The Transparent Man
I'm mighty glad to see you, Mrs. Curtis,
And thank you very kindly for this visit--
Especially now when all the others here
Are having holiday visitors, and I feel
A little conspicuous and in the way.
It's mainly because of Thanksgiving. All these mothers
And wives and husbands gaze at me soulfully
And feel they should break up their box of chocolates
For a donation, or hand me a chunk of fruitcake.
What they don't understand and never guess
Is that it's better for me without a family;
It's a great blessing. Though I mean no harm.
And as for visitors, why, I have you,
All cheerful, brisk and punctual every Sunday,
Like church, even if the aisles smell of phenol.
And you always bring even better gifts than any
On your book-trolley. Though they mean only good,
Families can become a sort of burden.
I've only got my father, and he won't come,
Poor man, because it would be too much for him.
And for me, too, so it's best the way it is.
He knows, you see, that I will predecease him,
Which is hard enough. It would take a callous man
To come and stand around and watch me failing.
(Now don't you fuss; we both know the plain facts.)
But for him it's even harder. He loved my mother.
They say she looked like me; I suppose she may have.
Or rather, as I grew older I came to look
More and more like she must one time have looked,
And so the prospect for my father now
Of losing me is like having to lose her twice.
I know he frets about me. Dr. Frazer
Tells me he phones in every single day,
Hoping that things will take a turn for the better.
But with leukemia things don't improve.
It's like a sort of blizzard in the bloodstream,
A deep, severe, unseasonable winter,
Burying everything. The white blood cells
Multiply crazily and storm around,
Out of control. The chemotherapy
Hasn't helped much, and it makes my hair fall out.
I know I look a sight, but I don't care.
I care about fewer things; I'm more selective.
It's got so I can't even bring myself
To read through any of your books these days.
It's partly weariness, and partly the fact
That I seem not to care much about the endings,
How things work out, or whether they even do.
What I do instead is sit here by this window
And look out at the trees across the way.
You wouldn't think that was much, but let me tell you,
It keeps me quite intent and occupied.
Now all the leaves are down, you can see the spare,
Delicate structures of the sycamores,
The fine articulation of the beeches.
I have sat here for days studying them,
And I have only just begun to see
What it is that they resemble. One by one,
They stand there like magnificent enlargements
Of the vascular system of the human brain.
I see them there like huge discarnate minds,
Lost in their meditative silences.
The trunks, branches and twigs compose the vessels
That feed and nourish vast immortal thoughts.
So I've assigned them names. There, near the path,
Is the great brain of Beethoven, and Kepler
Haunts the wide spaces of that mountain ash.
This view, you see, has become my Hall of Fame,
It came to me one day when I remembered
Mary Beth Finley who used to play with me
When we were girls. One year her parents gave her
A birthday toy called "The Transparent Man."
It was made of plastic, with different colored organs,
And the circulatory system all mapped out
In rivers of red and blue. She'd ask me over
And the two of us would sit and study him
Together, and do a powerful lot of giggling.
I figure he's most likely the only man
Either of us would ever get to know
Intimately, because Mary Beth became
A Sister of Mercy when she was old enough.
She must be thirty-one; she was a year
Older than I, and about four inches taller.
I used to envy both those advantages
Back in those days. Anyway, I was struck
Right from the start by the sea-weed intricacy,
The fine-haired, silken-threaded filiations
That wove, like Belgian lace, throughout the head.
But this last week it seems I have found myself
Looking beyond, or through, individual trees
At the dense, clustered woodland just behind them,
Where those great, nameless crowds patiently stand.
It's become a sort of complex, ultimate puzzle
And keeps me fascinated. My eyes are twenty-twenty,
Or used to be, but of course I can't unravel
The tousled snarl of intersecting limbs,
That mackled, cinder grayness. It's a riddle
Beyond the eye's solution. Impenetrable.
If there is order in all that anarchy
Of granite mezzotint, that wilderness,
It takes a better eye than mine to see it.
It set me on to wondering how to deal
With such a thickness of particulars,
Deal with it faithfully, you understand,
Without blurring the issue. Of course I know
That within a month the sleeving snows will come
With cold, selective emphases, with massings
And arbitrary contrasts, rendering things
Deceptively simple, thickening the twigs
To frosty veins, bestowing epaulets
And decorations on every birch and aspen.
And the eye, self-satisfied, will be misled,
Thinking the puzzle solved, supposing at last
It can look forth and comprehend the world.
That's when you have to really watch yourself.
So I hope that you won't think me plain ungrateful
For not selecting one of your fine books,
And I take it very kindly that you came
And sat here and let me rattle on this way.
poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Questions
Will you be there when my world falls apart?
Will you be there to catch the crumbling of my broken heart?
Does the world keep turning when I’m gone?
Can god hear me screaming when I’m alone?
Can you die from a broken heart?
I’ll soon find out, because I’m falling apart
What happened to my days of sunshine?
The days when I thought everything was fine.
Does anyone care, about little old me
I think death is the only thing to set me free
I feel helpless and hopeless in a world I don’t understand
Why won’t anyone reach out and give me a hand
All the bad things that happen do I deserve?
God knows all the bad things, nothing’s on reserve
Does god hold wrong things I do against me?
If so than its straight to hell for me
Will the world keep turning when I die?
Will it keep on turning if I tell one more lie?
Erase the hate, the hurt and the pain
Bring back the sunshine and take away the rain
Does anyone care what happens to me?
When I die, it’s just something that will be
I feel like a burden to my family and friends
I wonder what will happen when this life ends
Is there only one way to love?
Can love be something else than just love?
It keeps me awake throughout the night,
Because it seems like I just can’t get it right
Its better to leap than to fall
Destiny is a thing that’s there for us all
I will take control, and determine mine
We will see what happens, it just takes time!
poem by Kayla Neil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lifes Real
*There are so many things in life you face
There are many things in life that brings you down
But, life’s short, sometimes you have to keep going and just smile
Try not staying down to long
Try to put it aside and move on
You can’t live your life stressing on how to deal with things
Life’s much more than that
Sometimes it’s thinking things through
And deal with the important things first
And worry about the other things later
I know you battle with you brain
And your thoughts you chase
I know dealing with feelings and stress is one big debate
*Life’s has a lot of hard work
Life has a lot of headaches
Life has a lot of drama
But believe it or not stressing not the way to deal with things
Life has a way to put you down
And makes you feel you’re beneath it
But, you have to put yourself on top
*Life may play tricks on your mind
That you start to go crazy
Or just plain out of your mind
But believe it or not
There’s always a way to shine
*Life’s real, that I understand
Life’s real, Life you have to EXCEPT
Life you can’t STRESS
Life you have to live at your BEST
Life also you must live to the FULLEST
poem by Chaymeriyia Moncrief
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothing Greater Than Love
(9/9/12)
There is nothing greater than love
Not the earth, the moon, the stars above
GOD decided to make the heavens and the earth
To be there when to man he would give birth.
All that he made - he knew was good
But he had to give something to man
That would be understood.
He gave it time for man to adjust to all that he had given
But needed something for them- to make life worth living
That is when he gave us his son
Greater than that - there could be none.
But with that greatness there was still something
That he had to give man "so he created love".
His son was the first to fully understand
What love was about
and held his father in his heart
Of that there is no doubt.
All trials and errors that he had been put thru
Could not shake the love that he had for his fellow man
Which is something that we've learned to understand.
From his GODLY father to his earthly parents
Who loved him more than life
Had made many a sacrifice.
JOSEPH took MARY his virgin wife
Because of an angel who showed him the light.
It may have been hard for him to accept that fact
But the love for GOD took care of that.
This was the beginning of infinite love
Created by GOD above
And showed through his only son
Who would affect everyone.
In his eyes there were no bad people
Just misled people, and with each of his steps
He turned it around - and in the streets
His followers could be found.
Because of this we learned that other things
Go hand in hand with love
We learned compassion, forgiveness, hope, and faith
And to truly love "this is what it takes".
Now I ask you this "look at the life you live"
Is there love in your heart?
I may not have it all, but I'll pick up
Everything that falls
And spread the love that GOD has given
And make my life "truly worth living".
© L.RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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Pooh Bear and Hindu Philosophy
It was a fine early Spring morning, and in the Forest the Animals were busy Being Themselves, and doing all the things that Being Oneself involves.
Pooh had had a Being Myself morning, sorting out the hunny jars and wondering if two half-full jars were really quite the same as one full jar, or really quite different; and why a half-full jar looked quite different from a half-empty jar..
But now this afternoon the Boy and his Bear are walking down the path towards the Poohsticks bridge, and the path is feeling Springy too, with its dry leaves and twigs and beech mast like the bouncy mattress in CR’s nursery, as if they were saying ‘yes, we are here too! ’
‘CR..’ said Pooh, holding CR’s hand rather tight as he did when a Big Thought was hovering like a bee who hasn’t quite make its mind up whether to land here or move on somewhere else, ‘what’s Ah-Dwy-Ter? ’
‘Well Pooh..’ said CR slowly, wanting to answer but not wanting to confuse a Bear of Very Little Brain who was also Beloved Bear…
‘There’s Dwy-ter and Ah-dwy-ter… Dwy-ter means sort of Two to Indians, and Ah-dwy-ter means Not Two…’
There was a long pause, while Spring went on springing, and the bee in Pooh’s brain did another circle because it sensed that there was more hunny somewhere in this flowerbed than had yet called attention to itself.
‘So it’s like, when it’s a stormy day and we shan’t see each other, and I feel saddish and Not One… and then at lunchtime the clouds clear and you come along and I’m happy to see you…and I feel that you and I are really Not Two when we’re together…? ’
‘Something like that, Pooh’ said CR. ‘Because, if someone were coming up this path towards us right now, they might say ‘Oh look, there’s the two of them…’ But we should know it’s not really like that…’
And a warm happy feeling spread from Pooh’s feet walking on the bouncy Spring path, up to the tip of his nose and the edges of his ears that CR liked to stroke when he ran out of words.
Now Pooh knew another Very Important Word which wasn’t as big close up as it was in the distance, and knew exackly the difference between One and Not Two and how, to those who really understand these things, one and one can make a Not Two sort of One...
Pooh squeezed CR’s hand like people do who are Not Two, and CR looked down affectionately at Beloved Bear as they walked down the Springy path in the sunshine, and the sky seemed glad to have rained, but happy not to be raining now:
‘Silly old Pooh…’
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do any of you know
A man and a woman
Came to my place one evening
I was playing with my dad
In the lawn in front of my home
These people got down
From the car
And my dad helped them
Unload a number of luggages
They approached me and
I was able to recollect
I have seen them somewhere
But quite long back
Not an issue
They were all kind to me
And they missed not an opportunity
To hug me and hold me on their shoulders
They did a lot to my mom
Especially while she was feeding me
As I was fussy about eating
They were with us for long
I started enjoying their company
And there were a number of evenings
When my mom and dad
Would silently disappear
Leaving me under the care of these visitors
I developed intimacy with them
They, for that matter, enjoyed
Taking care of me
I used to even feel that
These guys are better than my parents
These elderly people
Never scolded me nor threatened me
It looked to me they love me
The same way my parents do
Gone a number of days like that
I am in comfort
With all the love, care and attention
Of my mom, dad and these people
Despite repeated training
And insistence from my parents
I was not able to call these people
Grandma and Granpa
These people accompanied
me and my parents
Wherever we went in my dad's car
One fine day
There was a lot of discussions
Between all the elders at home
And there were preparations
As if some people are going somewhere
We all boarded the car
With huge luggages
And my dad was driving
We reached a place
These luggages were unloaded
I was put in a stroller
And the elderly woman
Left the scene pushing me in my stroller
And the other visitor
Came along
A number of things happened
I just then noticed
None of my parents
Went with us
It is now a week's time
I have not seen my dad or mom
But I hear them talking to me
Over the phone or the computer
It is sure I am not going to see them
For quite some days to come
Why worrying or crying
Over the absence of my parents
I am now settling with these visitors
Who took me away from my parents
But for what purpose
I do not know yet
Why me to be separated
From my mom and dad
Do any of you know
helping my mom
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Regular Sort of a Guy
He fights where the fighting is thickest
And keeps his high honor clean;
From finish to start, he is sturdy of heart,
Shunning the petty and mean;
With his friends in their travail and sorrow,
He is ever there to stand by,
And hark to their plea, for they all know that he
Is a regular sort of a guy.
He cheers up the sinner repentant
And sets him again on his feet;
He is there with a slap, and a pat on the back,
For the lowliest bum on the street;
He smiles when the going is hardest,
With a spirit no money can buy;
And take it from me, we all love him 'cause he
Is a regular sort of a guy.
I don't care for the praise of the nations,
Or a niche in the great hall of fame,
Or that posterity should remember me
When my dust and the dust are the same;
But my soul will be glad if my friends say
As they turn from my bier with a sigh
"Though he left no great name, yet he played out the game
Like a regular sort of a guy."
poem by Eugene O'Neill
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Farewell To The Market
'Susannah and Mary-Jane'
TWO little Darlings alone,
Clinging hand in hand;
Two little Girls come out
To see the wonderful land!
Here round the flaring stalls
They stand wide-eyed in the throng,
While the great, the eloquent Huckster
Perorates loud and long.
They watch those thrice-blessed mortals,
The dirty guzzling Boys,
Who partake of dates, periwinkles,
Ices and other joys.
And their little mouths go wide open
At some of the brilliant sights
That little Darlings may see in the road
Of Edgware on Saturday nights.
The eldest's name is Susannah;
She was four years old last May.
And Mary-Jane, the youngest,
Is just three years old to-day.
And I know all about their cat, and
Their father and mother too,
And 'Pigshead,' their only brother,
Who got his head jammed in the flue.
And they know several particulars
Of a similar sort of me,
For we went up and down together
For over an hour, we three.
And Susannah walked beside me,
As became the wiser and older,
Fast to one finger, but Mary-Jane
Sat solemnly up on my shoulder.
And we bought some sweets, and a monkey
That climbed up a stick 'quite nice.'
And then last we adjourned for refreshments,
And the ladies had each an ice.
And Susannah's ice was a pink one,
And she sucked it up so quick,
But Mary-Jane silently proffered
Her ice to me for a lick.
And then we went home to Mother,
And we found her upon the floor,
And Father was trying to balance
His shoulders against the door.
And Susannah said 'O' and 'Please, sir,
We'll go in ourselves, sir!' And
We kissed one another and parted,
And they stole in hand in hand.
And its O for my two little Darlings
I never shall see again,
Though I stand for the whole night watching
And crying here in the rain!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wait, things are shaping up
I approached a sculptor the other day
For carving a statue of
Gautama Buddha
He asked me a number of questions
Some of them were far stretched
Though I answered all of them
I was thinking within that
All these details were unnecessary
He could read my mind and said
These details were needed to help me
Come out with what exactly you were looking for
He suggested my coming to him
Two weeks later
Why so long and he said
Wait things are shaping up
Two weeks later
I saw practically no progress
He showed me a granite block
Which he said he would carve
As Gautama Buddha
He suggested me to visit him
Two weeks later
“Do you not think we are delaying? ”
I asked and he said
Wait things are shaping up
I went to him as suggested
No change at all
The block was under water
And carving had not started
He said that this curing process
Would help him understand
The quality of the block
And he opined
That we were lucky in
Selecting the right granite
And he suggested my visiting him
A week later
“Yes, I know you are wondering
As to why it is taking so much time”
How he could say even without my telling that
He continued
Wait, things are shaping up
A week later
No great change
But the block got castled here and there
No where near my expectations
“Come after three days and see”
But, he assured
Wait, things are shaping up
I made four visits later
At intervals of three, two and one days
I could not make out head or tail
Of what was happening
But, each time I returned
Hearing his words
Wait, things are shaping up
I was wondering
Are things really shaping up
Or am I being fooled
I did not visit him for
Full three months
As I was sure that
I would not be able to appreciate
The progress that the sculptor
Would be claiming to have made
One day, there was a call from him
“Come and see your Gautama Buddha”
I was not excited
I visited his place in all reluctance
And was preparing to hear
Wait, things are shaping up
But, what a surprise
Saw my Gautama Buddha
In a shape and carving
Beyond my belief
And I was not able to control my excitement
“I know you are wondering how this could be possible
But, you know, I was telling each time you visited that
Wait, things are shaping up”
We all do prayers seeking some change
And we wonder as to when the change would fructify
God, like a sculptor is shaping things
But, he never tells
Wait, things are shaping up
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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El Captain
By the harbour I harbor
The strangest memories
Older than I could ever be
Stranded in nostalgia
So tonight i'll try harder
But it's hard to fix this spotlight on me
In a cast that's taking places
I'm not sure of where I want to be
Stand up, stand up and stand out
I'll Climb El Captain
And jump up to cheers from the crowd
Stand up, stand up and stand out
And I hope you take your camera
To photograph my tears as they hit the ground
No one even listens
The same way that no one ever laughs
I'm taking the car out of the snow
I'm wondering where the summer went to
Circled by your secrets
I'm hoping that they don't include me
At least I'm in good company
Because there's no one else around except me
Stand up, stand up and stand out
I'll Climb el captain
Just to watch the world slow itself
Stand up, stand up and stand out
And I hope you took your camera
The silence makes the loudest sound
It seems far too easy to say the same things
I'll choose my own way to use my life up
And finally I found a new way to say the same things in imaginary ways
I use my life up
You were looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
Through your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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El Capitan
By the harbour I harbor
The strangest memories
Older than I could ever be
Stranded in nostalgia
So tonight i'll try harder
But it's hard to fix this spotlight on me
In a cast that's taking places
I'm not sure of where I want to be
Stand up, stand up and stand out
Applaud El Captain
And jump up to cheers from the crowd
Stand up, stand up and stand out
And I hope you take your camera
To photograph my tears as they hit the ground
No one even listens
The same way that no one ever laughs
I'm taking the car out of the snow
I'm wondering where the summer went to
Circled by your secrets
I'm hoping that they don't include me
At least I'm in good company
Because there's no one else around except me
Stand up, stand up and stand out
Applaud el captain
Just to watch the world slow itself
Stand up, stand up and stand out
And I hope you took your camera
The silence makes the loudest sound
It seems far too easy to say the same things
I'll choose my own way to use my life up
And finally I found a new way to say the same things in imaginary ways
I use my life up
You were looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
Through your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
Looking at pictures in the distance
Hoping to see the future
In your pictures of the distance
Hoping to see the future
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Foolish Fir-Tree
A tale that the poet Rückert told
To German children, in days of old;
Disguised in a random, rollicking rhyme
Like a merry mummer of ancient time,
And sent, in its English dress, to please
The little folk of the Christmas trees.
A little fir grew in the midst of the wood
Contented and happy, as young trees should.
His body was straight and his boughs were clean;
And summer and winter the bountiful sheen
Of his needles bedecked him, from top to root,
In a beautiful, all-the-year, evergreen suit.
But a trouble came into his heart one day,
When he saw that the other trees were gay
In the wonderful raiment that summer weaves
Of manifold shapes and kinds of leaves:
He looked at his needles so stiff and small,
And thought that his dress was the poorest of all.
Then jealousy clouded the little tree's mind,
And he said to himself, "It was not very kind
"To give such an ugly old dress to a tree!
"If the fays of the forest would only ask me,
"I'd tell them how I should like to be dressed,—
"In a garment of gold, to bedazzle the rest!"
So he fell asleep, but his dreams were bad.
When he woke in the morning, his heart was glad;
For every leaf that his boughs could hold
Was made of the brightest beaten gold.
I tell you, children, the tree was proud;
He was something above the common crowd;
And he tinkled his leaves, as if he would say
To a pedlar who happened to pass that way,
"Just look at me! don't you think I am fine?
"And wouldn't you like such a dress as mine?"
"Oh, yes!" said the man, "and I really guess
I must fill my pack with your beautiful dress."
So he picked the golden leaves with care,
And left the little tree shivering there.
"Oh, why did I wish for golden leaves?"
The fir-tree said, "I forgot that thieves
"Would be sure to rob me in passing by.
"If the fairies would give me another try,
"I'd wish for something that cost much less,
"And be satisfied with glass for my dress!"
Then he fell asleep; and, just as before,
The fairies granted his wish once more.
When the night was gone, and the sun rose clear,
The tree was a crystal chandelier;
And it seemed, as he stood in the morning light,
That his branches were covered with jewels bright.
"Aha!" said the tree. "This is something great!"
And he held himself up, very proud and straight;
But a rude young wind through the forest dashed,
In a reckless temper, and quickly smashed
The delicate leaves. With a clashing sound
They broke into pieces and fell on the ground,
Like a silvery, shimmering shower of hail,
And the tree stood naked and bare to the gale.
Then his heart was sad; and he cried, "Alas
"For my beautiful leaves of shining glass!
"Perhaps I have made another mistake
"In choosing a dress so easy to break.
"If the fairies only would hear me again
"I'd ask them for something both pretty and plain:
"It wouldn't cost much to grant my request,—
"In leaves of green lettuce I'd like to be dressed!"
By this time the fairies were laughing, I know;
But they gave him his wish in a second; and so
With leaves of green lettuce, all tender and sweet,
The tree was arrayed, from his head to his feet.
"I knew it!" he cried, "I was sure I could find
"The sort of a suit that would be to my mind.
"There's none of the trees has a prettier dress,
"And none as attractive as I am, I guess."
But a goat, who was taking an afternoon walk,
By chance overheard the fir-tree's talk.
So he came up close for a nearer view;—
"My salad!" he bleated, "I think so too!
"You're the most attractive kind of a tree,
"And I want your leaves for my five-o'clock tea."
So he ate them all without saying grace,
And walked away with a grin on his face;
While the little tree stood in the twilight dim,
With never a leaf on a single limb.
Then he sighed and groaned; but his voice was weak—
He was so ashamed that he could not speak.
He knew at last that he had been a fool,
To think of breaking the forest rule,
And choosing a dress himself to please,
Because he envied the other trees.
But it couldn't be helped, it was now too late,
He must make up his mind to a leafless fate!
So he let himself sink in a slumber deep,
But he moaned and he tossed in his troubled sleep,
Till the morning touched him with joyful beam,
And he woke to find it was all a dream.
For there in his evergreen dress he stood,
A pointed fir in the midst of the wood!
His branches were sweet with the balsam smell,
His needles were green when the white snow fell.
And always contented and happy was he,—
The very best kind of a Christmas tree.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Ain't Got Time Anymore
Got no time to stop to speak to friends passing by
Got no strength to wipe away the tears from my eyes
I don't care what's going on
Only know she's gone
The sun don't shine anymore
And I don't feel fine anymore
She ain't mine anymore
No, I don't feel fine anymore
I Ain't got time anymore
Seems to be such sadness in each place I go
The people laugh and still I just wouldn't know
Never stop to see who's there
Once I used to care
But the sun don't shine anymore
I don't feel fine anymore
She ain't mine anymore
No, I don't feel fine anymore
I Ain't got time anymore
I can't get use to being left on my own
It takes up all the time just trying to be alone
Used to take an interest in the state of affairs
Now I only know how much I'm missing that girl
Hope the world will understand
I can't lend a hand
Cause she ain't mine anymore
I don't feel fine anymore
She ain't mine anymore
No, I don't feel fine anymore
Ain't got time anymore
She ain't mine anymore
I don't feel fine anymore
Ain't got time anymore
She ain't mine anymore
No, I don't feel fine anymore
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wooer
I nearly fell fair in my tracks.
I'm trudgin' homeward with my axe
When I come on her suddenly.
'I wonder if I'm lost?' says she.
'It's risky on such roads as this.'
I lifts my hat an' says, 'Yes, miss.'
I knew 'twas rude for me to stare,
But, oh, that sunlight in her hair!
'I wonder if I'm lost? says she,
An' gives a smile that staggers me.
'An' yet, it wouldn't matter much
Supposing that I was, with such
A glorious green world about,
With bits of blue sky peepin' out.
Do you think there will be a fog?'
'No, miss,' says I, an' pats my dog.
'Oh, what a dear old dog!' says she.
'Most dogs are pretty fond of me.'
She calls him to her, an' he goes.
(He didn't find it hard, I s'pose;
I know I wouldn't if she called.)
'It's wondrous how the tracks are walled
With these great trees that touch the sky
On either side.' 'Yes, miss,' says I.
She fondles my old dog a bit;
I wait to make a bolt for it.
(There ain't no call to stand an' talk
With one who'd be too proud to walk
A half-a-yard with such as me.)
'The wind keeps workin' up,' says she.
'Yes, miss,' says I, an' lifts me hat.
An' she just let's it go at that.
She let me reach the dribblin' ford -
That day to me it fairly roared.
(At least, that's how the thing appears;
But blood was poundin' in my ears.)
She waits till I ahve fairly crossed:
'I thought I told I was lost?'
She cries. 'An' you go walkin' off,
Quite scornful, like some proud bush toff!'
She got me thinkin' hard with that.
'Yes, miss,' I says, an' lifts my hat.
But she just waits there on the track,
An' lets me walk the whole way back.
'An' are you reely lost?' says I.
'Yes, sir,' says she an' drops her eye. . .
I wait, an' wait for what seems days;
But not another word she says.
I pats my dog, an' lifts my hat;
But she don't seem to notice that.
I looks up trees an' stares at logs,
An' long for twenty hats an' dogs.
'The weather's kept reel good to-day,'
I blurts at last. Say she, 'Hurray!'
'Hurray!' she says, an' then, 'Encore!'
An' gets me wonderin' what for.
'Is this the right road to 'The Height?''
I tell her it's the road, all right,
But that the way she's walkin' ain't.
At that she looked like she would faint.
'Then I was lost if I had gone
Along this road an' walked right on
An unfrequented bush track, too!
How fortunate that I met you!'
'Yes, miss,' I says. 'Yes - what?' says she.
Says I, 'Most fortunate . . . for me.'
I don't know where I found the pluck
To blurt that out an' chance my luck.
'You'll walk,' she says, 'a short way back,
So you can put me on the track?'
'I'll take you all the way,' says I,
An' looks her fair bang in the eye.
Later, I let myself right out,
An' talked: an' told her all about
The things I've done, an' what I do,
An' nearly all I'm hopin' to.
Told why I chose the game I'm at
Because my folks were poor, an' that.
She seemed reel pleased to hear me talk,
An' sort of steadied up the walk.
An' when I'd spoke my little bit,
She just takes up the thread of it;
An' later on, near knocks me down
By tellin' me she works - in town.
Works? her? I thought, the way she dressed,
She was quite rich; but she confessed
That makin' dresses was her game,
An' she was dead sick of the same.
When Good bye came, I lifts my hat;
But she holds out her hand at that.
I looked at mine, all stained with sap,
An' told her I'm a reel rough chap.
'A worker's hand,' says she, reel fine,
'An' marked with toil; but so is mine.
We're just two toilers; let us shake,
An' be good friends - for labour's sake.'
I didn't care to say no more,
For fear of what she'd take me for
But just Good bye, an' turns away,
Bustin' with things I had to say.
I don't know how I got right home.
The wonder was I didn't roam
Off in the scrub, an' dream out there
Of her with sunlight in her hair.
At home I looks around the place,
An' sees the dirt a fair disgrace;
So takes an' tidies up a bit,
An' has a shave; an' then I sit
Beside my fire to have a think.
But my old dog won't sleep a wink;
He fools, an' whines, an' nudges me,
Then all at once I thinks of tea.
I beg his pardon wiht a smile,
An'. talkin' to him all the while,
I get it ready, tellin' him
About that girl; but, 'Shut up, Jim!'
he says to me as plain as plain.
'First have some food, an' then explain.'
(I don't know how she came to tell,
But I found out her name is Nell.)
We gets our bit to eat at last.
(An', just for spite, he et his fast) . . .
I think that Nell's a reel nice name . . .
'All right, old dog, I ain't to blame
If you' . . . Just as I go to sup
My tea I stop dead, with my cup
Half up, an' . . . By the Holy Frost!
I wonder was Nell reely lost?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Library
Like prim Professor of a College
I primed my shelves with books of knowledge;
And now I stand before them dumb,
Just like a child that sucks its thumb,
And stares forlorn and turns away,
With dolls or painted bricks to play.
They glour at me, my tomes of learning.
"You dolt!" they jibe; "you undiscerning
Moronic oaf, you make a fuss,
With highbrow swank selecting us;
Saying: "I'll read you all some day' -
And now you yawn and turn away.
"Unwanted wait we with our store
Of facts and philosophic lore;
The scholarship of all the ages
Snug packed within our uncut pages;
The mystery of all mankind
In part revealed - but you are blind.
"You have no time to read, you tell us;
Oh, do not think that we are jealous
Of all the trash that wins your favour,
The flimsy fiction that you savour:
We only beg that sometimes you
Will spare us just an hour or two.
"For all the minds that went to make us
Are dust if folk like you forsake us,
And they can only live again
By virtue of your kindling brain;
In magice print they packed their best:
Come - try their wisdom to digest. . . ."
Said I: "Alas! I am not able;
I lay my cards upon the table,
And with deep shame and blame avow
I am too old to read you now;
So I will lock you in glass cases
And shun your sad, reproachful faces."
* * * * * * * * *
My library is noble planned,
Yet in it desolate I stand;
And though my thousand books I prize,
Feeling a witling in their eyes,
I turn from them in weariness
To wallow in the Daily Press.
For, oh, I never, never will
The noble field of knowledge till:
I pattern words with artful tricks,
As children play with painted bricks,
And realize with futile woe,
Nothing I know - nor want to know.
My library has windowed nooks;
And so I turn from arid books
To vastitude of sea and sky,
And like a child content am I
With peak and plain and brook and tree,
Crying: "Behold! the books for me:
Nature, be thou my Library!"
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Just Wanna Live
I Just Wanna Live
I need an a-larm system in my house
So I know when people are
Creeping about
These people are
Freaking me out
(these days)
It's getting hectic everywhere that I go
They won't leave me alone
There's things they all wanna know
I'm paranoid off all the people I meet
Why are they talking to me?
And why can't anyone see
I just wanna live
Don't really care about the things that they say
Don't really care about what happens to me
I just wanna live
Just wanna live [x6]
I rock a
Lawsuit when I'm going to court
A white suit when I'm gettin' divorced
A black suit at the funeral home
And my birthday suit when I'm home alone
Talkin' on the phone
Got an interview
With the rolling stone
They're saying
Now you're rich and
Now you're famous
fake ass girls all know your names and
Lifestyles of the rich and famous
your first hit aren't you a-shamed?
Of the life [x2]
Of the life you're livin'
I just wanna live
Don't really care about the things that they say
Don't really care about what happens to me
I just wanna live
Stop your messin' around boy
Better think a your future
Better make some good plans boy
Said everyone of my teachers
Lookout
You better play it safe
You never know what hard times will come your way
We say
Where we're coming from
We've already seen
The worst that this life can bring
Now we're expected everywhere that we go
All the things that they say
Yeah we already know
I just wanna live
Don't really care about the things that they say
Don't really care about what happens to me
Just wanna live [x3]
I just wanna live
Just wanna live [x3]
I just wanna live
Just wanna live [x3]
Don't really care about the things that they say
Just wanna live [x3]
Don't really care about what happens to me
I just wanna live
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy Birthday Daughter
To our beloved daughter
Jessica Nicole
That we love and adore
We would like to say a few words
To celebrate this special day
You are another year older
Even a year smarter
And maybe a bit wiser
What year you have had
You have grown
Into a wonderful woman
Became a mother
With a beautiful daughter
Which has given us such a thrill
Today is your special day
Which we pray will be filled
With great peace and joy
A day full of great things
Things that bring you
Great happiness and enjoyment
Maybe even things
That makes you laugh, dance, and sing
Or maybe just a bit more complete
For on this special occasion
We would like to say
You are another year older
We love you
We wish you the best
And very special
Happy,
Happy Birthday
Our darling daughter dear
poem by Scott Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mary's In India
Danny is lonely
Cause Mary's in India now
She said she'd call but that was three weeks ago
She left all her things well, her books and her letters from him
But as the sun rises on Mary, it sets on him
And just dance, and just drink
And just see the things I'll probably never get a chance to see
Danny's not eating, he's drinking and sleeping in
I saw him last night at a party, he's definitely thin
He says he's happy, looked pretty good
But I think
That as the sun rises on Mary, it sets on him
And just dance, and just drink
And just see the things I'll probably never get a chance to see
Danny came over last night and I cooked for him
He talked about you Mary and how much we loved you still
He told me he's packed up your books and your letters and things
But as the sun sets on Mary, it's rising on him
And we danced, and we drank
And I've seen some things you probably never got a chance to see
Don't worry, Mary
Cause I'm taking care of Danny
And he's taking care of me
song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Little Big Man
I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am
as old as my father is.
My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate
and your books."
I shall tell him, " Do you not know I am as big as father? And
I must not have lessons any more."
My master will wonder and say, "He can leave his books if he
likes, for he is grown up."
I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is
thick.
My uncle will come rushing up to me and say, "You will get
lost, my boy; let me carry you."
I shall answer, "Can't you see, uncle, I am as big as father?
I must go to the fair alone."
Uncle will say, "Yes, he can go wherever he likes, for he is
grown up."
Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my
nurse, for I shall know how to open the box with my key.
Mother will say, "What are you about, naughty child?"
I shall tell her, "Mother, don't you know, I am as big as
father, and I must give silver to my nurse."
Mother will say to herself, "He can give money to whom he
likes, for he is grown up."
In the holiday time in October father will come home and,
thinking that I am still a baby, will bring for me from the town
little shoes and small silken frocks.
I shall say, "Father, give them to my data, for I am as big
as you are."
Father will think and say, "He can buy his own clothes if he
likes, for he is grown up."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Sister, My Friend
You came along in 75
“A sister for you” Dad said on the drive
Little did I know just what that would mean
But to find out I was keen.
When you arrived home all wrapped in pink
A beautiful baby I did think
You were a couple days old and I was two
I was your big sister and I loved you.
There was the time when you were two
Words were few but you did what you had to do
I was only four and in strife
But from the fire you saved my life
You started school in year one
You and I had such great fun
I was older in year three
But the age gap didn’t matter to me.
When you were 10 you got sick
I thought you’d get better really quick
Unfortunately it didn’t go my way
But you were an inspiration everyday.
The way you took it in your stride
It was just the start of your bumpy ride
You handled it better than expected
Your role as a sister you never neglected
Dialysis, hospital beds and infections
And fears of kidney rejections
Pills, tablets and medication
But still as a sister you showed dedication
As we grew older and life got tough
Just when I thought Id had enough
Forgetting your problems willingly
You were there to comfort me
Little gifts you gave to me
Thinking of me unselfishly
The fridge magnet is in its place
And the sister book in the bookcase
You’re not just my sister you are my friend
We’ve been through so much there is no end
To the love that I have for you
I am sure the same for you is true
So this poem for you I write
With a little hope that I might
Give back some of the love and care
I’ve gotten from you and more to spare
I guess just what I am trying to say
Is I thank the Lord everyday
For giving me the best sister I could hope for
And someone to look up to, love and adore.
I am proud to call you MY SISTER, MY FRIEND.
poem by Jayne Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If Trees Could Talk
If trees could talk, what would they say?
That would definitely be question of the day.
They'd say, "Help us! Help us! We're being chopped down! "
That wouldn't help as our oxygen would frown.
They'd say, "Help us! We're being turned into furniture! "
That doesn't sound like much of an adventure.
They'd say, "Help us! Our branches are losing leaves! "
That shouldn't be the case until Christmas Eve.
If trees could talk, what would they say?
They'd say, "We watch the children who like to play."
There are some nice things too that trees would utter,
Like, "We're as important to life as bread is to butter."
Sadly, trees are like some of us; they speak in silence.
But do they really deserve to be treated with violence?
poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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