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He that reckons without his host must reckon again.
He that reckons without his host must reckon twice.
The mother reckons well, but the child reckons better.
One Day I'll Make You Proud, Dad......! ! ! ! !
Dad, I'm flunked,
said me.....
Son, never worry,
I'm happy you tried.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm ditched,
said me, wailing.....
Son, never weep,
I'm happy someone made you realise the pain.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm expeled,
said me, embarrassed of copying in finals......
son, never shame of mistakes,
I'm happy you admit the wrongdoing......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm sloshed,
said me, apologizing for being like that.....
Son, I'll help you to bed,
I'm happy you learned to apologize.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm paid,
said me, surrendering first salary....
Son, It's yours, keep it safe,
I'm happy you earned them legitimately.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm in love,
said me, shivering in fear.....
Son, choose the best, you deserve best,
I'm happy you don't miss mommy's love anymore......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm married,
said me, Kneeling for his blessings....
Son, blessings always on you since your birth,
I'm happy I dont have to sleep with you anymore......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, eventually I'm a dad,
exclaimed me, an infant in my hands.....
Son, I'm old, cant talk more,
I'm happy You're a perfect man.... He coughed....
ONE DAY HE'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, SON...! ! ! ! ! !
AS YOU MADE ME PROUD.....
poem by shinej K.P
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The Hatred, The Menace, And The Curse
It is perhaps my most vexatious quandary:
That I am able to reckon with what circumstance stole
At the expense of hatred toward a single, albeit, entirely deserving soul!
She is the only reason I have what most may call 'dirty laundry'-
The near-destruction of a once-purposeful life, accomplished
Through the employ of a living, breathing lie,
That does not seem to want to be finished,
Kept alive by the stupidity of the masses-but why? !
In the face of all the evidence to the contrary,
Many still believe the fallacy; their collective gullibility is quite scary!
With every whisper, or thoughtless shout that states the same,
I am forced to reckon with the phantom menace
Who stole so much, yet gifted only his surname.
The memory I once had of my boyhood, I imagine is
Lost now, as is the heroic figure I once believed he was-
Gone the way of my erstwhile innocence, because
The truth was finally allowed to amble in my direction,
Shuttered all those years, under guise of my own protection.
Now, I am a man who reckons with the disappointment
Of a lie that lasted into my manhood, as well as the anointment
Of my own flesh and blood, as pure evil, incarnate!
My burden of guilt, through association, may not alleviate
With the simple passage of time and space-
It is too much for me, and only through Blessed Grace
May I hope to finally pay riddance to my heart's grievous lamentation.
Then only, may I offer any amorous invitation
Into the world I call my own, for better or for worse,
Where now I could only proffer my unbeknownst beloved, a curse!
-Maurice Harris,16 October 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Fodder for Cannon
Bodies glad, erect,
Beautiful with youth,
Life's elect,
Nature's truth,
Marching host on host,
Those bright, unblemished ones,
Manhood's boast,
Feed them to the guns.
Hearts and brains that teem
With blessing for the race,
Thought and dream,
Vision, grace,
Oh, love's best and most,
Bridegrooms, brothers, sons,
Host on host
Feed them to the guns.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Be a guest
The guest must leave the host
Against host’s insistence to stay.
Be a guest only for a while.
Be a host to compensate
23.07.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Drive
The dogfight days panted
In my face, in my rage
Pallid and weary from a hunger.
I can reckon the butterscotch fume
Lingering with a surreal tang
Of charred embitterment
And the malingering wails
Of alcohol staring daggers
Pummeling the desolation,
I can reckon the one way road
Where we used to flounder
Counting scars and cussing stars
And how I veered a trifle
And you turned a colossal pivot
Towards esoteric digression,
I can reckon with my head
Swaying in a garrote
Of my favored laces,
I can reckon the loss
And the fear of irrevocable damage
Let us press the streetlights gone
And wander slow and near,
And shot another bullet
To disappear in the long run
And stir past the vexation,
And stir past the apprehension
I will stand in front of the storms
Steadfast to the helm
With a dire need and desire
To drive the immovable communion.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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He reckons his importance by the elephant-load.
You Are Just Arriving
You are just arriving.
And I have been here!
Don't think that I am going to be a gracious host!
You may at times find me gracious...
But a host I am not.
You are here on your own.
When your eyes opened..
That's when your reality for you began.
Some things you see you may find unbelieveable!
Do not tax your mind.
Believe it!
Do not try to find understanding.
You'll get stuck in that quicksand like the others.
You are just arriving.
And I have been here!
Don't think that I am going to be a gracious host!
You may at times find me gracious...
But a host I am not.
You are here on your own.
When I first discovered reality...
I was taunted and teased.
With disgusting disrespect!
You are just arriving.
You may not notice or suspect,
The depth of their ignorance.
You will.
And that's gauranteed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Qhuen thieves reckons, leal men comes to their geir.
Science reckons many prophets, but there is not even a promise of a Messiah.
quote by Thomas Huxley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talk Show Host
I can't describe the pressure of the hype
Another show they'll have your vein opened up again
But it's all the same they way they sell the game
Sucking out the feeling so you'll never win
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Despite the high that tends to come out live
The repetition seems to grab the flare away
The radio it seems so shady oh
I'll never hear myself just quite the same again
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
I'll see you on the way down
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Overload...in stereo...I'm sweating like a talk show host tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight
song performed by by Flickerstick from Welcoming Home The Astronauts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rash indeed is he who reckons on the morrow, or haply on days beyond it for tomorrow is not, until today is past.
Rash indeed is he who reckons on the morrow, or haply on days beyond it; for tomorrow is not, until today is past.
Sophocles in Trachiniae
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Guest Is 'Trouble
There is a guest and a host
child and servant,
eternity and vanity,
The guest is trouble.
In sickness, health is the host
he gives way to sickness
that the power of truth is depicted
the guest is 'trouble'
In pain, comfort is the host
who concedes the pain
that the vanity of darkness is depicted
the guest is 'trouble'
In death, life is the host
who gives way to death
that the power of resurrection is shown
the guest is 'trouble'
Life is eternal, death is a moment.
health is a fruit, sickness is a leaf
that falls from a tree of life.
They soon wither and waste away.
Be strong, it's not too long
the guest will leave.
and the host will have it all
The guest is 'trouble'
poem by Timothy muggaga
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