The Plunge
I would bathe myself in strangeness:
These comforts heaped upon me, smother me!
I burn, I scald so for the new,
New friends, new faces,
Places!
Oh to be out of this,
This that is all I wanted
- save the new.
And you,
Love, you the much, the more desired!
Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones,
All mire, mist, all fog,
All ways of traffic?
You, I wold have flow over me like water,
Oh, but far out of this!
Grass, and low fields, and hills,
And sun,
Oh, sun enough!
Out, and alone, among some
Alien people!
poem by Ezra Pound
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Back To You Still My Love
all the strange thoughts, i bathe myself with,
feeling the soapiness of the matter and the wetness of all
the newness, i feel clean
about new faces and friends and places
i have never been too,
into all these, fog and mist, and valleys and grass
and winding paths,
all these new, bushes and bamboos
leading me
still to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wind
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the winter stark,
Oh the level dark,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the mystery
Of the blasted tree
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the owlet's croon
To the haggard moon,
To the waning moon,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the fleshless stare,
Oh the windy hair,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the cold sigh,
Oh the hollow cry,
The lean and hollow cry,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the white sight,
Oh the shuddering night,
The shivering shuddering night,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Loath and Fear
If I would rely on phrenology,
Or science, or mythology,
I'd burn down this damned city
And disembark in a conclusion
Of the ugly veracity:
I loathe everything!
I fear everything!
I loathe that I am writing about loathing
And I fear that I might lose every one
Though I barely have anyone,
So I loathe even more on this fear.
I loathe that I write about myself all the time, and
I fear that I might not be writing at all
I loathe that I would narrate a story
In the surreal slopes of enigma, and
I fear, afterwards, that no one will pry
To understand or even console.
I loathe that my mouth cannot mouth
What my hands opted to write, and
I fear that my hands aren't equipped
To write what I cannot mouth.
I loathe even more that I build walls
For people to beat down and divulge
The forlorn boy inside, and yet
I fear to be found.
And I loathe to the point of breaking
That no one ever cared to pry
And that makes me shudder in fear, and
I fear this kind of loathing
And loathe this kind of fear.
I loathe that I cannot gain readers, and
I fear that I may never have
I loathe that readers appreciates the writing
But not the congealed brook
Between the lines of it, and
I fear that they might not even
Appreciate the spilled blood
In every line of it.
I loathe, I fear,
That apart from writing
I am never good at anything
Except maybe from fearing and loathing.
I loathe that I blame the past
For making me loathe a lot, and
For making me fear a lot
For making me loathe sports, and
For making me fear trying
And all the brusquely recreations
And the shame of failing.
I loathe, I fear,
That I was turned
To be a loathing misanthrope
From a fearing diffident
Or perhaps not,
Perhaps, I am both.
I loathe, I fear,
The mad man that I am
Smoking the emaciation out
For I loathe and fear the society
And their chauvinistic beliefs.
I fear that I am ninety pounds flat,
I loathe that I am not doing anything,
And I loathe and fear my loathing and fearing
Because I fear that all I have left
Is my loathing to strengthen myself.
I loathe my poor drinking limit
And I loathe the carousals
As much as I fear encompassing the line
And fearing the toll of carousals
For I never get inebriated
In loathe and fear.
I loathe the carousing table
For they are full of shallow people
Except for one person, perhaps
And I loathe and I fear,
That I may not be him.
I loathe that I am poor
Because I am jobless
And so are my parents.
I loathe, I fear,
That when I finish college
And finally get a job
That I cannot think for myself
Because my shoulders are donned
With so much unsolicited weights;
I loathe that I loathe it
Because it makes me a loathing glutton
Self-centered and loathsome, and
I fear all this loathing
For the very same reasons.
I loathe that I do not have friends
And that I cannot have friends
And that I loathe my friends, and
I fear that I can loathe my friends
Or not having thereof
For I fear to realize
That I do not even know what I want
Or that no one knows what I want.
I loathe that I do not have the facilities
And sometimes the interest
And there is nothing much fearful
Than loathing your fears
And fearing your loathing
From your fears.
I fear the approaching season
For I am bound to loathe even more
That the people are carousing
For not a single reason
Whilst I loathe, whilst I fear
Not having anything.
And despite me inscribing these
I loathe that I am doing these, and
I fear that I am not doing these right.
I loathe and fear that I am hopeful
Again and again after another failure
And I loathe, and I fear,
That even with a fractured cranium
I would still go for another try
And I loathe even more
And I fear even more
That I loathe, and that I fear,
But never give up
On loath and fear.
poem by Norman Santos
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Summer Dawn.
Come with thy feet to the water, and bathe
Thy beauty here in the stream that will not pass!
The soft green leaves with their shadows swathe
The either bank, and under the ferns and grass
The dreamy crickets chirp in the dewy dawn,
Now that the light of the stars has grown
Into a thin pale mist in the night unknown;
The small birds twitter, whose senses quite
Have not yet out of their dreams withdrawn —
Here where my heart too waits for the light
Under the cloudy hills that soon will run
With bright feet in the ways of the sun,
As if they were but chained to the air:
Come to me now so fresh and fair —
Now that the reign of Sleep is done —
With twinkling feet in the dewy dawn!
O love, as grass comes to the lawn,
As day comes to the East, come thou —
Come to me now!
poem by Robert Crawford
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A Relifef in Surprise!
Rain is lashing out at its best on Western side mounts!
Dams are filling with overwhelming water after summer!
Dry canals are having over flowing water in Easter side!
What a pleasant surprise though the days are hot and hot!
What else is wanted on the Eastern side of the country?
Whether hot Sun burns all with heat or not water is there
To irrigate the fields and quench the thirst of people much!
Is it called blessing in disguise or what else could it be?
Though rivers are linked or not to bring water to dry lands
If rain and water flow everywhere people are blessed much!
This is what everybody prays everyday to God in dry places
And the prayer is answered after many trials and tribulations!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Old Man & Me
Well an old man said to me
In a voice filled with pain
Where you going young man
Said i'm going to fight a war
Gonna fight for my country
In some foreign land
He said "the sun will never hurt you
Never harmed anyone
But you must realize"
If you try to stare her down
She will win in the end
She will burn your eyes
She will burn them
Seen a million places
Seen a million faces die
And i wonder who will walk with me
When i get to heaven
He said "boy i was young once
Yeah i was tough
Sailing on uncle sam's boat
Hey i could kill the enemy
I could die on foreign streets
But i could not vote
But now you walk by me
You won't talk to me
Say this is my fate
But every time you walk the streets boy
Most of them you meet
You see it's you they hate
It's you...
Seen a million faces
Seen a million places die
And i wonder who will walk with me
When i get to heaven
I hope i get there
Seen a million places
Seen a million faces die
And i wonder who will walk with me
When i get there
See this woman sitting next to me
She's been there for a long, long time
And when i fell, she picked me up
When i cried, she wiped my tears
I thank god she's mine
And when i leave this world
She won't have anything
But her love for me
cause the man took everything else
Made me hate myself
So just let her be boy
Won't you let her be
song performed by by Hootie & The Blowfish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Man & Me
Well an old man said to me
In a voice filled with pain
Where you going young man
Said I'm going to fight a war
Gonna fight for my country
In some foreign land
He said "The sun will never hurt you
Never harmed anyone
But you must realize"
If you try to stare her down
She will win in the end
She will burn your eyes
She will burn them
Seen a million places
Seen a million faces die
And I wonder who will walk with me
When I get to Heaven
He said "Boy I was young once
Yeah I was tough
Sailing on Uncle Sam's boat
Hey I could kill the enemy
I could die on foreign streets
But I could not vote
But now you walk by me
You won't talk to me
Say this is my fate
But every time you walk the streets boy
Most of them you meet
You see it's you they hate
It's you...
Seen a million faces
Seen a million places die
And I wonder who will walk with me
When I get to Heaven
I hope I get there
Seen a million places
Seen a million faces die
And I wonder who will walk with me
When I get there
See this woman sitting next to me
She's been there for a long, long time
And when I fell, she picked me up
When I cried, she wiped my tears
I thank god she's mine
And when I leave this world
She won't have anything
But her love for me
Cause the man took everything else
Made me hate myself
So just let her be boy
Won't you let her be
song performed by by Hootie & The Blowfish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Live in New York
I am happiest
near the ocean,
where the changing light
reminds me of my death
& the fact that it need not be fatal-
yet I perch here
in the midst of the city
where the traffic dulls my senses,
where my ears scream at sirens,
where transistor radio blasts
invade my poems
like alien war chants.
But I never walk
the streets of New York
without hoping for the end
of the world.
How many years
before the streets return to flowers?
How many centuries
before the towers fall?
In my mind's eye,
New York falls to ruins.
Butterflies alight upon stones
and poppies spring
out of the asphalt fields.
Why do I stay here
when I love the ocean?
Because the ocean lulls me
with its peace.
Eternity is coming soon enough.
As monks sleep
in their own coffins,
I live in New York.
poem by Erica Jong
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An Alien... An Excuse
An alien wants to take me away
From this earth of too many aliens!
An alien
With no framed face nor a smiling face.
An alien
Who is all love and care for me.
May I go with him?
Stephen Hopkins gives his warning,
'Don`t play with the aliens'.
In fact all the aliens here have been just playing with me!
He knows not.
May I go with my one?
I shall go one day freeing myself
From all these frames of faces and their smiles.
I shall live in the mist of the Titan of Saturn
As no alien to my host.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Farmer remembers the Somme
Will they never fade or pass!
The mud, and the misty figures endlessly coming
In file through the foul morass,
And the grey flood-water ripping the reeds and grass,
And the steel wings drumming.
The hills are bright in the sun:
There's nothing changed or marred in the well-known places;
When work for the day is done
There's talk, and quiet laughter, and gleams of fun
On the old folks' faces.
I have returned to these:
The farm, and the kindly Bush, and the young calves lowing;
But all that my mind sees
Is a quaking bog in a mist - stark, snapped trees,
And the dark Somme flowing.
poem by Vance Palmer
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My School Days
Now-a-days where is that cheer,
unless i call up friends to have a beer,
Just like mist gone we are apart in many ways,
But where are my School days.
Now-a-days where is that enthusiasm,
for i bump into people with only sarcasm,
we sail world over on a ship,
unsuccessful even to strike a good friendship,
We have indeed drifted in many ways,
But where are my School days.
Now-a-days where is that laughter,
I hear just laughs to flatter,
true friends were those who where just there,
to say 'Hey we really care'
Scattered are we in many ways,
But where are my School days.
We are born with faces,
and now with a 'book',
we are now connected in many ways,
Where i come to cherish my School days.
poem by Deepak Calyampoondi
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Reverie
Reverie
Dreams have always been vital to me they have been a wing
To fly on for my consciousness, but lately there have been few
dreams and when I dream it is about places I have been to in
other thoughts, meeting people and seeing a nature that is
interior where the landscape it thorny and cannot be shared
with others. There is strangeness to see friends that do not exist,
familiar faces forever young they will just be there and not tell
me what to do, a burden one has to tolerate in conscious life.
My phone doesn’t ring although I’ve a funny, musical ringer tone.
By the lake of wonder virtual friends silently gather, look at me
as to say: “When are you going to be our real friend? ”But I will
not leave before I feel the joy of embracing you again, when
you stroke my vanishing hair and tell me that you love me
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Life Is ~ The Stones Under My Feet
Life is the stones under my feet
All the places I've walked
All the places I haven't
They say something about who I am
The pebbles that I pick up to toss in the ocean
The boulders I've sat on
The skipping stones I throw across the lake
Gravel and sand
And cobblestone streets
Places with history
Places where history is about to be written
And what it has to say for my history
All those stones that I've crunched
Under my boots
Or sandals
Or sneakers
Or just my bare feet
Walking carefully
And there occasionally is a piece of glass
When I cut myself I bleed
But I heal in the end
Then I get up to walk on more stones
Because life is where you choose to walk
And where you don't
poem by Indigo Rosedragon
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Faces
Key:-a - anita r - ray
A: look around you
What do those faces tell you?
R: faces, joy and pain
A: faces
All around different faces I see
Some are happy, some in misery
They express joy and pain
No two faces are the same.
R: people, people all over town
Some of them are poor and others wear a crown
Ive seen alot of many faces
Joy and pain in different places
Open your mind, set yourself free
Figure it out, what could it be?
Sympathise, understand
Give love and peace to the other fellow man
A: faces
R: faces, joy and pain
A: look around you
Do you see those faces
What do those faces tell you
A: everywhere I go, different faces I see
A: faces
All around different faces I see
Some are happy, some in misery
They express joy and pain
No two faces are the same.
R: playing with your life, playing with your soul
You all scream out Im the one in control
Killing of the colours, silly stupid games
You know who you are without no names
Dont mess the world cause that the sequal
Open your mind cause we talking about the people
In the world, all kind of places
Different races, different faces
A: different faces
Everywhere
song performed by by 2 Unlimited
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In some fields of grass under the hills (sestina)
This afternoon the peaks throw a big shade
with the black cliffs shining up on the hills,
while we lay together in the long grass,
I look in your eyes that are amber-green
while under my head there is a small stone
and you smile at me like the prettiest lady.
I had once known another charming lady;
that part of my life is now left in shade,
bad churchmen were casting stone upon stone,
while I had to flee from them to the hills
to pastures were everything is green
to find the Lord in divine fields of grass.
Under your head there is a crown of grass
and your mother is a gracious, kind lady,
around us everything is lovely green
while we are still resting in the cool shade,
we are softly chatting about life’s hills,
about walls of very hard granite stone.
Your eyes are much brighter than emerald stone
while all of your words are softer than grass,
reaching higher and beyond all the hills,
the high mountain which is dangerous lady,
while from our pain nothing gives any shade,
nowhere is a place of rest that is green.
Your summer dress is lovely, is bright green,
suddenly all our ails have turned to stone
I follow you further; see your small shade,
I am seen as one that woos any lady,
we walk past some flowers growing in grass,
climbing up higher into the foothills.
Bright streams are splashing down some of the hills,
with water transparent, sometimes cold and green,
love and lust burns like in a youthful lady
while I at that moment feel cold as stone,
we notice a deer feeding on lone grass
while our garments lie under a tree’s shade.
Far into the hills you want love till dusk’s shade,
where you peep like some green moss from the grass,
are tossing me with a stone like no lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Joyride
i want to take a ride
on the long and winding road of life
travel on his stony path
never mind the problems
i do not treat them as stubling blocks
for me they are he stepping stones
to become better and so i ride
on bridges..oh sometimes i think
why some people create walls instead of bridges
bridges connect walls separate
yet on my journey there are so many
walls more than bridges maybe
these are some reasons why people sometimes harbor hathred
yeah i want to take a ride
to the mountains and hills of life
even sometimes problems that come
are not like hills but mountains
yet mountains and hills can be climb
if you are patient enough
let my travel floats me
on the vast ocean of eternity
over seas, and drifting continents of experience
i just want to be there forever free
to taste the salty water or the swim
against the currents for it is better
to go against for a purpose than to just
follow where the water flows but
lost your inividuality
or to throw away your dignity
let me take this joy ride
let me not gather moss in a hideaway
let me just be me
as i travel from here to eternity
where i will take refuge
and the terminal awaits me
and i will rest to begin another journey
a journey that nevee ends
where our loving Father caress me
poem by Villiamor Calventas
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The Sea and the Hills
Who hath desired the Sea? -- the sight of salt water unbounded --
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless, enormous, and growing --
Stark calm on the lap of the Line or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing --
His Sea in no showing the same his Sea and the same 'neath each showing:
His Sea as she slackens or thrills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills!
Who hath desired the Sea? -- the immense and contemptuous surges?
The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing bow-sprit emerges?
The orderly clouds of the Trades, the ridged, roaring sapphire thereunder --
Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail's low-volleying thunder --
His Sea in no wonder the same his Sea and the same through each wonder:
His Sea as she rages or stills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills.
Who hath desired the Sea? Her menaces swift as her mercies?
The in-rolling walls of the fog and the silver-winged breeze that disperses?
The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and groans that declare it --
White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking timely to bare it --
His Sea as his fathers have dared -- his Sea as his children shall dare it:
His Sea as she serves him or kills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills.
Who hath desired the Sea? Her excellent loneliness rather
Than forecourts of kings, and her outermost pits than the streets where men gather
Inland, among dust, under trees -- inland where the slayer may slay him --
Inland, out of reach of her arms, and the bosom whereon he must lay him
His Sea from the first that betrayed -- at the last that shall never betray him:
His Sea that his being fulfils?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Great, Wide, Beautiful, Wonderful World
Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast--
World, you are beautifully drest.
The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree,
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.
You friendly Earth! how far do you go,
With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow,
With cities and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?
Ah, you are so great, and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, World, at all;
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper inside me seemed to say,
"You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot:
You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!"
poem by William Brighty Rands
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I Gave You My Heart
I wanted to give you the poppies field
and the stars, the blue vault,
but full of love, shy, and clumsy,
I gave you a rose in a jar instead.
I wanted to give you precious stones,
beautiful pearls,
but full of love, quiet, in the evening,
I gave you only warm kisses instead.
I wanted to give you the trees and the forest,
and wings to ascend to the wonderful sky,
but full of love when we walked wandering the streets,
I took your hand instead and never let it go.
I wanted to give you waters, springs,
hills and mountains and the rainbow,
but full of love - on a holy day,
I gave you my heart and the key of its lock.
poem by Marius Alexandru (22 January 2021)
Submitted by anonym
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Sestina
I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
to the short day and to the whitening hills,
when the colour is all lost from the grass,
though my desire will not lose its green,
so rooted is it in this hardest stone,
that speaks and feels as though it were a woman.
And likewise this heaven-born woman
stays frozen, like the snow in shadow,
and is unmoved, or moved like a stone,
by the sweet season that warms all the hills,
and makes them alter from pure white to green,
so as to clothe them with the flowers and grass.
When her head wears a crown of grass
she draws the mind from any other woman,
because she blends her gold hair with the green
so well that Amor lingers in their shadow,
he who fastens me in these low hills,
more certainly than lime fastens stone.
Her beauty has more virtue than rare stone.
The wound she gives cannot be healed with grass,
since I have travelled, through the plains and hills,
to find my release from such a woman,
yet from her light had never a shadow
thrown on me, by hill, wall, or leaves’ green.
I have seen her walk all dressed in green,
so formed she would have sparked love in a stone,
that love I bear for her very shadow,
so that I wished her, in those fields of grass,
as much in love as ever yet was woman,
closed around by all the highest hills.
The rivers will flow upwards to the hills
before this wood, that is so soft and green,
takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
for me, who would choose to sleep on stone,
all my life, and go eating grass,
only to gaze at where her clothes cast shadow.
Whenever the hills cast blackest shadow,
with her sweet green, the lovely woman
hides it, as a man hides stone in grass.
poem by Dante Alighieri
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