The reason behind
Why thoughts are pushing me to the corner?
Why that stage has approached me sooner?
The creator of universe may be clever
He has not given permanent stage to any one forever
It suggests that I must calm down
Leave all worldly pleasure and go down
Take no more responsibility and think fresh
Release the control over property and cash
I had collected it over long years
With great struggle and through tears
I had sweated in noon and gathered little by little
It had given me some respite at the end to settle
It was nice to feel with whatever I had
I was able to provide them house and bread
With good education and long carrier to enjoy
There was no room for complain or cause to annoy
Now I had realized that birds had powerful wings
They had everything on hand to dance and sing
"Was I coming in their way" this thought puzzled
I could not sleep properly that day and it troubled
So far they had shown no discourtesy
I was given everything and they obeyed too
There was no room for putting mistrust
But I had to act fast and it was must
I knew that day may come one day for me to quit
If I do it willingly then all members may greet
If I fail to distribute equally then it may create imbalance
So I decided to give it in everybody's presence
"Dear sons and daughters" I had called them in my room
I have given you enough of freedom to grow and groom
It is now your turn to share the responsibility
Relieve me from this burden and handle it with your capability
They saw the reason behind
As there was nothing unusual to find
It was all agreed amicably
I heaved a sigh and breathed happily
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Related quotes
Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
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The New Knighthood
Who gives him the Bath?
"I," said the wet,
Rank-Jungle-sweat,
"I'll give him the Bath!"
Who'll sing the psalms?
"We," said the Palms.
"Ere the hot wind becalms,
"We'll sing the psalms."
Who lays on the sword ?
"I," said the Sun,
Before he has done,
"I'll lay on the sword."
"Who fastens his belt?
"I," said Short-Rations,
" I know all the fashions
"Of tightening a belt!"
Who gives him his spur?
"I," said his Chief,
Exacting and brief,
"I'll give him the spur."
Who'll shake his hand?
"I," said the Fever,
"And I'm no deceiver,
"I'll shake his hand."
Who brings him the wine?
"I," said Quinine,
"It's a habit of mine.
"I'11 come with his wine."
Who'll put him to proof?
"I," said All Earth.
"Whatever he's worth,
"I'll put to the proof."
Who'll choose him for Knight?
"I," said his Mother,
"Before any other,
"My very own Knight."
And after this fashion, adventure to seek,
Sir Galahad was made--as it might be last week!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Sea
The Sea called--I lay on the rocks and said:
"I am come."
She mocked and showed her teeth,
Stretching out her long green arms.
"Go away!" she thundered.
"Then tell me what I am to do," I begged.
"If I leave you, you will not be silent,
But cry my name in the cities
And wistfully entreat me in the plains and forests;
All else I forsake to come to you--what must I do?"
"Never have I uttered your name," snarled the Sea.
"There is no more of me in your body
Than the little salt tears you are frightened of shedding.
What can you know of my love on your brown rock
pillow....
Come closer."
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Song
I came to the door of the House of Love
And knocked as the starry night went by;
And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said
"It is I."
And Love looked down from a lattice above
Where the roses were dry as the lips of the dead:
"There is not room in the House of Love
For you both," he said.
I plucked a leaf from the porch and crept
Away through a desert of scoffs and scorns
To a lonely place where I prayed and wept
And wove me a crown of thorns.
I came once more to the House of Love
And knocked, ah, softly and wistfully,
And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said
"None now but thee."
And the great doors opened wide apart
And a voice rang out from a glory of light,
"Make room, make room for a faithful heart
In the House of Love, to-night."
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Middle-Age Enthusiasms
To M. H.
WE passed where flag and flower
Signalled a jocund throng;
We said: "Go to, the hour
Is apt!"--and joined the song;
And, kindling, laughed at life and care,
Although we knew no laugh lay there.
We walked where shy birds stood
Watching us, wonder-dumb;
Their friendship met our mood;
We cried: "We'll often come:
We'll come morn, noon, eve, everywhen!"
--We doubted we should come again.
We joyed to see strange sheens
Leap from quaint leaves in shade;
A secret light of greens
They'd for their pleasure made.
We said: "We'll set such sorts as these!"
--We knew with night the wish would cease.
"So sweet the place," we said,
"Its tacit tales so dear,
Our thoughts, when breath has sped,
Will meet and mingle here!"...
"Words!" mused we. "Passed the mortal door,
Our thoughts will reach this nook no more."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Voice of Truth - A Short Story
"I cannot love her! , yelled the man.
"And why is that? ", the soft voice questioned.
"She will never change. ", the man exclaimed,
"She yells at me, scolds me and does not respect me."
"I can see how you cannot love her.", replied the voice.
The man loosened up. "You understand? ", he asked.
"Of course I understand" the voice confirmed,
"How can you possibly love a woman like that, "
"When you are expecting so much of her? "
Puzzled, the man listened to the voice further.
"You cannot love and expect at the same time.
You can either love her, or expect from her
You see, the purpose of love is to give.
It is my gift to you, to be given to another.
As is her love for you.
You choose who the gift is given to and who it is not.
You cannot expect her to give you her love.
That is a demand.
All you have the ability to do,
Is to give her yours.
The balance you seek is very unbalanced.
Patience, kindness, grace and mercy are all gifts you can give.
If you are expectant of them, they are no longer a gift.
They become a right, an entitlement or an obligation.
The gift of one's love is not a right, but a privilege.
As are all privileges, if abused, they will be taken away.'
A tear rolled down the man's face.
"My heart has been so full of myself, I had no room in it for her." The man sobbed.
"I can see how that works."
The man seeing the err of his ways, realized his love was not true.
He returned to his wife with a new love.
A love not defined by himself,
But as defined by the voice of truth.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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The Quarrel
Our quarrel seemed a giant thing,
It made the room feel mean and small,
The books, the lamp, the furniture,
The very pictures on the wall--
Crowded upon us as we sat
Pale and terrified, face to face.
"Why do you stay?" she said, "my room
Can never be your resting place."
"Katinka, ere we part for life,
I pray you walk once more with me."
So down the dark, familiar road
We paced together, silently.
The sky--it seemed on fire with stars!
I said:--"Katinka dear, look up!"
Like thirsty children, both of us
Drank from the giant loving cup.
"Who were those dolls?" Katinka said
"What were their stupid, vague alarms?"
And suddenly we turned and laughed
And rushed into each other's arms.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Sue In The Stew
In my "Stew" my "Stew of Goo" I will have control over you.
Yes, I will control you with my evil spell,
I will control this doll with named Mel.
I will say things that are not NICE,
you see I took your Power and I control the Dice!
Everything is "neat" in this "Game of Deceit"
This Game where I control everything.
Yes, I took your power that you willfully gave to me,
that was Deal, don't you see? ? ?
Don't tell me you want your Power intact,
You chose me as your mother! !
So I can talk behind your back! !
Now, now, you say "Why would I do that? "
You had to find yourself and get back on track...
See how would you ever know who you really are.
"Why, you think you came into this world complete like Sarah Star? ? ? "
You needed my "Evil" ways to make you strong,
you can thank ME when I am long gone...
Now, now you realize it wasn't about ME,
why it was all about YOU,
Yes you finding You—"YOU in the Stew"
Written By Suzae Chevalier in 2006 & 2010
poem by Christina Sunrise
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What is—
215
What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—
Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—
You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Lesson
Whenever my mother, who taught
small children forty years,
asked a question, she
already knew the answer.
"Would you like to" meant
you would. "Shall we" was
another, and "Don't you think."
As in "Don't you think
it's time you cut your hair."
So when, in the bare room,
in the strict bed, she said,
"You want to see?" her hands
were busy at her neckline,
untying the robe, not looking
down at it, stitches
bristling where the breast
had been, but straight at me.
I did what I always did:
not weep --she never wept--
and made my face a kindly
whitewashed wall, so she
could write, again, whatever
she wanted there.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Ellen Bryant Voigt
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You're right—
234
You're right—"the way is narrow"—
And "difficult the Gate"—
And "few there be"—Correct again—
That "enter in—thereat"—
'Tis Costly—So are purples!
'Tis just the price of Breath—
With but the "Discount" of the Grave—
Termed by the Brokers—"Death"!
And after that—there's Heaven—
The Good Man's—"Dividend"—
And Bad Men—"go to Jail"—
I guess—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Us Two
Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.
Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.
"Let's go together," says Pooh.
"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.
("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."
"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,
But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what it is," said Pooh.
"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.
"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what they are," said Pooh.
"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.
"That's right," said Pooh to Me.
"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.
"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,
"I'm never afraid with you."
So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,
"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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New born
"Wake up, fast" I was shaken from deep sleep
Remain awake and be fit enough to keep
And run for any help they may require
Mother was on heels and just passed on fire
"What a man you are "your wife has delivered a baby"
Finish everything and report that you are ready
We are rushing to hospital to welcome new born
Now you may be under control and governed
Mother smiled wearily but it was fact
I was still running careless and not serious enough to act
What she must be in mind I failed to know
But of course it strict order to go
What an anxiety to feel as father
Child was asleep but cared by mother
Taken in lap and covered with smooth cloth
There was deep smile on her face and seemed happy both
This may be called glorious day for all mothers
As their life mission is fulfilled like others
What if later on children desert or don't look after!
Now was the time to enjoy happy moments and roar in laughter
Beautiful child opened his eyes and cried
Wife carried him to give me and carefully tried
Mother stared at me silently but happily smiled
New entry was confirmed and filed
You become responsible person all of sudden
Since yesterday you were careless and not taken note of even
Today you are father of child and everybody wants to share moment
"Congrats dear" not a single soul will be left to remind of development
I may be unconcerned as all these happenings
But surely thanked God for new beginning
The sun has shown over my carrier
Nice label of father has been put and removed all other barriers
I shared eye contact with wife
She was elated and felt the taste of real life
She may have lot more to do with new born
But now I was laden with lots of responsibility and concern
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Goodbye Mine M.j.
A "Stranger in Moscow" told me that you've gone!
But is it true that you've gone my M.J.?
And with tears in my eyes I say goodbye my M.J.
You who feeds the eyes and the ears
And has graced our African soil
But why did you have to go, you "Smooth criminal"
When you know "They don't care about us"
Tell me, who will "Heal the world"?
Who will make it a better place for us?
Who will give to the poor once and again to their necessity?
Who will be there for them in their anguish and pain?
O', know you not that admired you are of those that hate you most
And did you have to go; or where you too lonely?
But you said "We're the world" that "You are not alone"
Then why did you have to go? And did you leave another "Thriller"
If no, then why choose to be "The man in the mirror"
Thus dirge and elegy now met in my heart. Why?
"Do you remember the time" we first met in my dream
And "The way you make me feel" with your "Childhood"?
Oh king of pop, my M.J., "I want you back"
And you "Got to be there" for me on my birthday
To sing me your song, "Don't stop till you get enough"
While "Rockin Robin and Ben" "Off the wall" till they "Scream"
For your love is magical because you're angelica
You are so wonderful because you're beautiful
You are indispensable because you're irreplaceable
And now I see the "Liberian girl" cry because you're "Speechless"
And upon our bodies the nighted color of mourning you. Why?
Alas death! Why taketh him away when all that look on him yet not satisfied?
O', let not the world lose another "Michael Jackson".
Michael I love you "Yesterday, today and forever."
May the spirit light your way
Through the land of the shadow
To the halls of eternal peace. Amen.
In the cabinet of my imagination, in the treasury of my reason, in the registry of my conscience, and in the council chamber of my thought, there shall you live forever.
I LOVE YOU MINE M.J.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Commandeering
Our hero was a Tommy with a conscience free from care,
And such an open countenance that when he breathed the air
He mopped up all the atmosphere -- so little went to spare
You could hardly say he breathed, he "commandeered" it.
For nowadays you'll notice when a man is "on the make",
And other people's property is anxious for to take,
We never use such words as "steal", or "collar", "pinch", or "shake".
No, the fashion is to say we "commandeered" it.
And our simple-minded hero used to grumble at his lot,
Said he, "This commandeerin's just a little bit too hot,
A fellow has to carry every blooming thing he's got;
Whatever he puts down they'll commandeer it."
So after much anxiety our simple-minded elf
He thought he'd do a little commandeering for himself,
And the first thing that he'd noticed was a bottle on a shelf
In a cottage, so he thought he'd commandeer it.
"What ho!" says he, "a bottle, and, by George, it's full of beer,
And no commanding officer to come and interfere.
Here's my own blooming health," says he, "I'm on the commandeer."
And without another word he commandeered it.
On his subsequent proceedings we must draw a little veil,
For the Boers had left some sheep dip in that bottle labelled "Ale";
But the doctor said he's shift it -- if all other methods fail,
We must use the stomach pump and commandeer it.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Hamlet Micure
In a lingering fever many visions come to you:
I was in the little house again
With its great yard of clover
Running down to the board-fence,
Shadowed by the oak tree,
Where we children had our swing.
Yet the little house was a manor hall
Set in a lawn, and by the lawn was the sea.
I was in the room where little Paul
Strangled from diphtheria,
But yet it was not this room --
It was a sunny verandah enclosed
With mullioned windows,
And in a chair sat a man in a dark cloak,
With a face like Euripides.
He had come to visit me, or I had gone to visit him --
I could not tell.
We could hear the beat of the sea, the clover nodded
Under a summer wind, and little Paul came
With clover blossoms to the window and smiled.
Then I said: "What is 'divine despair,' Alfred?"
"Have you read 'Tears, Idle Tears'?" he asked.
"Yes, but you do not there express divine despair."
"My poor friend," he answered, "that was why the despair
Was divine."
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Cord Of Gossamer
The gossamer cord it tightens,
As I try to move away.
Although I love you Eternally,
We can't live day by day.
I puzzled over this anomaly
Down the years that passed so full,
And asked myself, what can I do?
"Nothing" came reply, "just null."
But still I puzzled, beat my brow,
Felt I should do it all.
"No child" you gently chided,
"You're riding for a fall."
Only live your life for you,
Though interlinked you be.
This gauntlet is not yours to run.
Let go your agony.
Though partners through the Universe,
Evolving along with he.
You cannot move his pieces (chess) ,
You have to let him be.
And if he honours his Karma,
Then the choice is yours to live,
But if he should choose to turn away,
Then freedom you must give.
Not just for him my child you said,
As I turned bewildered face.
In puzzlement to you I cried,
But we won't win the race.
Then if that's so my darling one,
Accept it and move on.
For you can't be he as well as you,
For this life at least it must be gone.
Maybe in the lifetimes still to come,
You still could join in pace.
But two it still takes hand in hand.
‘Tis never just one face.
poem by Rosi Caswell
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My Groupie
I read last Saturday in the
redwoods outside of Santa Cruz
and I was about 3/4's finished
when I heard a long high scream
and a quite attractive
young girl came running toward me
long gown & divine eyes of fire
and she leaped up on the stage
and screamed: "I WANT YOU!
I WANT YOU! TAKE ME! TAKE
ME!"
I told her, "look, get the hell
away from me."
but she kept tearing at my
clothing and throwing herself
at me.
"where were you," I
asked her, "when I was living
on one candy bar a day and
sending short stories to the
Atlantic Monthly?"
she grabbed my balls and almost
twisted them off. her kisses
tasted like shitsoup.
2 women jumped up on the stage
and
carried her off into the
woods.
I could still hear her screams
as I began the next poem.
mabye, I thought, I should have
taken her on stage in front
of all those eyes.
but one can never be sure
whether it's good poetry or
bad acid.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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At play
Play that you are mother dear,
And play that papa is your beau;
Play that we sit in the corner here,
Just as we used to, long ago.
Playing so, we lovers two
Are just as happy as we can be,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
"I love you" we both shall say,
All in earnest and all in play.
Or, play that you are that other one
That some time came, and went away;
And play that the light of years agone
Stole into my heart again to-day!
Playing that you are the one I knew
In the days that never again may be,
I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
I love you!" my heart shall say
To the ghost of the past come back to-day!
Or, play that you sought this nestling-place
For your own sweet self, with that dual guise
Of your pretty mother in your face
And the look of that other in your eyes!
So the dear old loves shall live anew
As I hold my darling on my knee,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
Oh, many a strange, true thing we say
And do when we pretend to play!
poem by Eugene Field
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Uhland's
There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine,
And gayly they called to the hostess for wine.
"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,--
Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!"
"I'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she said,
"But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead."
And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white
Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight.
Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh,
And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye,
And he cried, "Hadst thou lived, O my pretty white rose,
I ween I had loved thee and wed thee--who knows?"
The next cavalier drew aside a small space,
And stood to the wall with his hands to his face;
And this was the heart-cry that came with his tears:
"I loved her, I loved her these many long years!"
But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that place,
And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face:
"I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day,
And I'll love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye!"
poem by Eugene Field
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