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Those Who Betray And Lament
At THIS hour of the day.
And with time allowed,
Over the years to slip away.
Someone sits not to forget or forgive,
Those who intentionally took steps to offend,
With a doing of it they went ahead to inflict.
And at THIS hour of the day,
It would not matter who said what to have what's been done...
Wished away,
To acknowledge what took place.
Since what took place can not be erased,
From the mind of the one this misdeed continues to sit...
Long after it was considered someone's fun!
And at THIS hour of the day...
Wishing for a way to turn back the clock,
To prevent what should not have happened...
To have it stopped and blocked from a doing,
Is not on the mind of the one who is visited with memories...
At THIS hour of the day,
When one witnesses images from a distance...
A payback paid to those who betray and lament.
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
And have nobody near them to hear their pleas!
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
And have nobody near them to hear their pleas!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Refuse to Lament
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
I refuse to lament.
But, you stay glued to sentiments,
With contented reasons meant.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
I refuse to lament.
But, you stay glued to sentiments,
With contented reasons meant.
Growing old,
You lament.
As if you're sold,
To lament.
Inviting mold,
To convince to start a pointless argument.
Growing old,
You lament.
As if you're sold,
To lament.
Inviting mold,
To convince to start a pointless argument.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
I refuse to lament.
But, you stay glued to sentiments,
With contented reasons meant.
Growing old,
You lament.
As if you're sold,
To lament.
Inviting mold,
To convince to start a pointless argument.
I refuse to lament.
But, you stay glued to sentiments,
With contented reasons meant.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
Why shoiuld we be here lamenting,
When lamenting makes no sense.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
Why shoiuld we be here lamenting,
When lamenting makes no sense.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
Why shoiuld we be here lamenting,
When lamenting makes no sense.
I refuse to lament.
I refuse to lament.
I refuse the consenting when to me it makes no sense.
I refuse to lament.
I refuse to lament.
I refuse the consenting when to me it makes no sense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lament
Lament is a hollow song
we sing to ourselves
about misgivings in our past.
A song of our wayward life
of when we were young.
Lament is the hurtful baggage
that we carry around
to torment us in silent times
when we sit alone.
We sing it to ourselves
hoping it could be undone.
Once a word is spoken,
it can never be withdrawn.
Once a hurt is caused,
no bandage can repair.
We can only lament on it later
in our silent moments
when we sit alone.
26 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Angst...
Lament
knows better
Joy dances with
Bliss but as soon
as Grief arrives
Joy cries and Lament
as usual sits down
reflects
writes and knows
the exit towards
Enlightenment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pibroch Dhu For Jim Hogg
The piper plays his sad lament
Alone upon the bleak hillside.
A bitter hymn of discontent
recalling those who bravely died.
A living breathing testament
to regimented homicide.
The piper plays his sad lament
alone upon the bleak hillside.
This world is not as it was meant
The ten commandments are defied
as warfare rages far and wide.
As in the past and the present.
The piper plays his sad lament.
poem by Ivor .e Hogg
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Lament of a Wash-basin
LAMENT OF A WASH-BASIN
Very sorry my friends,
If by my lament,
Your tender hearts, I hurt,
When thus out I blurt.
But no other way have I,
To gain your sympathy o'er my cry,
Than in black and white to mention
And draw your kind attention.
All of you I beseech,
To yonder bin to reach
And, my dears-there to empty
Your tiffin-boxes, of left-overs sundry.
Of my gurgling throat, I'm sure,
It'll no more be wrote to cure,
For, I hope, you'll ne'er again so choke
And then, with a rod try to poke!
Thank you so much, my dears,
For so patiently lending your ears,
To the lament of a poor sink,
In this emanating stink!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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You lament not the dead, but lament the trouble of making a grave; the way of the ghost is longer than the grave.
The Flowers Of The Forest
A lone piper plays a sad lament.
Silhouetted against the sky.
Parading on the battlements.
A focal point for every eye.
A single ray of sunlight shone
Through a break in clouds of grey.
As if to grant a benison.
A blessing on the memory
of those who died in freedoms cause.
Remembered for eternity.
The sad lament a tour de force.
Which foreign tourists flock to see.
A tribute to our proud history.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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When the Bark is Torn she Suffers
When the bark is torn she suffers,
She’s breaking down to cry.
To watch her mourn is to question why,
Why it is you have no tear in your eyes.
To lament for her soul for it never will die
Would be an exercise in futility.
poem by David Lacey
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Breffne Caoinc
NOT as a woman of the English weeping over a lord of the
English
Do I weep—
A cry that scarcely stirs the heart!
I lament as it is in my blood to lament—
Castle and stronghold are broken,
And the sovereign of the land beside the lake lies dead
Mahon O'Reilly!
In his day the English were broken:
I weep beside Loch Sheelin and the day is long and grey!
poem by Padraic Colum
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An Elegy On The Glory Of Her Sex, Mrs Mary Blaize
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word,—
From those who spoke her praise.
The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,—
Who left a pledge behind.
She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways,—
Unless when she was sinning.
At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew,—
But when she shut her eyes.
Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her,—
When she has walked before.
But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,—
Her last disorder mortal.
Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say
That had she lived a twelvemonth more,—
She had not died today.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Priest at the Serapeum
My dear old father,
who always loved me the same;
my dear old father I lament
who died the day before yesterday, just before dawn.
Jesus Christ, it is my daily effort
to observe the precepts
of Thy most holy church in all my acts,
in all words, in all thoughts.
And all those who renounce Thee
I shun.-- But now I lament;
I bewail, Christ, for my father
although he was -- a horrible thing to say --
a priest at the accursed Serapeum.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Our Black Bird!
who's singing in the worst hours?
for remember our guilts and sufferings
singin his lament for all of us
in your observation tree
if you are not there, he is there
seek us by our eyes
And deeply found us
with your dark feather
with your nightly hug.
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Distill My Soul
The sylphs of mountain high give voice to solar winds.
The sirens of the sea - The sailors death she sings.
Lament, lament now that the shadow of the sun has cast faith and indistinct upon the hope of salvation.
Can you hear them still?
Faint murmurs?
Nothing to salvage is there left drifting in the sway.
Be still my head
Distill my soul
Take me half
And make me whole.
A multitude of madness
Generations lost to sadness
Bleeding
Begging for a better life.
They would lock me away for seeing all I have seen
They would praise me for the things I could have been.
poem by David Lacey
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Linoz Isidoz
Lo! I lament. Fallen is the sixfold Star:
Slain is Asar.
O twinned with me in the womb of Night!
O son of my bowels to the Lord of Light!
O man of mine that hast covered me
From the shame of my virginity!
Where art thou? Is it not Apep thy brother,
The snake in my womb that am thy mother,
That hath slain thee by violence girt with guile,
And scattered thy limbs on the Nile?
Lo! I lament. I have forged a whirling Star:
I seek Asar.
O Nepti, sister! Arise in the dusk
From thy chamber of mystery and musk!
Come with me, though weary the way,
To bring back his life to the rended clay!
See! are not these the hands that wove
Delight, and these the arms that strove
With me? And these the feet, the thighs
That were lovely in mine eyes?
Lo! IO lament. I gather in my car
Thine head, Asar.
And this -is this not the trunk he rended?
But -oh! oh! oh! -the task transcended,
Where is the holy idol that stood
For the god of thy queen's beatitude?
Here is the tent -but where is the pole?
Here is the body -but where is the soul?
Nepti, sister, the work is undone
For lack of the needed One!
Lo! I lament. There is no god so far
As mine Asar!
There is no hope, none, in the corpse, in the tomb.
But these -what are these that war in my womb?
There is vengeance and triumph at last of Maat
In Ra-Hoor-Khut and in Hoor-pa-Kraat!
Twins they shall rise; being twins they are one,
The Lord of the Sword and the Son of the Sun!
Silence, coeval colleague of the Voice,
The plumes of Amoun -rejoice!
Lo! I rejoice. I heal the sanguine scar
Of slain Asar.
I was the Past, Nature the Mother.
He was the Present, Man my brother.
Look to the Future, the Child -oh paean
The Child that is crowned in the Lion-Aeon!
The sea-dawns surge an billow and break
Beneath the scourge of the Star and the Snake.
To my lord I have borne in my womb deep-vaulted
This babe for ever exalted.
poem by Aleister Crowley
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Heaven Welcomes Another Angel
My heart joins with thee, in your sorrow;
I shan't say it will ease in the morrow,
Nor any day soon, if it shall, ever-
Truth be told, it may cease never!
Whence thee lament, surely I lament too;
I feel your pain, as though as one, with you!
I shall provide solace, when solace is wanted;
When all others cower or flee, I remain, undaunted!
Heaven welcomes another Angel into its realm,
Our loss of same, surely now doth overwhelm!
Obligation is owed for what was so precious-
Grieve, yet, celebrate what was left with us;
Yes, a glory hath passed from our sights-
Yet, its memory shall endure, for all our nights!
Maurice Harris,10 March 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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You make me smile!
In the darkness of the night,
Your smile is like a candle light,
Makes me feel like am in a first class flight,
And turns me from dark to bright.
When in my dullest moment,
You smile and make me forget,
‘Coz your smile is like an aroma of an unsullied bloom,
It takes away my lament.
Even when in my coldest moment
Your smile is like the warm glow of the morning sun,
It takes away coldness,
Warming each fraction of my heart,
Smile ‘coz you turn me bright,
Smile ‘coz you takes away my lament,
Smile ‘coz you warms my heart,
Smile ‘coz you make me smile.
poem by Emmanuel Kaunda
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We mourn the death of the forest universal
The town outside my window moans.
We mourn not for the death of Industry
Nor for the ghost of the English gentle men
We lament for the stars that have been hidden from gazers.
We lament for dead rats trapped electronic cages.
Have we learnt nothing through the ages?
We mourn the death of the forest universal
We mourn the death of culture as media vultures
Prey upon the minds of the young.
Outside the rain takes its toll upon the pavement
Washing away the reminents of Autumns presence.
He awaits in hibernatuin, a soul ready for consideration.
I dreamt last night of a gleaming crown, An Angel
Came forth to say. ‘Embrace the child don’t shoot her down,
Make love throughout the day.
poem by David Lacey
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Pall-bearer
He has seen the nakedness of the palpable death.
How many times he has walked to the cemetery behind the innocent coffins from a child to the elder.
His tearful eyes lament but tears almost dried.
He always thinks the auspicious day will come and who goes with him?
He lives in his entire life with the cenotaphs of different souls.
Though he is an adolescent nobody loves him.
He never catches a girl's true smile as he may be smell of death?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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In Her Eyes Soft Silky Dreams..!
In her eyes
soft silky dreams..
In her breaths
flute's mellifluous tunes...
In sunrise-hued face
two rising full moons..
Within these moons roll
two pitch dark nights..
In the core of these nights
sparkle star diamonds....
O..these twinkling stars
the eyes of the lustful male storms..
The warfield wherein hot arrows of love
whiz past in billions...
All along her pathways
splinters of male lovelorn minds...
All along begging her looks
yearning pathetic eye-bowls...
They lament diseases
entreat a word of medicine...
With thoughts of none but her
remain penance personified..!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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