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There Lies A Stain

The continuous noise of a rock being struck,
Multiplying hundreds of times.
The pick on stone, like the hammer that strikes,
on a clock that forever chimes.

The well muscled arms, and the sweating backs,
toiled onwards with not a thirst slaked.
These stolen men, harshly chained to a line,
Oh, how their shattered bodies ached.

White dust seeped into each eye and dry mouth,
beneath that cruel blistering heat.
From sunrise they‘d work until past sunset,
with barely a moment to eat.

For wealth they were seized, captive they’d remain,
No status within our country.
And in history books, lies a huge stain,
of the evil of slavery.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Stone-Cutter

We hammer, hammer, hammer on and on,
Day-out, day-in, throughout the year,
In blazing heat and tempests drear;
God's house we slowly heavenward rear--
We'll never see it done!

We hammer, hammer, hammer, might and main.
The sun torments, the rain drops prick,
Our eyes grow blind with dust so thick;
Our name is dust, too, fadeth quick--
No glory and no gain!

We hammer, hammer, hammer ever on.
O blessed God on Heaven's throne,
Dost thou take care of every stone
And leave the toiling poor alone,
Whom no one looks upon?

poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Classroom Assignment

On Freedom
By Thomas S. Sidney, aged 12 Years
October 21st, 1828

Freedom will break the tyrant's chains,
And shatter all his whole domain;
From slavery she will always free
And all her aim is liberty.

On Slavery
By George E. Allen, aged 12 Years
October 21st, 1828

Slavery, oh, thou cruel stain,
Thou does fill my heart with pain;
See my brother, here he stands
Chained by slavery's cruel hands.

Could we not feel a brother's woes,
Relieve the wants he undergoes?
Snatch him from slavery's cruel smart,
And to him freedom's joy impart?

poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A close end

The clock was ticking
It made sound of striking
Both arms moving with long space
Competition to reach out in race

It is closing at last moment
Both arms are struck with no movement
The expiry is over with no sign of revival
It is confirmed there is no more survival

The body is laid for rest
It served till the last with its best
The life span was spread over years
Now no more sound or voice to reach ears

It has no relevance today
Two arms are not crossing the way
They are stuck with as they are
The distance is increased to remain very far

The clock will be thrown and body cremated
The goodness will be remembered and narrated
The nice and noble work to remain in memory
Now there is no concern or worry

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Dark Innocence

How can a force as strong as love
Be broken by a fragile moment?
A moment that will be forever engraved
In the rock of my heart.
It is so frail and so easily shattered
But I cannot break it because of its innocence.
It is a dove, clothed white
Which darkens even the brightest day.
It looms in my soul
And it cannot be broken because it is a part of me
That I cannot live without.
Without it, the pain in my carved heart will forever go away,
But I will be left breathing my last breath.
A brittle moment of realization
Will overcome all of my previous joys.
A past purity and innocence has chiselled a memory in my heart
That will remain until it is smoothed by happier waters
And until frailty is finally defeated by strength.

poem by Daniele Cerasoli
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I wish that we could forever

Our love came to fullness,
before the church bell
rang off midnight.

Before twelve o’clock you where a well built nymph,
that kisses and are kissed
and I was free from everything around me.

My small manhood got a life of its own
and grew much larger
and was prominent against you

You were the flower,
that lovingly folded open and draw me tenderly deeper
into the godly dew inside of you.

I could feel you shake and tremble beneath me
and I were part of you and you of me
and so intense was that pleasure, that soul and spirit melted together.

The night passes dark and the moon and stars,
flies past in the sky and a smell like that of rain
hangs shrouding between you and me.

Your soft body lies hot against me and I am amazed,
when we lie like Adam and Eve naked
and no words can really express our emotions and feelings.

At two o’clock we again thirst for each other
and the windowpanes are wet with the rain,
that sieves down outside and somewhere a thunder strikes down.

a Neighbour’s dog howls like a wolf for the night,
but no whether and nothing can stop the passion
and the feelings between us
and I wish that we could forever be
like this in each other’s arms.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunrise & Sunset

When the sun rises, we call it sunrise
when the sun sets, we call it sunset

Our sunrise can be someone else's sunset
someone else's sunrise can be our sunset

It is relative but one thing is certain

when you really live

a sunrise is a thought
a sunset is a memory

It is not relative

it holds every day, forever and always

poem by Sana Eddami
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Soldiers Rest

This mound of earth, now greened o'er;
Such a small plot for his large spirit.
We all come to this small space,
Or else are set free in the playful air
By those left to mourn our passing.
The small deeds of the anonymous,
Are by history soon forgotten;
Yet upon these backs great deeds were done.
Yet those who gaze down history's path,
They only see bright luminaries;
Not this simple soul who lies here now.
Beneath this bright daisy sprinkled lawn
Neath a stone that bears no name
Crumbling and grey with age
And soon to tumble into dust.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Library

That is why it is called library
Where stand all books buried
Built with huge grant amount to carry
Impressions of dead poets for all that past sorry

New generation wants fast result
Press the Google button and everything is built
Right from old warriors to new breed if politicians
History is on hand and can be seen as produced by the magician

Time is not far off when "library" word may become extinct
Boards may remain with sign but not more called distinct
All work and manuscripts may be stand converted
Into "e" governance and whole of the past may be subverted

It is our glorious past and heritage
We have maintained it as history on page
Many old scripture still find their place
They are the sacred heritage and must be preserved in any case

"Go and have reference from library" may become thing of past
The past may not only remain as past but soon deteriorate last
Few of the pages may speak about glorious death of civilization
Where as we need them as our only witness for old link and new relation

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Clock and Bells

When I was young, the clock was barely alive.

It seemed that the good times would never arrive.

As I grew older the needles had something to prove.

Their pace increased; they livened their move.

But still they seemed to just plow along,

Though church bells did render a louder gong.

Who knows if a new life is foretold by these chimes?

I just hope they herald the advent of new times.

In concert clock and bell have something to say…

Their message, “Leave the world a bit better each day.”

poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Soul Calls!

white twin, black twin,
concepts and lies.
images on images,
truth revealed dies.
prayers, simple touch,
falling prey to fate.
fires consume fires,
love is born of hate.

light fails, shadows talk,
the stranger stinks like god.
swords being sharpened,
horses being shod.
bombs fall, bodies cry,
the battle for the self.
the dead sing, the lost dream,
the book still on the shelf.

the hammer strikes the anvil,
the wind cuts you to the bone.
put on your boots, pick up your saddle.
the soul calls the body home!
the soul calls the body home...

hellbound streets, love stained sheets,
the lover is betrayed.
sold on the blocks, down by the docks,
hearts for pawn and trade.
poverty strikes, humility burns,
dignity lost in the crowd,
survival edge, walks the ledge,
only honesty allowed!

the hammer strikes the anvil,
the wind cuts you to the bone.
put on your boots, pick up your saddle.
the soul calls the body home!
the soul calls the body home....

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XLII: What Lies Beneath

beauty lies beneath
sense lies beneath
secret lies beneath
character lies beneath
rule lies beneath
mind lies beneath
past lies beneath
foundation lies beneath
root lies beneath
dark hole lies beneath

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Babylon

Babylon is no more
and lies shattered
against a desert plane
where it has fallen
centuries ago.

Yet Babylon’s spreads
wider to cities
all across the world
where unreligious people
stay and play
on the microcosm
of humanity
and strife to be greater
than the gods
and create places of sin
and utter rebellion.

Only when the clock work
strikes midnight
are the hand seen
that writes on the wall
and only then,
there’s some comprehension
that all evil will perish
and that the city fortress will fall.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Meadow of Fire

Beauty unscrupulous in the bleak human mind
Fire between the double female meadows divine

Blazing white horses circling the sky bushes
Bed streams of white entangled in the red heat

Flesh storming in the starry skies of hedonism
Beating double drums wrestling in the woods of ecstasy

Forever in fire, forever for that instant moment
Glory of the soft screams scratching the vibes of the bodies

Building twilight horizons in the fiery touch
Rainbows bleed in and out on this fleshy battle

Tonight the heat was made one with the spirit
…the bodies like fire magnets will forever dance in silence!

poem by Evita Velvet
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It is Cruel

Cruel objectives spend their tactics
On food and war, the splendour of amazement.
The cruel work is continuous as lines in space
When production of war is up to it.
How do splendid people require a food?
Their cruel answers may pervert the cures
Of the modern man, but how do they feed?
My work is over, the selling of knowledge,
A brand new weapon of assault, for the unique
Who defend the country.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Life Is Beautiful

You plant a rose
And if the rose comes up
You're thankful to God
And when it doesn't you cuss him
You raise a child
And when the child grows up
You got to learn to let go
If you can't learn to love him
But, oh, what a beautiful thing when you sing
Hear all them bells ringing out in the street
Hammer strikes the metal and it makes me believe
'Cause if I don't believe in love
Then I don't believe in you
And I do
Now I'm not saying only bad news comes
For the people who want it
But you gotta play that music for who's listening
You got to have someone you wanna sing it to
Oh, what a beautiful thing when you sing
Hear all them bells ringing out in the street
Blue sky cracking and it makes me believe
Oh, hear all them bells ringing out in the street
Hammer strikes the metal and it makes me believe
'Cause if I don't believe in love
Then I don't believe in you
And I do
Close my eyes, see the glorious sunset
Through the windows of a store and I want it
Anyway, if I ever felt haunted
You were there for me
These angry people who are waiting to judge you
Have their own judgment that they'll have live up to
Open your mouth
And if nothing come through
Remember
You're the one that sings
And it's a gift
And life's a beautiful thing
Oh, don't waste it doll
You build a house and if the house comes up
You gotta work on that house
If you want to make it your home
'Cause everything inside that's not something you own
Is what you're taking with you
On the day that you go
And oh, what a beautiful world when we sing
Hear all them bells ringing out in the street
Hammer strikes the metal and it makes me believe
Hear all them bells ringing out in the street
Oh, hammer strikes the metal and it makes me believe
'Cause if I don't believe in love
Then I don't believe in you
And I do

song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For All Of Us A Last Sunset

For all of us a last sunset like for all of us there was a first sunrise
A saying that's been around for years that came from someone wise
And every sunset that we see is one nearer to our last
Our biological clocks are ticking on and ticking ever fast
This evening the sun like a huge red ball set behind the western hill
And how many more sunsets for me since time does not stand still
I watched it disappear from view where it set the sky was red
A weather sign in the twilight sky of warmer days ahead
For all of us a last sunset so very very true
No matter what we achieve in life death it will be our due
Even for the greats of human history there was a last sunset
Though they live on in memory since them we don't forget
For all of us a last sunset the facts do never lie
Since like every other form of life we too are born to die.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Conservatism

Conservatism’s ideology
Is static. For that reason, everything
It touches stagnates and thus decays.
We live in a universe that expands:
Dynamic, and ever characterized
By firm continuous change-alive.
Conservatives, stuck in traditions,
Unable, feckless slaves of status quo
Impede advancement for those souls in need.
Those at the top espouse unwritten laws
That favor power, wealth and selfishly
Retain these hieratic gifts bequeathed
By past idolized idealist fops
Who gained their prominence on backs of men.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Nurse's Watch

From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn'

The moon it shines,
My darling whines;
The clock strikes twelve:--God cheer
The sick both far and near.
God knoweth all;
Mousy nibbles in the wall;
The clock strikes one:--like day,
Dreams o'er thy pillow play.
The matin-bell
Wakes the nun in convent cell;
The clock strikes two:--they go
To choir in a row.
The wind it blows,
The cock he crows;
The clock strikes three:--the wagoner
In his straw bed begins to stir.
The steed he paws the floor,
Creaks the stable door;
The clock strikes four:--'tis plain
The coachman sifts his grain.
The swallow's laugh the still air shakes,
The sun awakes;
The clock strikes five:--the traveler must be gone,
He puts his stockings on.
The hen is clacking,
The ducks are quacking;
The clock strikes six:--awake, arise,
Thou lazy hag; come, ope thy eyes.
Quick to the baker's run;
The rolls are done;
The clock strikes seven:--
'Tis time the milk were in the oven.
Put in some butter, do,
And some fine sugar, too;
The clock strikes eight:--
Now bring my baby's porridge straight.

poem by Clemens Maria Brentano
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Time Grows Shorter

When I was young, the clock was barely alive
It seemed that the good times would never arrive.
As I grew older the needles had something to prove.
Their pace increased as they livened their move.
But still they seemed only to plow along,
Though church bells did render a much louder gong.
If a new life is foretold by such chimes,
I just hope they herald the advent of good times.
In concert clock and bell voice vulnerable dismays;
Their message, “Time grows shorter to find happy days.”