May 26, 1828
Gift haphazard, unavailing,
Life, why were thou given me?
Why art thou to death unfailing
Sentenced by dark destiny?
Who in harsh despotic fashion
Once from Nothing called me out,
Filled my soul with burning passion
Vexed and shook my mind with doubt?
I can see no goal before me;
Empty heart and idle mind.
Life monotonously o'er me
Roars, and leaves a wound behind.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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With Doubt
My mind is often filled with doubt
about who I really am.
I know my name and what I be,
but really who am I?
Some say this and some say that,
they are only reflections
of who I really want to be.
My lack of confidence in myself
leaves me lagging behind everyone else
and my mind filled with doubt
about whom I really am.
Dark clouds descend around my head,
no clear sky do I see
and mind is filled with doubt
which disguise is really me.
Will my mind clear one day
and reveal the truth to me
or will I face life with doubt
of who I really be.
17 February 2011
poem by David Harris
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Sonnet -- Ye Hasten To The Grave!
Ye hasten to the grave! What seek ye there,
Ye restless thoughts and busy purposes
Of the idle brain, which the world's livery wear?
O thou quick heart, which pantest to possess
All that pale Expectation feigneth fair!
Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guess
Whence thou didst come, and whither thou must go,
And all that never yet was known would know--
Oh, whither hasten ye, that thus ye press,
With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path,
Seeking, alike from happiness and woe,
A refuge in the cavern of gray death?
O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do you
Hope to inherit in the grave below?
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Sonnet: A Poet’s Greatness
Most lucky, thou art, O Bard and winged Muse!
After thy death, thy soul remains on earth;
Thy God-giv’n gift- how well thou put to use!
And through thy passionate poems gave mirth.
Maybe, thy stay short wasn’t comfortable,
And thy heart got plunged in sadness so oft;
Maybe, thou had to live in a stable!
In God’s heart, thou shall have a corner soft.
What truths thou writ in poems beauteous!
What good advice thou rendered to live life!
How well thou showed men ought to be righteous!
How soothing balm, thou bestowed men in strife!
O great soul, thine place in Heaven’s assured,
O fisherman of souls, thy rest tho’ measured.
poem by John Celes
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The Great Mercy
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was mercy sought and mercy found.
Yea, in the twinkling of an eye,
He cried; and Thou hast heard his cry.
Between the bullet and its mark
Thy face made morning in his dark.
And while the shell sang on its path
Thou hast run, Thou hast run, preventing death.
Thou hast run before and reached the goal,
Gathered to Thee the unhoused soul.
Thou art not bound by Time or Space:
So fast Death runs : Thou hast won the race.
Thou hast said to beaten Death: Go tell
Of victories thou once hadst. All's well!
Death, here none die but thee and Sin
Now the great days of Life begin.
And to the Soul: This day I rise
And thee with Me to Paradise.
Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was Mercy sought and Mercy found.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Hast Thou Forgotten Me?
HAST thou forgotten me? the days are dark—
Light ebbs from heaven, and songless soars the lark—
Vexed like my heart, loud moans the unquiet sea—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? O dead delight
Whose dreams and memories torture me to-night—
O love—my life! O sweet—so fair to see—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Lo, if one should say—
Noontide were night, or night were flaming day—
Grief blinds mine eyes, I know not which it be!
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Ah, if Death should come,
Close my sad eyes, and charm my song-bird dumb—
Tired of strange woes—my fate were hailed with glee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten me? What joy have I?
A dim blown bird beneath an alien sky,—
O that on mighty pinions I could flee—
Hast thou forgotten me?
Hast thou forgotten? Yea, Love’s horoscope
Is blurred with tears and suffering beyond Hope—
Ah, like dead leaves forsaken of the tree,
Thou hast forgotten me.
poem by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
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Sonnet- Woman
Woman, thou art no goddess but human!
A creature of God thro’ Adam and Eve;
With flesh and blood like any other man;
In love and destiny, thou should believe.
Thou art no object of Love and passion;
Like man thou must too feel the hunger pangs;
Thou must seduce the man by tradition;
Let not thine teeth turn into poison-fangs!
Woman, love-making's not thine profession;
Labour, thou must to deliver children;
Life is not fun, mere frolic and fashion;
Let not the Serpent veer thee from Heaven.
Woman, thy role on earth is so divine;
Thou must not be the vice for men like wine.
poem by John Celes
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It’s called the inner city
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
Thin walls no privacy
Big yard, living in close proximity
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes it has shaped my destiny
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
Adults sit around
Getting shot and maim
Children run around
Oblivious
Playing their games
In the filth that flows untamed
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
How hard I try not to run with the pack
But against me the cards were stack
They need protection they need someone
But you can’t protect them with empty hand
In the inner city
It’s called the inner city
Poverty, amidst luxury
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
Political connections, fearless and strong
Dispensing justice with an even hand
Truth be told, I am a ladies’ man
So naturally they call me the “Don”
In the inner city
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city, no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
Now on death row
Soon, I’ll go
I am guilty?
No one will know
The script is written and sing like a song
They used, refused and then they kill the “Don”
In the inner city
Hah, ha, ha, a, a, a
Hah, ha, ha, a, a, a
poem by Ikhalfani Solan
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Ch 06 On Weakness And Old Age Story 06
In the folly of youth I one day shouted at my mother who then sat down with a grieved heart in a corner and said, weeping: ‘Hast thou forgotten thy infancy that thou art harsh towards me?’
How sweetly said the old woman to her son
When she saw him overthrow a tiger, and elephant-bodied:
‘If thou hadst remembered the time of thy infancy
How helpless thou wast in my arms
Thou would’st this day not have been harsh
For thou art a lion-like man, and I an old woman.’
Fate vs Destiny
To find your true happiness tempt fate to discover your destiny.
You must hearken back to when real happiness was known
Remember its impact on your life
Opportunity knocks, open the door, you will see it coming.
You may be surprised to discover fate can mask your destiny.
Your fate and your destiny are not one in the same.
Your fate is what you settle for in life.
What you take as your life marches on day by day, an obligation to life.
Destiny is the gate you find at the end of the path you blaze
As you strive to attain life’s goal open the gate and find love,
Happiness and contentment; true peace of heart and mind.
Fate may leave you at destiny’s gate at the end of life.
Knowing only the travails of your battles to achieve life’s goal
Knowing not the sweetness of your victories.
The gate may not be open, leaving you empty
At the end of life's journey.
The path to your destiny is yours and yours alone
Ask yourself whether you wish to settle for your fate or…
Tempt your fate and discover the path.
The dark side of life; fear and self doubt can blur and cover the path.
Not always seen in the clear; hidden in your memory
Or on the full plate before you the path is always there.
Those who have known the depth of their love, the strength of their spirit,
Will find a guiding light illuminates their path.
In these qualities of character you will discover your true self
And the key to unlock the gate.
You will recognize the guide of your light.
The choice is yours, settle for fate or follow the light,
Find the key, unlock the gate … discover your destiny.
poem by William J. Henderson Jr.
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Sancire
The thing we love is the thing we can't possess
those who do not have love, know love best
to desire, to imagine, to obsess
our love kindles our most zealous zest
In our bosom we love and jealous rest
Unbosom thyself, thou reveal who thou really are
Anything but a heavenly star
A soul possessed by loves dark mar
Burning for a soul from afar
Love has no limits in thy mind
Its magic passion turns one blind
And in its center thyself you'll find
That what it is that makes one bind
The thing thy love, to thy own pain
By thine obsession, thy so incessantly gain
Nothing from love, but love's vain
To thy detriment thou go insane….
and love a thing thou wilt never possess….
to desire, to imagine, to obsess
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Be Thou My Vision
Be thou my vision, oh lord of my heart
Nought be all else to me, save that thy art
Thou my best thought in the day and the night
Waking or sleeping, thou presence my light
Be thou my wisdom, be thou my true word
I ever with thee and thou with me lord
Thou my great father and I thy true son
Thou in me dwelling and I with thee one
Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight
Be thou my armour and be thou my might
Thou my soul shelter, and thy my high tower
Raise thou me heavenwards, oh power of my power
Riches I need not, nor mans empty praise
Thou mine inheritance through all of my days
Thou and thou only though first in my heart
High king of heaven my treasure thou art
Oh high king of heaven, when battle is done
Grant heavens joy to me, bright heaven sun
Christ of my own heart, whatever befall
Still be my vision, though ruler of all
Da, da, da, da, da, etc.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Intrigue
THOU art my love
And thou art the peace of sundown
When the blue shadows soothe
And the grasses and the leaves sleep
To the song of the little brooks
Woe is me.
Thou art my love,
And thou art a storm
That breaks black in the sky
And, sweeping headlong,
Drenches and cowers each tree
And at the panting end
There is no sound
Save the melancholy cry of a single owl
Woe is me!
Thou art my love
And thou art a tinsel thing
And I in my play
Broke thee easily
And from the little fragments
Arose my long sorrow
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a weary violet
Drooping from sun-caresses.
Answering mine carelessly
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art the ashes of other men's love
And I bury my face in these ashes
And I love them
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art the beard
On another man's face
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a temple
And in this temple is an altar
And on this altar is my heart
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a wretch.
Let these sacred love-lies choke thee
For I am come to where I know your lies as truth
And your truth as lies
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a priestess
And in thy hand is a bloody dagger
And my doom comes to me surely
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a skull with ruby eyes
And I love thee
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And I doubt thee
And if peace came with my murder
Then would I murder
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art death
Aye, thou art death
Black and yet black
But I love thee
I love thee
Woe, welcome woe, to me.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud
Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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My Light Thou Art
My light thou art, without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darkened with eternal night;
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.
Thou art my way, I wander if thou fly;
Thou art my light, if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life, if thou withdraw'st I die.
Thou art my life; if thou but turn away,
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way;
Without thee, Love, I travel not, but stray.
poem by Lord John Wilmot
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Holy Sonnet X:Death be not proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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Holy Sonnet X
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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A Dialogue
I
DEATH, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee:
Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built,
One shelter where our spirits fain would be,
Death, if thou wit?
No dome with suns and dews impearled and gilt,
Imperial: but some roof of wildwood tree,
Too mean for sceptre's heft or swordblade's hilt.
Some low sweet roof where love might live, set free
From change and fear and dreams of grief or guilt;
Canst thou not leave life even thus much to see,
Death, if thou wilt?
II
Man, what art thou to speak and plead with me?
What knowest thou of my workings, where and how
What things I fashion? Nay, behold and see,
Man, what art thou?
Thy fruits of life, and blossoms of thy bough,
What are they but my seedlings? Earth and sea
Bear nought but when I breathe on it must bow.
Bow thou too down before me: though thou be
Great, all the pride shall fade from off thy brow,
When Time and strong Oblivion ask of thee,
Man, what art thou ?
III
Death, if thou be or be not, as was said,
Immortal; if thou make us nought, or we
Survive: thy power is made but of our dread,
Death, if thou be.
Thy might is made out of our fear of thee:
Who fears thee not, hath plucked from off thine head
The crown of cloud that darkens earth and sea.
Earth, sea, and sky, as rain or vapour shed,
Shall vanish; all the shows of them shall flee:
Then shall we know full surely, quick or dead,
Death, if thou be.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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A Dialog
I.
Death, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee:
Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built,
One shelter where our spirits fain would be,
Death, if thou wilt?
No dome with suns and dews impearled and gilt,
Imperial: but some roof of wildwood tree,
Too mean for sceptre's heft or swordblade's hilt.
Some low sweet roof where love might live, set free
From change and fear and dreams of grief or guilt;
Canst thou not leave life even thus much to see,
Death, if thou wilt?
II.
Man, what art thou to speak and plead with me?
What knowest thou of my workings, where and how
What things I fashion? Nay, behold and see,
Man, what art thou?
Thy fruits of life, and blossoms of thy bough,
What are they but my seedlings? Earth and sea
Bear nought but when I breathe on it must bow.
Bow thou too down before me: though thou be
Great, all the pride shall fade from off thy brow,
When Time and strong Oblivion ask of thee,
Man, what art thou?
III.
Death, if thou be or be not, as was said,
Immortal; if thou make us nought, or we
Survive: thy power is made but of our dread,
Death, if thou be.
Thy might is made out of our fear of thee:
Who fears thee not, hath plucked from off thine head
The crown of cloud that darkens earth and sea.
Earth, sea, and sky, as rain or vapour shed,
Shall vanish; all the shows of them shall flee:
Then shall we know full surely, quick or dead,
Death, if thou be.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Holy Sonnet 10 - Death be not proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more, Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne from Holy Sonnets
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Thou must be emptied of that wherewith thou art full, that thou mayest be filled with that whereof thou art empty.
quote by Saint Augustine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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