The Gentle Traveller
Through many a land your journey ran,
And showed the best the world can boast:
Now tell me, traveller, if you can,
The place that pleased you most."
She laid her hands upon my breast,
And murmured gently in my ear,
"The place I loved and liked the best
Was in your arms, my dear!"
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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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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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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A Domestic Tragedy
Clorinda met me on the way
As I came from the train;
Her face was anything but gay,
In fact, suggested pain.
"Oh hubby, hubby dear!" she cried,
"I've awful news to tell. . . ."
"What is it, darling?" I replied;
"Your mother -- is she well?"
"Oh no! oh no! it is not that,
It's something else," she wailed,
My heart was beating pit-a-pat,
My ruddy visage paled.
Like lightning flash in heaven's dome
The fear within me woke:
"Don't say," I cried, "our little home
Has all gone up in smoke!"
She shook her head. Oh, swift I clasped
And held her to my breast;
"The children! Tell me quick," I gasped,
"Believe me, it is best."
Then, then she spoke; 'mid sobs I caught
These words of woe divine:
"It's coo-coo-cook has gone and bought
A new hat just like mine."
poem by Robert William Service
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Another Acrostic ( In the style of Father William )
"Are you deaf, Father William!" the young man said,
"Did you hear what I told you just now?
"Excuse me for shouting! Don't waggle your head
"Like a blundering, sleepy old cow!
"A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town,
"Is my friend, so I beg to remark:
"Do you think she'd be pleased if a book were sent down
"Entitled 'The Hunt of the Snark?'"
"Pack it up in brown paper!" the old man cried,
"And seal it with olive-and-dove.
"I command you to do it!" he added with pride,
"Nor forget, my good fellow to send her beside
"Easter Greetings, and give her my love."
poem by Lewis Carroll
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The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
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The Gardener XXVI: What Comes From Your Willing Hands
"What comes from your willing
hands I take. I beg for nothing
more."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If there be a stray flower for me
I will wear it in my heart."
"But if there be thorns?"
"I will endure them."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If but once you should raise your
loving eyes to my face it would make
my life sweet beyond death."
"But if there be only cruel
glances?"
"I will keep them piercing my
heart."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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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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There was a land where lived no violets
There was a land where lived no violets.
A traveller at once demanded : "Why?"
The people told him:
"Once the violets of this place spoke thus:
'Until some woman freely gives her lover
To another woman
We will fight in bloody scuffle.'"
Sadly the people added:
"There are no violets here."
poem by Stephen Crane
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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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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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I Wonder Where My Papa Is?
I wonder where my papa is,
Oh, where could he have gone,
I wonder why he does not come
And see his Lilly Long.
He would come and sit by me
When the fever burnt my brow,
I wonder where my papa is,
For he comes not near me now.
I hear no more the foot pace
In the hall by my door,
Where he would gently, gently tread
Upon the oaken floor.
His place is vacant by the hearth,
There stands his easy chair;
I hear no more his loving voice
Raising the evening prayer.
The last time I saw my papa dear
Was just five days ago,
He took me in his arms and said,
"You are getting better slow,
Thank God, my little Lilly pet
Will soon be well again,
And run about the house and play
With little Nettie Lane."
I wonder where my papa is,
Oh, where could he have gone,
It cannot be he has forgotten
His little Lilly Long.
No, he never would have left me
And mamma without aid;
I fear my papa has fallen
A victim of the "plague."
The mother listened to her child,
Her heart filled with pain
To hear her loved one mourn for him
Who would never come again.
Tears were falling from her eyes,
From her bossom heaved a sigh;
Little Lilly asked in wonder,
"Mamma dear, what makes you cry?"
"Dearest Lilly must I tell you
That your papa is no more,
That he cannot come and see you
And caress you as of yore.
He has gone to live with Jesus,
In the heavenly home above,
Where are dwelling the blessed
In God's everlasting love."
Lilly listened to her mother,
She uttered not a sound,
O'er her little pale cheeks softly
Tears began to trinkle down;
At last she sweetly murmured,
"Mamma dear, you and I
Must live so we can meet papa
In Heaven, by and by."
"Yes, my child," the mother answered,
"Your words are very true,
While we live on earth we should keep
The heavenly land in view;
Then bright on earth will be our future,
Bright as a shining star;
We will live in love together,
Till we reach that home afar."
poem by Julia A Moore
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Burial of Sarah
He stood before the sons of Heth,
And bowed his sorrowing head;
"I've come," he said, "to buy a place
Where I may lay my dead.
"I am a stranger in your land,
My home has lost its light;
Grant me a place where I may lay
My dead away from sight."
Then tenderly the sons of Heth
Gazed on the mourner's face,
And said, "Oh, Prince, amid our dead,
Choose thou her resting-place.
"The sepulchres of those we love,
We place at thy command;
Against the plea thy grief hath made
We close not heart nor hand."
The patriarch rose and bowed his head,
And said, "One place I crave;
'Tis at the end of Ephron's field,
And called Machpelah's cave.
"Entreat him that he sell to me
For her last sleep that cave;
I do not ask for her I loved
The freedom of a grave."
The son of Zohar answered him,
"Hearken, my lord, to me;
Before our sons, the field and cave
I freely give to thee."
"I will not take it as a gift,"
The grand old man then said;
"I pray thee let me buy the place
Where I may lay my dead."
And with the promise in his heart,
His seed should own that land,
He gave the shekels for the field
He took from Ephron's hand.
And saw afar the glorious day
His chosen seed should tread,
The soil where he in sorrow lay
His loved and cherished dead.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Above Myself
(3/30/12)
Sitting at home watching t. v.
When something took control of me
I felt as if I was floating on air
I had no worries, I had no cares.
I saw myself staring down at me
And asking myself: how can this be?
Then I heard a strange voice over my head saying
" you're alive - you're not dead"
There is a place that you must go
This is a place that I must show.
He took my hand and up we went
I felt as if it was heaven sent.
He showed me a country ravaged by war
And bodies were strewn all over the floor.
He showed me families living in shacks
Under terrorists attacks
He showed me children walking the streets
Looking for water and something to eat.
He showed me women being raped
And a terrorist putting it on tape.
He said: this is the point that this world has come to
And there is something that I must ask of you
" we need these voices to be heard
We need you to spread the word"
Then he took me back to where I began
For this was all part of GODS plan.
He wants all of us to do what's right
This should be our only fight.
"Now I see and understand that we must do all we can."
poem by Louis Rams
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Arcturus
"Arcturus" is his other name—
I'd rather call him "Star."
It's very mean of Science
To go and interfere!
I slew a worm the other day—
A "Savant" passing by
Murmured "Resurgam"—"Centipede"!
&q uot;Oh Lord—how frail are we"!
I pull a flower from the woods—
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath—
And has her in a "class"!
Whereas I took the Butterfly
Aforetime in my hat—
He sits erect in "Cabinets"—
The Clover bells forgot.
What once was "Heaven"
Is "Zenith" now—
Where I proposed to go
When Time's brief masquerade was done
Is mapped and charted too.
What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I'm ready for "the worst"—
Whatever prank betides!
Perhaps the "Kingdom of Heaven's" changed—
I hope the "Children" there Won't be "new fashioned" when I come—
And laugh at me—and stare—
I hope the Father in the skies
Will lift his little girl—
Old fashioned—naught—everything—
Over the stile of "Pearl."
poem by Emily Dickinson
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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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I showed her Heights she never saw
446
I showed her Heights she never saw—
"Would'st Climb," I said?
She said—"Not so"—
"With me—" I said—With me?
I showed her Secrets—Morning's Nest—
The Rope the Nights were put across—
And now—"Would'st have me for a Guest?"
She could not find her Yes—
And then, I brake my life—And Lo,
A Light, for her, did solemn glow,
The larger, as her face withdrew—
And could she, further, "No"?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Lead "me" to "me
What is this place?
Where have I reached?
I stand infront
The mirror,
As a stranger
Stares back at me.
Do I know her?
Have we met before?
Why do I see in her traces of' me'?
Or is this…
The new ‘me"?
Do I like her?
Brazen she stands…
Her hair wind swept,
Her eyes, wild
No longer windows
To the divinity of her soul.
But her smile has
Traces of "me".
That strange
Devil in "me".
As I shudder in peril,
Where have I reached?
Its miles and miles of mist,
Paths untread,
Lonely beings.
But…
Its this mysterious "me"
Which terrifies my soul.
Did I ever want to be
"her"?
Do I have a choice?
Is it too late to decide,
Revert, run back?
Where did I lose the "me"
I was so proud about?
Pray, give me your magic hand
Do lead "me to"me"…
For without "you" holding "me"
I remain not even "me"
Daddy…
your little 'ai'is all lost
Please lead "me" to "me"….
poem by Anjali Kakati
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Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"
-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Our Love
Just "us" and "we"
For we are one
Not "you" and "me"
Or we are done
There for always
Every moment
Good and bad days
That's our intent
As we embark
On this journey
Out of the dark
Where we can see
And live each day
Giving it all
I pray we stay
And do not fall
So hold on tight
And don't let go
We'll make it right
Our love will grow
poem by Paul H Nelson
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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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