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It is my boon.
I eat less; I sleep less.
Yet I am tireless.
It is my boon.
I lust for, at sixty,
Women sixteen to sixty.
It is my boon.
I have the woman
Half my age in flirtation.
It is my boon.
I send the woman
In her teen to orgasm.
It is my boon.
So I want no heaven
As I lived through heaven.
It is my boon.
21.07.2000, Paralakhemundi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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0333 Hungry for Romance
Mills and Boon, Mills and Boon,
ravish me - but not too soon...
Boon and Mills, Boon and Mills,
steam my specs with bedtime thrills...
(M&B - publishers of bodice-ripper romance, with strict rules for their writers)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Dying
I'm Dying, Dying to wake up without you, without you in my head again
I'm Dying, Dying to forget about you, that you ever lived
There's a shade come over this heart that's coping with laying down to rest
I'm Dying to live without you again
I'm Dying, Dying to find a distraction, get you away from me
I'm Dying, Dying to reach a conclusion, so that the world can see
It's the same old story of love and glory that broke before it bent
I'm Dying to live without you again
The first time you left I said goodbye
Now there's not a prayer that can survive
Dying, Dying to die just to come back so we can meet again
Dying, Dying to say what I always should have said
It's a strange emotion this but there's still hope in this
As long as there's a breath...
I'm Dying and I can't live without you again
It's a strange emotion this but there's still hope in this
As long as there's a breath...
I'm Dying and I can't live without you
I'm Dying and I can't live without you again
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I saw young men keeping courage in the grim night (Villanelle)
I saw young men keeping courage in the grim night
burning, aflame before the end of day
bravely carrying on before the dying of light
raging in war busy with a almost endless fight
with no chance to ever again dance and play.
I saw young men keeping courage in the grim night
trying their utmost to do what’s right
challenging a outnumbering foe they
bravely carrying on before the dying of light
looking at enemy warplanes in their flight,
seeing bombs dropping down on their way.
I saw young men keeping courage in the grim night
seeing with blinded eyes far past sight
another world, a glassy sea and its bay
bravely carrying on before the dying of light
looking at a heaven endlessly bright,
cursed but before finality, on their knees to pray
and I saw young men keeping courage in the grim night
bravely carrying on before the dying of light.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Deep Ocean and Vast Universe!
Romance in real life is story of Mills & Boon;
Never leaves the hearts of lovers so soon!
Modern life short of romance is mechanical
Controlled by time makes all mad for love!
Love lost in young and middle ages is bad
As it makes all long for love very old, a pity!
Enjoying life to the full is a boon and satisfaction
Very few lucky ones get in life to the envy of all!
Nature has destined all to love and live well;
But man of mind not knowing by instinct ever
Browses books after books like Mills & Boon
To endeaour like a mission to the Moon last!
Pleasure is vast as Universe and deep as ocean!
If you struggle for Moon how will you measure all?
poem by Ramesh T A
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I Feel Like....
I feel like dying dying
Dying without you,
To leave this body,
To take a new.
It's not that I
Hate this night;
It's not that I
Have lost my right..
But I'm dying dying
Dying without you
To leave this present
To embrace a new.
None will mourn here
No heart-break;
No swan-song,
Not one inch's shake..
But, I feel like dying
Dying without you
To yield this robe,
To wear a new.
The secs of hour
Gapes me now....
Time pulls I know,
Inevitably how;
Still I feel like,
Dying, dying without you,
To take another life,
To get the new! !
poem by Nilakshi Das
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His Youth
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.
'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.
'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.
'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.
'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?
''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.
'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.
'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.
'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Campaign Song
Boom boom boom
Boon boon boon
Bane bane bane
Your campaign song
Is too loud, bane
I am riding on boon
Good and fine days
Ignorant of intended ways
Boom your campaign song
It was too loud, bane
I barely could manage
To hear your message
I voted for the other candidate
Your Boom song was too loud
It was good in our ears in June
But you sang it till December
That even kids should remember
I choose otherwise, voted you out
Is Campaign song bane or boon?
poem by Benjamin Paa Willie
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No!
Then they are bunch of Mzee,
But now, they have piece into sleaze.
They believe we are
Distopped by curaco
That is narcotic us
No!
You the baboon
The baboon
Who feeds in boon
Who misuses his boon
And bomb the boon
They believe they can Build something no nothin'
Rude rain of pain
No!
Not under the sun.
They are jocular,
But speak in oracular
They are living in humid
And they they left the small fry in arid.
No!
Will shall fight with the breath
Because they are arch enemy to us
But show in angel in face.
poem by Ejalonibu Abraham
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Dying
Dying
Youve seen the crippled dance
Give me your money baby, nows your chance
Your lies like cyanide
I am so dumb
Just beam me up
Ive had it all forever
Ive had enough
Remember, you promised me...
Im dying, Im dying please
I want to, I need to be...
Under your skin
Our love is quicksand, so easy to drown
They steal the gravity out from moving ground
Remember, you promised me...
Im dying, Im dying please
I want to I need to be...
Under your skin
And now I understand
You leave with everything
You leave with everything I am
In the rain
And I now I know that love is dead
You come to bury me
Theres nothing left here to pretend..
Remember you promised me...
Im dying, Im dying please
I want to, I need to be...
Under your skin
Im dying Im dying please
Im dying Im dying please
Im dying Im dying please
Under your skin
Under your skin
song performed by by Hole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumnal
THE Autumn leaves are dying quietly,
Scarlet and orange, underfoot they lie;
They had their youth and prime
And now's the dying time;
Alas, alas, the young, the beloved, must die!
They are dying like the leaves of Autumn fast,
Scattered and broken, blown on every blast:
The darling young, the brave,
Love had no power to save.
Poor Love-lies-bleeding, Love's in ruins, downcast.
Alas, alas, the Autumn leaves are flying!
They had their Summer and 'tis time for dying.
But these had barely Spring.
Love trails a broken wing,
Walks through deserted woods, moaning and sighing.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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A Child Is Dying
for every tree you cut down,
a child is dying.
for every barrel of oil that
you drill and spill,
a child is dying.
for every coal mine you
rape the earth with,
a child is dying.
for all the nuclear waste
you cannot dispose of,
a child is dying.
for every country you bomb,
a child is dying.
for every chemical you spray
on your vegetables,
a child is dying.
for every river you dam & drain,
a child is dying.
for every oil field you own,
a child is dying.
for every animal you drive
to the brink of extinction,
a child is dying.
for every smokestack, every sweatshop,
and every synthetic thought,
a child is dying.
for every tree you cut down....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beauty In Your Body, Or Happy In Your Soul?
Staying young and looking young,
Is not always a boon,
Life is going, it is true,
But we grow in spirit with it too.
Our soul will always live,
Being young forever,
Body is only a soul transporter,
To experience life on Planet.
Is it matter hair is grey, or colored
When you experience it all,
What is the meaning of your life,
Beauty in your body or happy in your soul?
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Look At Me
Look at me
Bones wrapping my shoulder flesh leaving my torso
Look at me
A young gentle youth filled with a pile of woe
Look at me
The eye of my owner, whom had weight poverty to their grave
Look at me
Crossing rivers with blunt vision on a sacred mission
Look at me
Leaking unill wounds inflicted by the struggle for existence cure
Look at me
Bending and standing with the mass of corruptions looting my strength
Look at me
Young and gentle but yet bare the scare lined of a dying age
Look at me
And tell me more about the hidden image of myself
Look at me
And bawl to me my picture contrasting my present reflection
Look at me
Young and free but yet dying old
poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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The Old Moon In The New Moon's Arms
The beautiful and slender young New Moon,
In trailing robes of pink and palest blue,
Swept close to Venus, and breathed low: 'A boon,
A precious boon, I ask, dear friend, of you.'
'O queen of light and beauty, you have known
The pangs of love - its passions and alarms;
Then grant me this one favour, let my own -
My lost Old Moon be once more in my arms.'
Swift thro' the vapours and the golden mist -
The Full Moon's shadowy shape shone on the night,
The New Moon reached out clasping arms and kissed
Her phantom lover in the whole world's sight.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Let Me Show You Mine....
a young doctor in a hospital
spent several minutes explaining
to the young aide taking care of
the dying old man, why there
could be no god....
when he finished, the young aide
looked up and said,
'let me show you mine! '
and with that he cleaned the
old man's ass, pulled the bedpan out,
and carried it from the room!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Little Major
At his post, the "Little Major"
Dropp'd his drum, that battle-day;
On the grass, all stain'd with crimson,
Through that battle-night he lay--
Crying "Oh! for love of Jesus,
Grant me but this little boon!
Can you, friend, refuse me water?
Can you, when I die so soon?"
Crying "Oh! for love of Jesus,
Grant me but this little boon!
Can you, friend, refuse me water?
Can you, when I die so soon?"
They are none to hear or help him--
All his friends were early fled,
Save the forms, outstrech'd around him,
Of the dying and the dead.
Hush--they come! there falls a footstep!
How it makes his heart rejoice!
They will help, Oh, they will save him,
When they hear his fainting voice--
Now the lights are flashing round him,
And he hears a loyal word,
Strangers they, whose lips pronouce it,
Yet he trusts his voice is heard.
It is heard--Oh, God forgive them!
They refuse his dying pray'r!
"Nothing but a wounded drummer,"
So they say, and leave him there--
See! the moon that shone above him,
Veils her face, as if in grief;
And the skies are sadly weeping--
Shielding teardrops of relief.
Yet to die, by friends forsaken,
With his last request denied--
This he felt his keenest anquish,
When at morn, he gasp'd and died--
poem by Henry Clay Work
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The ember fanned
I had with you a hearty contact
In the audio medium,
Running over minutes,
And I was fully charged.
We enlarged it to engage each other
By speaking much nonsense,
Save the one from which I discerned
That you were eager to see
Me on some pretext
In your campus as before,
And that you granted me a boon
To see you at your den. Enough.
I am living, not dying.
26.01.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Old Man Dying
there's an old man dying
in a small bedroom filled
with books and worn out clothes
and old socks with holes
there's an ashtray that always
needs to be emptied;
blinds that are as twisted
as his fingers and his toes
there's an old man dying
in the shadow of his
father's dreams, his father's world,
choking on the bad taste
of his own prayers forgotten
and mountaintops bartered;
in the mist of cannot touch,
can't lay with again
and love sweat grown cold,
gone stale as the lines,
the wrinkles on his face,
and hands that tremble
there's an old man dying
and somewhere, there's
a young man being born!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Shall Cry These Tears No More
For everything happen for a reason. Blame no one nor yourself accept the changes and challenges within. Cry these tears no more
for if somethings get tough in life its not your fault cry no more. For a mother lost at a young age its painfull but i shall dropp these tears no more
children dying at the young age loosing parents and become house hold heads please hold on because God is here always cry these tears no more
my mom died when i was an infant what did i know? But with God i still have a father i shall cry these tears no more
our youth is dying. Can we do anything please dry that face i shall cry no more
i shall wet these face no more with tears if i can speak today and walk read and write if i still feel all things that means im alive and thank God
remember nothing is hard or impossible make it a point to achieve and therefore i shall cry these tears no more
poem by Ernest Makuakua
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