flowers twain
Wherewith the World-Tree blooms again,
Since Time hath gathered Babylon,
And withered Rome still withers on.
Sidon and Tyre were such as ye,
How bright they shone upon the tree!
But Time hath gathered, both are gone,
And no man sails to Babylon.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sad Faced Dan
His heart is full of stress by stress he is weighed down
The one known as sad faced Dan the saddest one in town
He never laugh or smile he never crack a joke
He must not like the World he seems a sad poor bloke
When he walks down the street he never says hello
To anyone he meet not even those he know
Yet he is a good man he works hard for his pay
Nor ill of anyone you never hear him say,
He lives in his own quiet way and he does his own thing
The sad one of the town and none his praises sing,
The town's most crooked one he has a cheerful smile
Yet he flatters to deceive and his heart is full of guile
And unlike poor sad faced Dan he lacks in honesty
But the face you look upon is not always the soul you see.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Dark Night
There is darkness everywhere,
the night is darker than black,
strange shadows loom on the wall,
as light flickers and flutters
on the oil lamp
The merciless wind is blowing hard,
harder than ever it was,
sharp like a sword,
piercing and reaming my raw wounds,
the flame on the lamp flutters violently
and then is blown off.
The wind smiles and then suddenly it is gone.
I light my lamp again.
poem by Dr Madhavi Grace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At Liberty I Sit and See
At liberty I sit and see
Them, that have erst laugh'd me to scorn,
Whipp'd with the whip that scourged me:
And now they ban that they were born.
I see them sit full soberly
And think their earnest looks to hide;
Now, in themselves, they cannot spy
That they or this in me have spied.
I see them sitting all alone,
Marking the steps, each word and look;
And now they tread where I have gone,
The painful path that I forsook.
Now I see well I saw no whit
When they saw well, that now are blind;
But happy hap hath made me quit,
And just judgement hath them assign'd.
I see them wander all alone,
And tread full fast, in dreadful doubt,
The self-same path that I have gone:
Blessed be hap that brought me out!
At liberty all this I see,
And say no word but erst among,
Smiling at them that laugh'd at me:
Lo, such is hap! Mark well my song!
Why Does Loneliness Weep In Wisdomful Silence
When the sun shows off its yellow teeth
In my eyes full of sleep
I laugh
And tie up all my sufferings in a knot
To put them in my heart's almirah.
When darkness and silence together
Knock on my window
I laugh
And birds resting on my lips
Fly away.
When for the sake of a handful of water
Empty and hypocrite hands
Fill up with prayers
I laugh
And in the rain of my laughter
Dry lakes quench their thirst.
But when in my wisdom filled silence
She does not acknowledge my existence
I laugh
And laughing, I start crying......!
(Translated by Samina Amjad)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Music, To Becalm His Fever
Charm me asleep, and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers;
That being ravish'd, hence I go
Away in easy slumbers.
Ease my sick head,
And make my bed,
Thou Power that canst sever
From me this ill;--
And quickly still,
Though thou not kill
My fever.
Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire,
Into a gentle-licking flame,
And make it thus expire.
Then make me weep
My pains asleep,
And give me such reposes,
That I, poor I,
May think, thereby,
I live and die
'Mongst roses.
Fall on me like a silent dew,
Or like those maiden showers,
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
A baptism o'er the flowers.
Melt, melt my pains
With thy soft strains;
That having ease me given,
With full delight,
I leave this light,
And take my flight
For Heaven.
poem by Robert Herrick
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