En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The archers

I

Stripped to the waist, his copper-coloured skin
Red from the smouldering heat of hate within,
Lean as a wolf in winter, fierce of mood--
As all wild things that hunt for foes, or food--
War paint adorning breast and thigh and face,
Armed with the ancient weapons of his race,
A slender ashen bow, deer sinew strung,
And flint-tipped arrow each with poisoned tongue,--
Thus does the Red man stalk to death his foe,
And sighting him strings silently his bow,
Takes his unerring aim, and straight and true
The arrow cuts in flight the forest through,
A flint which never made for mark and missed,
And finds the heart of his antagonist.
Thus has he warred and won since time began,
Thus does the Indian bring to earth his man.

II

Ungarmented, save for a web that lies
In fleecy folds across his impish eyes,
A tiny archer takes his way intent
On mischief, which is his especial bent.
Across his shoulder lies a quiver, filled
With arrows dipped in honey, thrice distilled
From all the roses brides have ever worn
Since that first wedding out of Eden born.
Beneath a cherub face and dimpled smile
This youthful hunter hides a heart of guile;
His arrows aimed at random fly in quest
Of lodging-place within some blameless breast.
But those he wounds die happily, and so
Blame not young Cupid with his dart and bow:
Thus has he warred and won since time began,
Transporting into Heaven both maid and man.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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The hunter

With a bow in his hand
the hunter sneaks
above the wind,
following the tracts
of the wild antelope.

His brown skin
melts into the field
and the bushes,
and like a wild cat
he sneaks
from cover to cover.

The sun is hot
where it hangs in the half-Kalahari sky
and he drinks a tiny bit of water
out of the ostrich egg flask,
before a brown hand
with caked sand
wipes sweat out of his dark brown eyes.

Again he takes the trail
and follows it at a jog
until the oryxes are closer
and again he sneaks nearer
and stalks still closer.

When he is in striking distance
an arrow is taken from the quiver
and the small bow’s string
made out of roped intestines draws
and for a moment,
it sounds like the buzz of a bee
while the arrow
rushes away from the bow.

The arrow hits the antelope
and when the startled oryx
rushes away
the hunter follows
faithful on the spoor,
till he finds it
where in time
it lies stretched out
on the red brown Africa sand.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Archer who’s greedy for venison

A golden antelope jumps in a rainforest.
In the moonlit night the ardent archer makes his bow and arrows
But this time he is very sensitive about the rare deer.
He used his special arrow for the hunt.
The deer ran away with the pierced arrow into the jungle.
He followed the woman like cry and Alas! He saw a Nymph was lying on the grass in cold blood.
She stammered “Caveman love is tastier than venison
But it’s too late now my dear.”
She died on his lap sadly.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Painted Smile

Paint a smile on my face
Try to hide the pain
The smile never meets my eyes
My heart is full of shame

Paint a smile on my face
Try to forget the lies
The smile never meets my eyes
My heart is filled with pain

Paint a smile on my face
Try to forget I'm alone
The smile never meets my eyes
My heart begins to break

I feel a tender touch upon
The smile painted on
He wipes the smile off my face
Tells my heart to not be fake

He replaces the paint with a smile so true
I know I can't be alone
He takes the pain out of my heart
And fills me up again

For My God

poem by Lacey UnKnown
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If Cupid

Love can hit you
no matter where you are
whether it be at a funeral
or at a fun fair.
We may not know it at the time,
but cupid always shoots
his arrows straight and true.
You could be on a bus, plane or train
if cupid has his arrows set
there is nothing you can do.
You cannot duck or weave.
If cupid has his arrows set
love will come to you.
You maybe dancing at a ballroom,
if cupid spies a different partner
it is all over for you.
You will not see it coming
and will not even feel a thing
until you are the church
slipping on the wedding ring.
For if cupid has you in his sights,
there is nothing you can do.

25 February 2011

poem by David Harris
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A Toxophilite

The target ranged at 100 yards,
The bow, strung ready to yield,
The power entrusted in its pull,
Sends the arrows down the field.

Each one with red coloured feathers,
Each alloy shaft balanced for speed,
The string is drawn, then with tension held,
It shall surely the 'bulls eye' feed.

Like a bullet sprung from a barrel,
The arrow flies out of sight,
And then a 'thud' as it hits the butt,
It's a game that can't help but excite.

A steady stance, and strong muscled arms,
Are needed to perfect the aim,
With a quiver and bow sight, you can become,
Archer, Toxophilite, Bowman, the same.

A very ancient skill, this was, way back,
Battles fought, by brave stalwart men,
The bow and the arrows, were weapons of war,
One would not have liked, living then.

But these days it's a great sport to tackle,
Achievement is always one's claim,
And a score in the 'Centre' is well worth the wait,
Archery is a wonderful game.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Arrow

An arrow flew right through the air.
It flew from your eyes to my heart.
I felt the pierce but did not care
for I let the pain depart.

Only the pleasure from the eyes that sent it
was what I looked upon.
I knew I could withstand many arrows
until your eyes were gone.

Cupid, Cupid where have you been?
I didn't know you exist.
I thought you were just a fable
with a fictitious list.

But that list included me at last
and the arrow was so real.
I accepted it and praised it
for how it made me feel.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Olney Hymn 39: The Valley Of The Shadow Of Death

My soul is sad, and much dismay'd;
See, Lord, what legions of my foes,
With fierce Apollyon at their head,
My heavenly pilgrimage oppose.

See, from the ever-burning lake,
How like a smoky cloud they rise!
With horrid blasts my soul they shake,
With storms of blasphemies and lies.

Their fiery arrows reach the mark,
My throbbing heart with anguish tear;
Each lights upon a kindred spark,
And finds abundant fuel there.

I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord;
Oh! I would drive it from my breast,
With Thy own sharp two-edged sword,
Far as the east is from the west.

Come, then, and chase the cruel host,
Heal the deep wounds I have received!
Nor let the power of darkness boast
That I am foil'd, and Thou art grieved!

poem by William Cowper
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The Valley of the Shadow of Death

My soul is sad, and much dismay'd;
See, Lord, what legions of my foes,
With fierce Apollyon at their head,
My heavenly pilgrimage oppose.

See, from the ever-burning lake,
How like a smoky cloud they rise!
With horrid blasts my soul they shake,
With storms of blasphemies and lies.

Their fiery arrows reach the mark,
My throbbing heart with anguish tear;
Each lights upon a kindred spark,
And finds abundant fuel there.

I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord;
Oh! I would drive it from my breast,
With Thy own sharp two-edged sword,
Far as the east is from the west.

Come, then, and chase the cruel host,
Heal the deep wounds I have received!
Nor let the power of darkness boast
That I am foil'd, and Thou art grieved!

poem by William Cowper
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Across The Red Sky

Across the red sky two birds flying,
Flying with drooping wings.
Silent and solitary their ominous flight.
All day the triumphant sun with yellow banners
Warred and warred with the earth, and when she yielded
Stabbed her heart, gathered her blood in a chalice,
Spilling it over the evening sky.
When the dark plumaged birds go flying, flying,
Quiet lies the earth wrapt in her mournful shadow,
Her sightless eyes turned to the red sky
And the restlessly seeking birds.

poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Cupid Abroad Was Lated

CUPID abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;
Harbor he sought, to me he took his flight
To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain:
I oped the door and granted his desire,
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire.

Looking more narrow by the fire's flame,
I spied his quiver hanging by his back.
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame,
I would have gone, for fear of further wrack;
But what I drad did me, poor wretch, betide,
For forth he drew an arrow from his side.

He pierced the quick, and I began to start,
A pleasing wound but that it was too high;
His shaft procured a sharp yet sugared smart.
Away he flew, for why is wings were dry;
But left the arrow sticking in my breast,
That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guest.

poem by Robert Greene
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The Song Of Hiawatha IV: Hiawatha And Mudjekeewis

Out of childhood into manhood
Now had grown my Hiawatha,
Skilled in all the craft of hunters,
Learned in all the lore of old men,
In all youthful sports and pastimes,
In all manly arts and labors.
Swift of foot was Hiawatha;
He could shoot an arrow from him,
And run forward with such fleetness,
That the arrow fell behind him!
Strong of arm was Hiawatha;
He could shoot ten arrows upward,
Shoot them with such strength and swiftness,
That the tenth had left the bow-string
Ere the first to earth had fallen!
He had mittens, Minjekahwun,
Magic mittens made of deer-skin;
When upon his hands he wore them,
He could smite the rocks asunder,
He could grind them into powder.
He had moccasins enchanted,
Magic moccasins of deer-skin;
When he bound them round his ankles,
When upon his feet he tied them,
At each stride a mile he measured!
Much he questioned old Nokomis
Of his father Mudjekeewis;
Learned from her the fatal secret
Of the beauty of his mother,
Of the falsehood of his father;
And his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.
Then he said to old Nokomis,
'I will go to Mudjekeewis,
See how fares it with my father,
At the doorways of the West-Wind,
At the portals of the Sunset!'
From his lodge went Hiawatha,
Dressed for travel, armed for hunting;
Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings,
Richly wrought with quills and wampum;
On his head his eagle-feathers,
Round his waist his belt of wampum,
In his hand his bow of ash-wood,
Strung with sinews of the reindeer;
In his quiver oaken arrows,
Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers;
With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
With his moccasins enchanted.
Warning said the old Nokomis,
'Go not forth, O Hiawatha!
To the kingdom of the West-Wind,
To the realms of Mudjekeewis,
Lest he harm you with his magic,
Lest he kill you with his cunning!'
But the fearless Hiawatha
Heeded not her woman's warning;
Forth he strode into the forest,
At each stride a mile he measured;
Lurid seemed the sky above him,
Lurid seemed the earth beneath him,
Hot and close the air around him,
Filled with smoke and fiery vapors,
As of burning woods and prairies,
For his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.
So he journeyed westward, westward,
Left the fleetest deer behind him,
Left the antelope and bison;
Crossed the rushing Esconaba,
Crossed the mighty Mississippi,
Passed the Mountains of the Prairie,
Passed the land of Crows and Foxes,
Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet,
Came unto the Rocky Mountains,
To the kingdom of the West-Wind,
Where upon the gusty summits
Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis,
Ruler of the winds of heaven.
Filled with awe was Hiawatha
At the aspect of his father.
On the air about him wildly
Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses,
Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses,
Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet,
Like the star with fiery tresses.
Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis
When he looked on Hiawatha,
Saw his youth rise up before him
In the face of Hiawatha,
Saw the beauty of Wenonah
From the grave rise up before him.
'Welcome!' said he, 'Hiawatha,
To the kingdom of the West-Wind
Long have I been waiting for you
Youth is lovely, age is lonely,
Youth is fiery, age is frosty;
You bring back the days departed,
You bring back my youth of passion,
And the beautiful Wenonah!'
Many days they talked together,
Questioned, listened, waited, answered;
Much the mighty Mudjekeewis
Boasted of his ancient prowess,
Of his perilous adventures,
His indomitable courage,
His invulnerable body.
Patiently sat Hiawatha,
Listening to his father's boasting;
With a smile he sat and listened,
Uttered neither threat nor menace,
Neither word nor look betrayed him,
But his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.
Then he said, 'O Mudjekeewis,
Is there nothing that can harm you?
Nothing that you are afraid of?'
And the mighty Mudjekeewis,
Grand and gracious in his boasting,
Answered, saying, 'There is nothing,
Nothing but the black rock yonder,
Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek!'
And he looked at Hiawatha
With a wise look and benignant,
With a countenance paternal,
Looked with pride upon the beauty
Of his tall and graceful figure,
Saying, 'O my Hiawatha!
Is there anything can harm you?
Anything you are afraid of?'
But the wary Hiawatha
Paused awhile, as if uncertain,
Held his peace, as if resolving,
And then answered, 'There is nothing,
Nothing but the bulrush yonder,
Nothing but the great Apukwa!'
And as Mudjekeewis, rising,
Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush,
Hiawatha cried in terror,
Cried in well-dissembled terror,
'Kago! kago! do not touch it!'
'Ah, kaween!' said Mudjekeewis,
'No indeed, I will not touch it!'
Then they talked of other matters;
First of Hiawatha's brothers,
First of Wabun, of the East-Wind,
Of the South-Wind, Shawondasee,
Of the North, Kabibonokka;
Then of Hiawatha's mother,
Of the beautiful Wenonah,
Of her birth upon the meadow,
Of her death, as old Nokomis
Had remembered and related.
And he cried, 'O Mudjekeewis,
It was you who killed Wenonah,
Took her young life and her beauty,
Broke the Lily of the Prairie,
Trampled it beneath your footsteps;
You confess it! you confess it!'
And the mighty Mudjekeewis
Tossed upon the wind his tresses,
Bowed his hoary head in anguish,
With a silent nod assented.
Then up started Hiawatha,
And with threatening look and gesture
Laid his hand upon the black rock,
On the fatal Wawbeek laid it,
With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
Rent the jutting crag asunder,
Smote and crushed it into fragments,
Hurled them madly at his father,
The remorseful Mudjekeewis,
For his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.
But the ruler of the West-Wind
Blew the fragments backward from him,
With the breathing of his nostrils,
With the tempest of his anger,
Blew them back at his assailant;
Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa,
Dragged it with its roots and fibres
From the margin of the meadow,
From its ooze the giant bulrush;
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha!
Then began the deadly conflict,
Hand to hand among the mountains;
From his eyry screamed the eagle,
The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
Sat upon the crags around them,
Wheeling flapped his wings above them.
Like a tall tree in the tempest
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush;
And in masses huge and heavy
Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek;
Till the earth shook with the tumult
And confusion of the battle,
And the air was full of shoutings,
And the thunder of the mountains,
Starting, answered, 'Baim-wawa!'
Back retreated Mudjekeewis,
Rushing westward o'er the mountains,
Stumbling westward down the mountains,
Three whole days retreated fighting,
Still pursued by Hiawatha
To the doorways of the West-Wind,
To the portals of the Sunset,
To the earth's remotest border,
Where into the empty spaces
Sinks the sun, as a flamingo
Drops into her nest at nightfall
In the melancholy marshes.
'Hold!' at length cried Mudjekeewis,
'Hold, my son, my Hiawatha!
'T is impossible to kill me,
For you cannot kill the immortal
I have put you to this trial,
But to know and prove your courage;
Now receive the prize of valor!
'Go back to your home and people,
Live among them, toil among them,
Cleanse the earth from all that harms it,
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers,
Slay all monsters and magicians,
All the Wendigoes, the giants,
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks,
As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa,
Slew the Great Bear of the mountains.
'And at last when Death draws near you,
When the awful eyes of Pauguk
Glare upon you in the darkness,
I will share my kingdom with you,
Ruler shall you be thenceforward
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin.'
Thus was fought that famous battle
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah,
In the days long since departed,
In the kingdom of the West-Wind.
Still the hunter sees its traces
Scattered far o'er hill and valley;
Sees the giant bulrush growing
By the ponds and water-courses,
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek
Lying still in every valley.
Homeward now went Hiawatha;
Pleasant was the landscape round him,
Pleasant was the air above him,
For the bitterness of anger
Had departed wholly from him,
From his brain the thought of vengeance,
From his heart the burning fever.
Only once his pace he slackened,
Only once he paused or halted,
Paused to purchase heads of arrows
Of the ancient Arrow-maker,
In the land of the Dacotahs,
Where the Falls of Minnehaha
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees,
Laugh and leap into the valley.
There the ancient Arrow-maker
Made his arrow-heads of sandstone,
Arrow-heads of chalcedony,
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,
Smoothed and sharpened at the edges,
Hard and polished, keen and costly.
With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter,
Wayward as the Minnehaha,
With her moods of shade and sunshine,
Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate,
Feet as rapid as the river,
Tresses flowing like the water,
And as musical a laughter:
And he named her from the river,
From the water-fall he named her,
Minnehaha, Laughing Water.
Was it then for heads of arrows,
Arrow-heads of chalcedony,
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,
That my Hiawatha halted
In the land of the Dacotahs?
Was it not to see the maiden,
See the face of Laughing Water
Peeping from behind the curtain,
Hear the rustling of her garments
From behind the waving curtain,
As one sees the Minnehaha
Gleaming, glancing through the branches,
As one hears the Laughing Water
From behind its screen of branches?
Who shall say what thoughts and visions
Fill the fiery brains of young men?
Who shall say what dreams of beauty
Filled the heart of Hiawatha?
All he told to old Nokomis,
When he reached the lodge at sunset,
Was the meeting with his father,
Was his fight with Mudjekeewis;
Not a word he said of arrows,
Not a word of Laughing Water.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Valentine Cupid

the story of the cupid is strange you see
its always been a mystery to me
was this child with wings of beauty, and bow & arrow in hand
created by my fellow man.

to shoot his arrows in the hearts of all
laughing and having a ball..

or did he really come from the heavens above
to fill our hearts with all this love
has he really reached his goal
to touch our lives young and old.

for if this is true
then you have put my heart on fire
and filled me with desire
to satisfy your inner most needs.
for deep in me he planted the seed.

for with this, i tell you true
my heart belongs to only you.

HAPPY VALENTINE

poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hiawatha And Mudjekeewis

Out of childhood into manhood
Now had grown my Hiawatha,
Skilled in all the craft of hunters,
Learned in all the lore of old men,
In all youthful sports and pastimes,
In all manly arts and labors.
Swift of foot was Hiawatha;
He could shoot an arrow from him,
And run forward with such fleetness,
That the arrow fell behind him!
Strong of arm was Hiawatha;
He could shoot ten arrows upward,
Shoot them with such strength and swiftness,
That the tenth had left the bow-string
Ere the first to earth had fallen!
He had mittens, Minjekahwun,
Magic mittens made of deer-skin;
When upon his hands he wore them,
He could smite the rocks asunder,
He could grind them into powder.
He had moccasins enchanted,
Magic moccasins of deer-skin;
When he bound them round his ankles,
When upon his feet he tied them,
At each stride a mile he measured!
Much he questioned old Nokomis
Of his father Mudjekeewis;
Learned from her the fatal secret
Of the beauty of his mother,
Of the falsehood of his father;
And his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.
Then he said to old Nokomis,
"I will go to Mudjekeewis,
See how fares it with my father,
At the doorways of the West-Wind,
At the portals of the Sunset!"
From his lodge went Hiawatha,
Dressed for travel, armed for hunting;
Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings,
Richly wrought with quills and wampum;
On his head his eagle-feathers,
Round his waist his belt of wampum,
In his hand his bow of ash-wood,
Strung with sinews of the reindeer;
In his quiver oaken arrows,
Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers;
With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
With his moccasins enchanted.
Warning said the old Nokomis,
"Go not forth, O Hiawatha!
To the kingdom of the West-Wind,
To the realms of Mudjekeewis,
Lest he harm you with his magic,
Lest he kill you with his cunning!"
But the fearless Hiawatha
Heeded not her woman's warning;
Forth he strode into the forest,
At each stride a mile he measured;
Lurid seemed the sky above him,
Lurid seemed the earth beneath him,
Hot and close the air around him,
Filled with smoke and fiery vapors,
As of burning woods and prairies,
For his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.
So he journeyed westward, westward,
Left the fleetest deer behind him,
Left the antelope and bison;
Crossed the rushing Esconaba,
Crossed the mighty Mississippi,
Passed the Mountains of the Prairie,
Passed the land of Crows and Foxes,
Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet,
Came unto the Rocky Mountains,
To the kingdom of the West-Wind,
Where upon the gusty summits
Sat the ancient Mudjekeewis,
Ruler of the winds of heaven.
Filled with awe was Hiawatha
At the aspect of his father.
On the air about him wildly
Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses,
Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses,
Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet,
Like the star with fiery tresses.
Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis
When he looked on Hiawatha,
Saw his youth rise up before him
In the face of Hiawatha,
Saw the beauty of Wenonah
From the grave rise up before him.
"Welcome!" said he, "Hiawatha,
To the kingdom of the West-Wind
Long have I been waiting for you
Youth is lovely, age is lonely,
Youth is fiery, age is frosty;
You bring back the days departed,
You bring back my youth of passion,
And the beautiful Wenonah!"
Many days they talked together,
Questioned, listened, waited, answered;
Much the mighty Mudjekeewis
Boasted of his ancient prowess,
Of his perilous adventures,
His indomitable courage,
His invulnerable body.
Patiently sat Hiawatha,
Listening to his father's boasting;
With a smile he sat and listened,
Uttered neither threat nor menace,
Neither word nor look betrayed him,
But his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.
Then he said, "O Mudjekeewis,
Is there nothing that can harm you?
Nothing that you are afraid of?"
And the mighty Mudjekeewis,
Grand and gracious in his boasting,
Answered, saying, "There is nothing,
Nothing but the black rock yonder,
Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek!"
And he looked at Hiawatha
With a wise look and benignant,
With a countenance paternal,
Looked with pride upon the beauty
Of his tall and graceful figure,
Saying, "O my Hiawatha!
Is there anything can harm you?
Anything you are afraid of?"
But the wary Hiawatha
Paused awhile, as if uncertain,
Held his peace, as if resolving,
And then answered, "There is nothing,
Nothing but the bulrush yonder,
Nothing but the great Apukwa!"
And as Mudjekeewis, rising,
Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush,
Hiawatha cried in terror,
Cried in well-dissembled terror,
"Kago! kago! do not touch it!"
"Ah, kaween!" said Mudjekeewis,
"No indeed, I will not touch it!"
Then they talked of other matters;
First of Hiawatha's brothers,
First of Wabun, of the East-Wind,
Of the South-Wind, Shawondasee,
Of the North, Kabibonokka;
Then of Hiawatha's mother,
Of the beautiful Wenonah,
Of her birth upon the meadow,
Of her death, as old Nokomis
Had remembered and related.
And he cried, "O Mudjekeewis,
It was you who killed Wenonah,
Took her young life and her beauty,
Broke the Lily of the Prairie,
Trampled it beneath your footsteps;
You confess it! you confess it!"
And the mighty Mudjekeewis
Tossed upon the wind his tresses,
Bowed his hoary head in anguish,
With a silent nod assented.
Then up started Hiawatha,
And with threatening look and gesture
Laid his hand upon the black rock,
On the fatal Wawbeek laid it,
With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
Rent the jutting crag asunder,
Smote and crushed it into fragments,
Hurled them madly at his father,
The remorseful Mudjekeewis,
For his heart was hot within him,
Like a living coal his heart was.
But the ruler of the West-Wind
Blew the fragments backward from him,
With the breathing of his nostrils,
With the tempest of his anger,
Blew them back at his assailant;
Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa,
Dragged it with its roots and fibres
From the margin of the meadow,
From its ooze the giant bulrush;
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha!
Then began the deadly conflict,
Hand to hand among the mountains;
From his eyry screamed the eagle,
The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
Sat upon the crags around them,
Wheeling flapped his wings above them.
Like a tall tree in the tempest
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush;
And in masses huge and heavy
Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek;
Till the earth shook with the tumult
And confusion of the battle,
And the air was full of shoutings,
And the thunder of the mountains,
Starting, answered, "Baim-wawa!"
Back retreated Mudjekeewis,
Rushing westward o'er the mountains,
Stumbling westward down the mountains,
Three whole days retreated fighting,
Still pursued by Hiawatha
To the doorways of the West-Wind,
To the portals of the Sunset,
To the earth's remotest border,
Where into the empty spaces
Sinks the sun, as a flamingo
Drops into her nest at nightfall
In the melancholy marshes.
"Hold!" at length cried Mudjekeewis,
"Hold, my son, my Hiawatha!
'T is impossible to kill me,
For you cannot kill the immortal
I have put you to this trial,
But to know and prove your courage;
Now receive the prize of valor!
"Go back to your home and people,
Live among them, toil among them,
Cleanse the earth from all that harms it,
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers,
Slay all monsters and magicians,
All the Wendigoes, the giants,
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks,
As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa,
Slew the Great Bear of the mountains.
"And at last when Death draws near you,
When the awful eyes of Pauguk
Glare upon you in the darkness,
I will share my kingdom with you,
Ruler shall you be thenceforward
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin."
Thus was fought that famous battle
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah,
In the days long since departed,
In the kingdom of the West-Wind.
Still the hunter sees its traces
Scattered far o'er hill and valley;
Sees the giant bulrush growing
By the ponds and water-courses,
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek
Lying still in every valley.
Homeward now went Hiawatha;
Pleasant was the landscape round him,
Pleasant was the air above him,
For the bitterness of anger
Had departed wholly from him,
From his brain the thought of vengeance,
From his heart the burning fever.
Only once his pace he slackened,
Only once he paused or halted,
Paused to purchase heads of arrows
Of the ancient Arrow-maker,
In the land of the Dacotahs,
Where the Falls of Minnehaha
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees,
Laugh and leap into the valley.
There the ancient Arrow-maker
Made his arrow-heads of sandstone,
Arrow-heads of chalcedony,
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,
Smoothed and sharpened at the edges,
Hard and polished, keen and costly.
With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter,
Wayward as the Minnehaha,
With her moods of shade and sunshine,
Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate,
Feet as rapid as the river,
Tresses flowing like the water,
And as musical a laughter:
And he named her from the river,
From the water-fall he named her,
Minnehaha, Laughing Water.
Was it then for heads of arrows,
Arrow-heads of chalcedony,
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,
That my Hiawatha halted
In the land of the Dacotahs?
Was it not to see the maiden,
See the face of Laughing Water
Peeping from behind the curtain,
Hear the rustling of her garments
From behind the waving curtain,
As one sees the Minnehaha
Gleaming, glancing through the branches,
As one hears the Laughing Water
From behind its screen of branches?
Who shall say what thoughts and visions
Fill the fiery brains of young men?
Who shall say what dreams of beauty
Filled the heart of Hiawatha?
All he told to old Nokomis,
When he reached the lodge at sunset,
Was the meeting with his father,
Was his fight with Mudjekeewis;
Not a word he said of arrows,
Not a word of Laughing Water.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Snake

Like sable coils of twisted cord that glisten in the light,
Scales round with tiger stripes are scored, death spoiling for a fight.
Draped on a stump - a tree long dead, bone dry in heat of day;
A flickering fork from poisoned head that smells the air for prey.

Mulberry bow; Black fletched with crow: an arrow, notched, half drawn.
The boy, the hunter, stealing slow, makes not a sound to warn.
The serpent looks with steely eyes, that see no danger yet.
Though close below its burrow lies, the hunter's trap is set.

A powerful arc, a full drawn bow; The snake in mortal fear,
It dashes for its den below, an arrow thudding near.
A blur of sleek uncoiling rings, swift down the hole it glides;
The bow string twangs, the arrow sings, through flesh and bone it slides.

The threshing tail flies side to side, a writhing lashing whip;
Escape from certain death denied, held in the arrow's grip.
The hunter draws it from its lair, lays on the ground his prize;
The vanquished of a contest fair, like bloodied rope it lies.
And so plays out the ancient duel ‘twixt snake and son of man;
Lays slain the fleeing serpent cruel, as in the Maker's plan.

poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Disarmed

Beneath a Myrtle's verdant Shade
As Cloe half asleep was laid,
Cupid perch'd lightly on Her Breast,
And in That Heav'n desir'd to rest:
Over her Paps his Wings He spread:
Between He found a downy Bed,
And nestl'd in His little Head.

Still lay the God: The Nymph surpriz'd,
Yet Mistress of her self, devis'd,
How She the Vagrant might inthral,
And Captive Him, who Captives All.

Her Boddice half way She unlac'd:
About his Arms She slily cast
The silken Bond, and held Him fast.

The God awak'd; and thrice in vain
He strove to break the cruel Chain;
And thrice in vain He shook his Wing,
Incumber'd in the silken String.

Flutt'ring the God, and weeping said,
Pity poor Cupid, generous Maid,
Who happen'd, being Blind, to stray,
And on thy Bosom lost his Way:
Who stray'd, alas! but knew too well,
He never There must hope to dwell.
Set an unhappy Pris'ner free,
Who ne'er intended Harm to Thee.

To Me pertains not, She replies,
To know or care where Cupid flies;
What are his Haunts, or which his Way;
Where He would dwell, or whither stray:
Yet will I never set Thee free:
For Harm was meant, and Harm to Me.

Vain Fears that vex thy Virgin Heart!
I'll give Thee up my Bow and Dart:
Untangle but this cruel Chain,
And freely let Me fly again.

Agreed: Secure my Virgin Heart:
Instant give up thy Bow and Dart:
The Chain I'll in Return unty;
And freely Thou again shalt fly.

Thus She the Captive did deliver:
The Captive thus gave up his Quiver.

The God disarm'd, e'er since that Day
Passes his Life in harmless Play;
Flies round, or sits upon her Breast,
A little, flutt'ring, idle Guest.

E'er since that Day the beauteous Maid
Governs the World in Cupid's stead;
Directs his Arrow as She wills;
Gives Grief, or Pleasure; spares, or kills.

poem by Matthew Prior
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Becoming I

Sunlight warms my face
Its hard to take in
An overwhelming grace
From the way that I live
So close to you
I feel so ashamed
This must be new
cause Ive fallen again
The stench smells so real
Like Ive been here before
Emotions will kill
The life Ive always known
Because of their lies
The world seems to change
But since youve arrived
I feel no more pain
cause I have become the one thing I hate
I have become the smile on your face
Theres no need to save the me that Ive made
cause I have become the one thing I hate
The unwanted things
That breathe in my skin
Have filled all the void
In which I live in
And every time you bounce
I feel so alive
So many ways to count
The many times Ive died
cause I have become the one thing I hate
I have become the smile on your face
Theres no need to save the me that Ive made
cause I have become the one thing I hate
So close to you, so close to you

song performed by by Unloco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poison Arrow

If I were to say to you
Can you keep a secret?
Would you know just what to do
Or where to keep it?
Then I sayi love you
And foul the situation
Hey girl I thought we were
The right combination.
Who broke my heart?
You did, you did
Bow to the target,
Blame cupid, cupid
You think youre smart
Stupid, stupid.
_ chorus:
Shoot that poison arrow to my heart
Shoot that poison arrow
Shoot that poison arrow to my heart
Shoot that poison arrow
No rhythm in cymbals
No tempo in drums
Love on arrival
She comes when she comes
Right on the target
But wide of the mark
What I thought was fire
Was only the spark
The sweetest melody
Is an unheard refrain
So lower your sights,
Yeah but raise your aim
Raise your aim
Who broke my heart?
You did, you did
Bow to the target
Blame cupid, cupid
You think youre smart
Stupid, stupid
_ chorus
I thought you loved me but it seems you dont care
I care enough to know I can never love you
Who broke my heart
You did, you did
Bow to the target
Blame cupid
You think youre smart
Thats stupid
Right from the start
When you knew we would part
_ chorus to end

song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Little Left Of Center

(steve dale jones/billy henderson)
I walk in the rain and whistle a tune
I talk to the man up there in the moon
I know I may sound like somebody gone insane
Im a fool about you baby but my heart cant explain
Its a little left of center
By heavenly design
Love gets carried away
And goes wild at times
When cupid aims his arrow
Its right on the mark
A little left of center
Just like my crazy heart
It leaps like a frog when you touch my hand
It means like a drum in a marching band
Cant help what it does I just follow where it leads
How my heart feels about you baby makes perfect sense to me
Its a little left of center
By heavenly design
Love gets carried away
And goes wild at times
When cupid aims his arrow
Its right on the mark
A little left of center
Just like my crazy heart
When cupid aims his arrow
Its right on the mark
A little left of center
Just like my crazy heart

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Teenage EMOTION on Loves Highway

Loves highway draws teenagers
....... on thru the night
.........Emotion lays heavy
.............in their hearts,
... held in the whirlpool
..........of their own love
‘Too Young’ whispers melodically
.. like ether on the air waves,
.......As Lightning strikes, .
.......thunder accentuates
.........the radio crackle,
Lashing rain draws the elopers
..........closer together,
.....Driving thru the night
.....in love struck earnest,
......The power of love
...envelopes their bodies,
....Nothing will appease
....their quest God sent
Onward over the hill on and on,
..Looking for that little chapel
.....way down the highway
Ringing its golden wedding bells.
......Their car speeds on
fuelled by parental anguish,
. Whose words spin round.
in their heads
Painful arrows
fly thru their hearts,
In reality of space and time
love knows no limits
From young to old it abounds
with gentle hands,
For a loving heart
so easy to dismantle and break.
‘You’re a Christian and he’s a Jew,
‘He’s so young and so are you’,
Too late the words
to love filled ears
Cupid’s arrow fell
to younger years,
The wedding bells grew louder
the chapel in sight
Sealed with a kiss,
the end of his and Juliet’s flight
In arms together
to hold this very night.

poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Hunter

Starvation festers deep within, just like a burning coal
And to that hunger each gives in, that hole that's in the soul.
The wolf, like lions, tigers, bears, must hunt for food to live
And just like them, he truly shares the need to take not give.
White hunter wolf is on the prowl, as predator not friend,
Intentions cruel and callous, foul, another life to end.
With no pure white, no impure black, no middle ground that's grey,
The hunger forces him to track, to find food night or day.
Against the snow, invisible, except for piercing eyes.
While his smile hides fangs that cripple and cut foes down to size.
His claws await their destiny, their moments in his plan.
Fulfillment of their infamy, since hunting first began.
This time, he hunts, yet all alone, no other wolf in sight,
And so his heart is cold as stone and dark as deadly night.
Condemned to forage for himself, the vicious victim preys,
His cunning, running, speed and stealth, from these he never strays.
Beware the white wolf's wicked stare, he hunts without remorse.
His is no game of truth or dare, it's life or death... of course...

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'White Hunter'.

More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com

poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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