A Wreath Of Immortelles
Judge Sawyer, whom in vain the people tried
To push from power, here is laid aside.
Death only from the bench could ever start
The sluggish load of his immortal part.
____
For those this mausoleum is erected
Who Stanford to the Upper House elected.
Their luck is less or their promotion slower,
For, dead, they were elected to the Lower.
____
Rash mortal! stay thy feet and look around-
This vacant tomb as yet is holy ground;
But soon, alas! Jim Fair will occupy
These premises-then, holiness, good-bye!
____
George Perry here lies stiff and stark,
With stone at foot and stone at head.
His heart was dark, his mind was dark-
'Ignorant ass!' the people said.
Not ignorant but skilled, alas,
In all the secrets of his trade:
He knew more ways to be an ass
Than any ass that ever brayed.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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A Wreath Of Immortelles
LORING PICKERING
_(After Pope)_
Here rests a writer, great but not immense,
Born destitute of feeling and of sense.
No power he but o'er his brain desired
How not to suffer it to be inspired.
Ideas unto him were all unknown,
Proud of the words which, only, were his own.
So unreflecting, so confused his mind,
Torpid in error, indolently blind,
A fever Heaven, to quicken him, applied,
But, rather than revive, the sluggard died.
* * * * *
A WATER-PIRATE
Pause, stranger-whence you lightly tread
Bill Carr's immoral part has fled.
For him no heart of woman burned,
But all the rivers' heads he turned.
Alas! he now lifts up his eyes
In torment and for water cries,
Entreating that he may procure
One dropp to cool his parched McClure!
* * * * *
C.P. BERRY
Here's crowbait!-ravens, too, and daws
Flock hither to advance their caws,
And, with a sudden courage armed,
Devour the foe who once alarmed-
In life and death a fair deceit:
Nor strong to harm nor good to eat.
King bogey of the scarecrow host,
When known the least affrighting most,
Though light his hand (his mind was dark)
He left on earth a straw Berry mark.
* * * * *
THE REV. JOSEPH
He preached that sickness he could floor
By prayer and by commanding;
When sick himself he sent for four
Physicians in good standing.
He was struck dead despite their care,
For, fearing their dissension,
He secretly put up a prayer,
Thus drawing God's attention.
* * * * *
Cynic perforce from studying mankind
In the false volume of his single mind,
He damned his fellows for his own unworth,
And, bad himself, thought nothing good on earth.
Yet, still so judging and so erring still,
Observing well, but understanding ill,
His learning all was got by dint of sight,
And what he learned by day he lost by night.
When hired to flatter he would never cease
Till those who'd paid for praises paid for peace.
Not wholly miser and but half a knave,
He yearned to squander but he lived to save,
And did not, for he could not, cheat the grave.
_Hic jacet_ Pixley, scribe and muleteer:
Step lightly, stranger, anywhere but here.
* * * * *
McAllister, of talents rich and rare,
Lies at this spot at finish of his race.
Alike to him if it is here or there:
The one spot that he cared for was the ace.
* * * * *
Here lies Joseph Redding, who gave us the catfish.
He dined upon every fish except that fish.
'Twas touching to hear him expounding his fad
With a heart full of zeal and a mouth full of shad.
The catfish miaowed with unspeakable woe
When Death, the lone fisherman, landed their Jo.
* * * * *
Judge Sawyer, whom in vain the people tried
To push from power, here is laid aside.
Death only from the bench could ever start
The sluggish load of his immortal part.
* * * * *
John Irish went, one luckless day,
To loaf and fish at San Jose.
He got no loaf, he got no fish:
They brained him with an empty dish!
They laid him in this place asleep-
O come, ye crocodiles, and weep.
* * * * *
In Sacramento City here
This wooden monument we rear
In memory of Dr. May,
Whose smile even Death could not allay.
He's buried, Heaven alone knows where,
And only the hyenas care;
This May-pole merely marks the spot
Where, ere the wretch began to rot,
Fame's trumpet, with its brazen bray,
Bawled; 'Who (and why) was Dr. May?'
* * * * *
Dennis Spencer's mortal coil
Here is laid away to spoil-
Great riparian, who said
Not a stream should leave its bed.
Now his soul would like a river
Turned upon its parching liver.
* * * * *
For those this mausoleum is erected
Who Stanford to the Upper House elected.
Their luck is less or their promotion slower,
For, dead, they were elected to the Lower.
* * * * *
Beneath this stone lies Reuben Lloyd,
Of breath deprived, of sense devoid.
The Templars' Captain-General, he
So formidable seemed to be,
That had he not been on his back
Death ne'er had ventured to attack.
* * * * *
Here lies Barnes in all his glory-
Master he of oratOry.
When he died the people weeping,
(For they thought him only sleeping)
Cried: 'Although he now is quiet
And his tongue is not a riot,
Soon, the spell that binds him breaking,
He a motion will be making.
Then, alas, he'll rise and speak
In support of it a week.'
* * * * *
Rash mortal! stay thy feet and look around
This vacant tomb as yet is holy ground;
But soon, alas! Jim Fair will occupy
These premises-then, holiness, good-bye!
* * * * *
Here Salomon's body reposes;
Bring roses, ye rebels, bring roses.
Set all of your drumsticks a-rolling,
Discretion and Valor extrolling:
Discretion-he always retreated
And Valor-the dead he defeated.
Brings roses, ye loyal, bring roses:
As patriot here he re-poses.
* * * * *
When Waterman ended his bright career
He left his wet name to history here.
To carry it with him he did not care:
'Twould tantalize spirits of statesmen There.
* * * * *
Here lie the remains of Fred Emerson Brooks,
A poet, as every one knew by his looks
Who hadn't unluckily met with his books.
On civic occasions he sprang to the fore
With poems consisting of stanzas three score.
The men whom they deafened enjoyed them the more.
Of reason his fantasy knew not the check:
All forms of inharmony came at his beck.
The weight of his ignorance fractured his neck.
In this peaceful spot, so the grave-diggers say,
With pen, ink and paper they laid him away-
The Poet-elect of the Judgment Day.
* * * * *
George Perry here lies stiff and stark,
With stone at foot and stone at head.
His heart was dark, his mind was dark
'Ignorant ass!' the people said.
Not ignorant but skilled, alas,
In all the secrets of his trade:
He knew more ways to be an ass
Than any ass that ever brayed.
* * * * *
Here lies the last of Deacon Fitch,
Whose business was to melt the pitch.
Convenient to this sacred spot
Lies Sammy, who applied it, hot.
'Tis hard-so much alike they smell
One's grave from t'other's grave to tell,
But when his tomb the Deacon's burst
(Of two he'll always be the first)
He'll see by studying the stones
That he's obtained his proper bones,
Then, seeking Sammy's vault, unlock it,
And put that person in his pocket.
* * * * *
Beneath this stone O'Donnell's tongue's at rest
Our noses by his spirit still addressed.
Living or dead, he's equally Satanic
His noise a terror and his smell a panic.
* * * * *
When Gabriel blows a dreadful blast
And swears that Time's forever past,
Days, weeks, months, years all one at last,
Then Asa Fiske, laid here, distressed,
Will beat (and skin his hand) his breast:
There'll be no rate of interest!
* * * * *
Step lightly, stranger: here Jerome B. Cox
Is for the second time in a bad box.
He killed a man-the labor party rose
And showed him by its love how killing goes.
* * * * *
When Vrooman here lay down to sleep,
The other dead awoke to weep.
'Since he no longer lives,' they said
'Small honor comes of being dead.'
* * * * *
Here Porter Ashe is laid to rest
Green grows the grass upon his breast.
This patron of the turf, I vow,
Ne'er served it half so well as now.
* * * * *
Like a cold fish escaping from its tank,
Hence fled the soul of Joe Russel, crank.
He cried: 'Cold water!' roaring like a beast.
'Twas thrown upon him and the music ceased.
* * * * *
Here Estee rests. He shook a basket,
When, like a jewel from its casket,
Fell Felton out. Said Estee, shouting
With mirth; 'I've given you an outing.'
Then told him to go back. He wouldn't.
Then tried to _put_ him back. He couldn't.
So Estee died (his blood congealing
In Felton's growing shadow) squealing.
* * * * *
Mourn here for one Bruner, called Elwood.
He doesn't-he never did-smell good
To noses of critics and scholars.
If now he'd an office to sell could
He sell it? O, no-where (in Hell) could
He find a cool four hundred dollars?
* * * * *
Here Stanford lies, who thought it odd
That he should go to meet his God.
He looked, until his eyes grew dim,
For God to hasten to meet him.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Enough For You
I've lived enough
To know that love's not everything you need
God knows I know (____ ____?) to so many things
You wanna be
I've seen enough to understand the pain
You're goin' through
It's just a shame to know
I'm not enough for you
It hurts to see the hurt beneath
Your laughter and your lies
And try in vain to free the painful secret
Locked behind your eyes
And I can't even blame you
For the things you're turning to
It's just a shame to know
I'm not enough for you.
I've given you the best
Of everything I had to give
Now there's nothin' left for me to leave you
But my will to live
I hope someday
Somebody somewhere loves you
Like I do
It's just a shame to know
I'm not enough for you.
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Say Youre Sorry
Written by: r. robinson & c. robinson
It aint funny
It aint cute
Cant be conceit, theres an ____________
Oh no, but things dont work that way baby
Dont click your heels
Dont give a hoot
Dont want a twenty-one gun salute
Never do
Tell me, tell me baby what you want
You suggested that we bury the ____
Remember this reminder when you start to get cold
You think youll only mind
Just wait until youre old
Just say youre sorry
And Ill say Im wrong
Just say youre sorry
And Ill say Im wrong
Too ugly for beauty
Too________________
You take what you get
To be a horseman of you
Oh, no dont you take your trust on baby
You suggested that we bury the ____
Remember this reminder when you start to get cold
You think youll only mind
Just wait until youre old
Just say youre sorry
And Ill say Im wrong
Just say youre sorry
And Ill say Im wrong
Baby shakes his rattle
cos hes emptied his bowl
Dont know what hes eating
But he does what hes told
Oh yes he does
They all say the boy be crazy
You suggested that we bury the ____
Remember this reminder when you start to get cold
You think youll only mind
Just wait until youre old
Just say youre sorry
And Ill say Im wrong
Just say youre sorry
And Ill say Im wrong
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elected (live)
I'm your top prime cut of meat, I'm your choice
I wanna be elected
I'm a yankee doodle dandy in a gold Rolls Royce
I wanna be elected
The kids need a savior, they don't want a fake
I wanna be elected
We're all gonna rock to the rules that I make
I wanna be elected
Elected
Elected
Respected
I wanna be selected
I never lied to you, I've always been cool
I wanna be elected
I have to get the votes, I told you about school
I wanna be elected
Elected
Elected
Hallelujah
I wanna be selected, come on
Ooh yeah
We're gonna rock this place, take the country by storm
I wanna be elected
You and me together, young and strong
I wanna be elected
Elected
Elected
Respected, selected, call collected
I wanna be elected, oh, oh, come on
This time
song performed by by Def Leppard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why smile
If its all over why smile
If its going bed why smile
If we never had a chance why smile
If we cant make it work why smile
If things get tense why smile
If thing get dark why smile
If we cant break through why smile
If theres no way out why smile
Why did M.L.K smile when he knew it was over
Why did Malcom X smile before he got shot
Why did Jay Z smile before he made the song cry
Why did My brother smile at me before saying good bye
Why do Nickey smile at me even thou im the worst ____ ever
Why should I smile
Why smile
poem by Daniel Mason
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To The Prophetic Soul
What are these bustlers at the gate
Of now or yesterday,
These playthings in the hand of Fate,
That pass, and point no way;
These clinging bubbles whose mock fires
For ever dance and gleam,
Vain foam that gathers and expires
Upon the world's dark stream;
These gropers betwixt right and wrong,
That seek an unknown goal,
Most ignorant, when they seem most strong;
What are they, then, O Soul,
That thou shouldst covet overmuch
A tenderer range of heart,
And yet at every dreamed-of touch
So tremulously start?
Thou with that hatred ever new
Of the world's base control,
That vision of the large and true,
That quickness of the soul;
Nay, for they are not of thy kind,
But in a rarer clay
God dowered thee with an alien mind;
Thou canst not be as they.
Be strong therefore; resume thy load,
And forward stone by stone
Go singing, though the glorious road
Thou travellest alone.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Corn Grinders
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will ease my bitter pain?
He went to seek a millet-grain
In the rich farmer's granary shed;
They caught him in a baited snare,
And slew my lover unaware:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little deer, why dost thou moan,
Hid in thy forest-bower alone?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah! who will quiet my lament?
At fall of eventide he went
To drink beside the river-head;
A waiting hunter threw his dart,
And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little bride, why dost thou weep
With all the happy world asleep?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Magrady Graham
Tell me, was Altgeld elected Governor?
For when the returns began to come in
And Cleveland was sweeping the East,
It was too much for you, poor old heart,
Who had striven for democracy
In the long, long years of defeat.
And like a watch that is worn
I felt you growing slower until you stopped.
Tell me, was Altgeld elected,
And what did he do?
Did they bring his head on a platter to a dancer,
Or did he triumph for the people?
For when I saw him
And took his hand,
The child-like blueness of his eyes
Moved me to tears,
And there was an air of eternity about him,
Like the cold, clear light that rests at dawn
On the hills!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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So Many People Wrongfully In Jail
So many people wrongfully in jail
Even in some so called Democratic Countries where the justice system some does fail
For political reasons or for reasons otherwise
Democratically elected governments spread fear through their lies
Of people they imprison from elsewhere
Who to challenge their right to be in their homeland did even dare
Many imprisoned as terrorists are not terrorists at all
And many of those with power in their ways are so small
They cling to power by their spreading of fear
From them we hear what they only want us to hear
Democratically elected governments who in their justice system take pride
With the power of might who feel they have right on their side
They may talk of human rights, justice and freedom but that's rhetoric nothing more
Actions speak louder than words we have heard that before
poem by Francis Duggan
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People Who are Ignorant
People who are ignorant,
Have invested valuable time...
And money spent.
To prove their foolishness and ways,
Makes a difference.
Although these folks within their minds,
Have an absence of common sense.
And, are noticeably self destructive and crazed.
People who are ignorant,
Spend every dime spent...
Revealing their incompetence.
And taking direction from those who are right,
Is something they've never done.
Since deceit and decadence has been their main appetite.
People who are ignorant,
Believe an ability to thieve makes them great.
They believe their disasters started,
Shows their expertise and them being able to create.
But people who are ignorant,
Like these folks show they are and can be?
May seek an empathy from others for their stupidity.
But sincerity shown these empty headed 'entities'...
Is a waste of time.
Unless one wishes a suffering done endlessly.
However...
People who are ignorant,
Have been convinced their way of life...
Is one pursued by those who are jealous.
And are threaten because they are envied!
And standards they value,
Reflects upon them in a 'special' light.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not All Good People
Good people are celebrated and good people are in jail
And we condemn good people by our own words to fail
And since people are not the best judges of character it would be fair to say
That the best candidate does not always get elected on Election Day.
Not all good people as some believe are destined to die young
And many good people as we know their praises are unsung
And in a World of billions of human beings the good outnumber the bad
And that not many are recognized for their true worth does seem a little sad.
Not all good people are in the Newspapers or are ever in the news
And on what they think is fair and right are never asked for their views
Many are the quite achievers of publicity quite shy
Why the egotistical can become successful I often wonder why?
Not all good people are leaders though by good example they do lead
Though all good people are happy with enough and they never yield to greed
And though there are billions of good people in the bigger World out there
The good who make the news headlines to say the least seem rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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neath A Cold Gray Tomb Of Stone
Passing by a lonesome graveyard
Everything I love is gone
Weeping as they lay my darling
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
In this world i'm left to wander
With no one to call my own
While my precious darling's sleeping
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
Out there in that lonesome graveyard
She is sleeping all alone
And I burried my heart with her
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
Skies above are dark and stormy
All the sunshine,all is gone
For the while my love is sleeping
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
My heart is dead and yet i'm living
Traveling through this world alone
I wish that I was with my darling
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Message To Proclaim
With many slipping into eternity daily we have a message to proclaim,
However many people are ignorant of the Gospel to The Church's shame.
When Paul prayed for the boldness to fearlessly speak Christ's name,
He was filled with Power so many of his hearers were never the same.
The Gospel message is for all to hear; The Bible makes it very clear,
However, many will not give an ear as the end of this age draws near.
And men who simply mock and jeer will be condemned eternally I fear.
Jesus said to all with ears; with sober understanding let him hear.
Jesus was clear at the start but is The Church carrying out her part?
Since the time is so dark, has indifference settled into our heart?
If you haven't done your part, with Jesus it's not too late to start.
But if His appeal doesn't move your heart He may tell you to depart.
Israel had zeal without knowledge; do we have knowledge with no zeal?
Like Israel do we have a stone heart or one with love that can feel?
Without love that leads to zeal, perhaps like Israel we're not real.
From Christ's end it's a done deal, we just have to obey His appeal.
With the only true message of life we are told to become a sacrifice,
And remember, Paul was jailed and beheaded for the cause of Christ.
Told to snatch men from the pit, so why do we choose to quietly sit?
You can be sure that Paul didn't quit, until his head hit the basket.
Stiff Upper Lip
(young - young)
Well I was out on a drive
On a bit of a trip
Lookin for thrills
To get me some kicks
Now I warn you ladies
I shoot from the hip
I was born with a stiff
Stiff upper lip
Like a dog in a howl
I bite everything
And Im big and Im drawl
And Ill ball your thing
I keep a stiff upper lip
And I shoot from the hip
I keep a stiff upper lip
And I shoot
And I shoot
Shoot from the hip
Yeah I shoot from the hip
Now listen
Well Im workin it out
And Ive done everything
And I cant reform no
Can you feel my sting
Babe I keep a stiff upper lip
And I shoot from the hip, yeah
I keep a stiff upper lip
And I shoot
And I shoot
And I shoot, shoot, shoot
Shoot from the hip
Well Im out on the prowl
And Ill ball your thing
I got the teeth thatll bite you
Can you feel my sting
Babe I keep a stiff upper lip
And I shoot from the hip
I keep a stiff upper lip
And I shoot shoot shoot from the hip
I got a (stiff upper lip)
Better believe me (stiff upper lip)
Comin down (stiff upper lip)
See my (stiff upper lip)
Yeah I got a (stiff upper lip)
Stiff upper lip
Stiff upper lip
I got a stiff upper lip
I got a stiff upper lip
Stiff upper lip
Stiff upper lip
And I shoot
And I shoot
And I shoot
Shoot from the hip
2000, j. albert & son, pty.
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ndyukerman
Dutchman, Dutchman, Ndyukerman
Dark like the Earth,
Dark like the Night
Dark like Secrets
Stamping your naked foot on the bare earth
Making the anklets rattle
Help me, help me, help me.
You know the secrets of Earth.
You know what she hides in her belly
You know the contents of her bowels
Tell me, tell me, tell me.
Where is the gold hidden?
Where are the diamonds?
Where did the people of old bury their treasure?
Dutchman, Dutchman, Ndyukerman
Dark like the Earth,
Dark like the Night
Dark like Secrets
You never hauled a punt, never cut the cane
You never felt the lash:
You lived a free man in the forest
Making your own trash hut
Hunting your own meat
Remembering the old Ways, the old Language,
Retaining the old Powers.
Help me now.
Dutchman, Dutchman, Ndyukerman
Dark like the Earth,
Dark like the Night
Dark like Secrets
You have the knowledge.
Share it with me.
Are we not Brothers?
You are the older Brother, I am the younger Brother.
I need your help.
You are happy in your trash hut in the dark forest
Hunting for your own meat
Stamping your naked feet on the bare Earth
Remembering the old Knowledge.
Tell me the Secrets that will set me free.
Would Skunky Come Clean?
Skunky knew his lies would not last,
even though Sue gave him one very last chance.
She was waiting for Skunky's time to slip
he couldn't help having his tail make him trip.
For Skunky would sooner or later show his true smell
he couldn't help it Sue knew him well.
He tried to be all nicey-nice
but Sue knew it would melt like heat melts ice.
So now with a long list of questions asked
would Skunky come clean and clear his ____?
Sue could really care less,
she knew Skunky was just a mess.
So for tit for tat in the end
Sue knew Skunky could never be a true friend.
Written By Christina Sunrise on March 6,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Death Alone
There are lone cemeteries,
tombs full of soundless bones,
the heart threading a tunnel,
a dark, dark tunnel :
like a wreck we die to the very core,
as if drowning at the heart
or collapsing inwards from skin to soul.
There are corpses,
clammy slabs for feet,
there is death in the bones,
like a pure sound,
a bark without its dog,
out of certain bells, certain tombs
swelling in this humidity like lament or rain.
I see, when alone at times,
coffins under sail
setting out with the pale dead, women in their dead braids,
bakers as white as angels,
thoughtful girls married to notaries,
coffins ascending the vertical river of the dead,
the wine-dark river to its source,
with their sails swollen with the sound of death,
filled with the silent noise of death.
Death is drawn to sound
like a slipper without a foot, a suit without its wearer,
comes to knock with a ring, stoneless and fingerless,
comes to shout without a mouth, a tongue, without a throat.
Nevertheless its footsteps sound
and its clothes echo, hushed like a tree.
I do not know, I am ignorant, I hardly see
but it seems to me that its song has the colour of wet violets,
violets well used to the earth,
since the face of death is green,
and the gaze of death green
with the etched moisture of a violet's leaf
and its grave colour of exasperated winter.
But death goes about the earth also, riding a broom
lapping the ground in search of the dead -
death is in the broom,
it is the tongue of death looking for the dead,
the needle of death looking for the thread.
Death lies in our beds :
in the lazy mattresses, the black blankets,
lives a full stretch and then suddenly blows,
blows sound unknown filling out the sheets
and there are beds sailing into a harbour
where death is waiting, dressed as an admiral.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Alas! Where Have All The Years Gone
Alas! Where have all the years gone?
Did I dream my life, or is it real?
What I always thought - was that something?
Then I've slept and don't know it…
Now I'm awake, and I no longer know
What used to be familiar as my own hands:
People and places, where I was raised from childhood,
They are strangers to me, as if it were all lies.
Those who were my playmates are old and indolent.
Meadows are farmed, forests are felled,
If it were not for the water, which flows as ever before,
ah, then I'd believe that my misfortune is truly great.
Many no longer even greet me, who once knew me well.
The world is full of ingratitude everywhere.
When I think of the many glorious days,
They disappear, like ripples in the water -
Forever more - alas!
Oh, how little these young people amount to!
They once were so cheerful and light-hearted,
Now they know only worries: why do they do this?
When I look at the world around me, it is never happy,
Dancing and singing disappear into worries.
Never has a Christian man seen such miserable times.
See, such poor jewelry the women wear,
And the proud knights, what rude clothing they wear!
Unfriendly letters come to us from Rome:
Sorrow is allowed, but joy is kept from us.
That grieves me deeply (we lived so well before),
that I should trade my laughs for cries.
Even the wild birds lament:
What wonder, when I've lost all my friends?
What do I say, a foolish man in my poor wrath?
Whoever seeks luck in this world, loses it in the next world.
O weh, how we're poisoned with sweet things!
I see the bitter gall swimming in the honey.
The world is beautiful on the surface - white, green, and red.
But inside there are blacker colors, dark like Death.
But even those led astray still have hope of salvation
Though your sins are great, confession is easy.
Think on that, knight, because it concerns you.
You wear the bright helm and the hard armor,
You carry the strong shield and the holy sword.
God wills that even I would be worthy of this victory.
Then even I, a man with nothing, can earn rich wages.
But I don't mean property, or the gold of princes:
I want (very much) to carry that crown eternally,
with such glory as a soldier can earn with his spear.
I could begin the lucky journey over the sea,
Then I would sing 'How good!' and never more 'Alas!'
Never more 'Alas!'
poem by Walther von der Vogelweide
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Love Is Dead
Sweet Love is dead:
Where shall we bury him?
In a green bed,
With no stone at his head,
And no tears nor prayers to worry him.
Do you think he will sleep,
Dreamless and quiet?
Yes, if we keep
Silence, nor weep
O'er the grave where the ground-worms riot.
By his tomb let us part.
But hush! he is waking!
He hath winged a dart,
And the mock-cold heart
With the woe of want is aching.
Feign we no more
Sweet Love lies breathless.
All we forswore
Be as before;
Death may die, but Love is deathless.
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Power paves from cave to grave
Man has paddled to the powerful and strong,
Worshipping what would not to his wish wield,
Commanding weak-kneed, committing all wrong,
E'er since the days of caves and battlefield,
Power from the days of cave, power to the grave,
Power in the name of principles to save.
He that rises to heights of stratosphere,
He that holds power to heart's near and dear,
Afraid of honest peer, always in fear
Of losing power, scared that law may interfere,
Afraid, flow of power may interrupt,
To him does power conspire to corrupt.
And today stray caps in sarkari house,
Looking holy in chair, or harmless cows,
The polling polls once return them to rule,
Turn in to bull as crown's precious jewel,
The powerhouse ready power to disburse,
To nurse cronies from people's tax-paid purse.
Each power cap, a poisonous creature,
Each having an exaggerated view
Of his cap, that evaporates not unlike dew,
But grasping-to-the-grave as its feature,
Crying out still like starving babes— ‘give, give',
Like hungry maw it knows but to receive.
But we that glibly put power to hell-hands—
Hands alas of a power-hungry tyrant,
Ne'er once cavil that they've turned faceless friends
To people, nor are fair to trust ere lent,
Nor wonder why their face is now turned ‘way,
The face that had begged and beseeched one day.
We that should know well democracy's staple:
Unbridled power we aught abolish;
In practice yet, we push up our own people,
So, long as power prevails, rulers and ruled
Shall ever be, so be the shahs, slavish,
Our own tools exploiting O the exploited fools!
We too know well: power roots down from the mind,
Rooting humane, gentle virtue, scarce vice,
Greater the power, greater the grab we find;
The voter scarce bewares; power, a loaded dice,
Fails, as a diamond should dazzle, to strike
Beholders no less than holders alike!
Dignifying the meanest of the means,
Magnifying whilst the midgets of smallish minds,
Deigning dignity to the contemptible scenes,
To exalted chair lowly that e'er winds,
If it can intoxicate best of hearts,
I shudder to think, what it can to warts.
Laws are oft laid power to perpetuate,
And in the statute lie on power's cue,
Let the civil acquiescing most not wait
To stall the slavery of week-kneed few;
Power per se seldom corrupts, I trust,
What does is her illegitimate child called lust.
Beware; power concedes naught without clamour,
It watches, if people submit to more,
To know what injustice and wrong to lever,
And would last till resisted, words or war;
Rare if wisdom with power marries so well,
For, their loyalty lasts but a short spell.
Beware O much-ruled man, the strong ne'er lust
For power, rooted ‘tis in the weak, unjust;
If human mind prone to pride is without,
O how much more would it with power's clout!
Man, a power-admiring vainest of toad,
A slave in mind, he loves a tyrant odd.
He is the power-providing ready plug,
The parent raising corruptible child,
Now bribing with sweet, now letting pass drug,
Under his cold nose are these habits piled;
He indulges till spread wide is the pestilence,
The child he's taxing his parent's patience.
Beware; a switch-less power be to a prince,
As wine and woman work as a red rag,
Bribe to a bureaucrat, for long, long since,
Avarice to old age, musk to the stag,
Vanity to vain, to greedy a gratis grant;
Ah, of all passions, lust of power is most fragrant.
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- Satire | 03.05.11 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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