To A Couple Of Students Who Were Teasing Her
Where are you going, my dear little greenhorns?
Here, I'll teach you how to turn a verse or two
Young drones sucking at withered flowers,
Little goats brushing horns against a fence.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Wasps
Where are you wandering to, little fools
Come, big sister will teach you how to write verse
Itchy little wasps sucking rotting flowers
Horny baby lambkins butting gaps in the fence
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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We Teach Them Young
We teach them young,
What to dislike.
And...
To separate into divisons,
With preferences selected.
We teach them young,
How to hate and who to fight.
With weapons used to kill.
And incite with mindless deeds.
We...
Teach them this!
We teach them,
With a rehabilitation done...
To respect laws when broken.
With the best of pretentions kept.
We...
Teach them this!
We teach them young,
The art of deception.
Self righteousness and hypocriscy.
And then when they reflect these lessons taught...
We teach them denial to have others believe.
We teach them young with a doing done they do!
And yet we get upset with regrets to protest those tests,
They have passed.
With accusations directed at others to blame,
For implimenting those tasks we teach.
We...
Teach them young!
With a doing of this not to admit.
As we wish for escape from their commitments,
Made.
We...
Teach them young.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Beautiful Flower Blooming
A withered flower blooming again
breeze shook the flower
the sun is shining on flower
rain water to wash the dust-filled flower
abort storm petals
storm that renders the flower petals
polling beetle sucking painful
flower that bloom so bright today
beauty exudes an aura of coolness of the beholder
spread the fragrance that invites a bee to touch
although many other flowers around it
bees sucking the flower first
choose to suck and touch the flower
lately the flower
always bloom radiate beauty
a bee was not able to get away from the flower
a bee sucking the beautiful bloomington
always produce the honey taste good
really beautiful relationship between the flower and bee
both are very compatible and complement each other
poem by meti Rahmawati
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So Much To Do
The face of the world is a homely face,
And the look of the world unkind,
When harsh on your arm a hand it lays
And bids you into the grind,
That 's little to your mind, my dear,
That 's little to your mind.
But it 's work that counts in the world, you see;
Not what we dream, but do:
For the dreamer of dreams, whatever he be,
If he 'd have his dreams come true,
Must be a workman, too, my dear,
Must be a workman, too.
So much to do; so much to know;
So much that life would shirk!
But each is one of a hive below,
The world's great Hive of Irk,
Where each must do his work, my dear,
Each one must do his work.
A song, a look, a word of cheer,
Will help more than a sigh!
For this is the law of the hive, my dear,
That every bee must try, my dear,
And all the drones must die, my dear,
That all the drones must die.
Oft-times it seems that the end is far,
And the work we do, in vain;
That night will never reveal a star,
And day bring only rain,
To trouble our hearts again, my dear,
To trouble our hearts again.
But ever the stars are shining there
With ever the old regard;
And be it foul, or be it fair,
However long debarred,
All work has its reward, my dear,
All work has its reward.
Could summer come without the rose?
Or morn without the sun?
And thus shall toil bring soul's repose
To each and every one,
Whose work at last is done, my dear,
Whose work at last is done.
For the face of the world is a homely face,
But the look in its eyes is kind
To him who sets his heart's brisk pace
To the work he has in mind,
And turns not with the wind, my dear,
And turns not with the wind.
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Teach Me How to Eat
If you notice I stay hungry,
Teach me how to eat.
If you notice no baloney,
Teach me how to eat.
More discipline I may be needing.
Teach me how to eat.
More seriousness I may yet miss.
Teach me how to eat.
No medications do I take,
To keep a pace that irritates.
No longer young with dumb ideals.
Teach me how to eat.
I wish a peace that keeps me feeding.
So teach me how to eat.
I see in you more than in some.
The ones who can not overcome.
I see some stumble as others run.
But you,
Know how to eat.
Success you've reached and still you seek.
Teach me how to eat...
I'm hungry.
Teach me how to eat.
Success you've reached and still you seek.
Teach me how to eat...
I'm hungry.
Teach me how to eat.
If you notice I stay hungry,
Teach me how to eat.
If you notice no baloney,
Teach me how to eat.
I'm hungry.
Teach me how to eat.
Teach me how to eat.
I'm hungry.
Teach me how to eat.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Temptation
YOU bring your love too late, dear, I have no love to buy it,
I spent my love on worthless toys, at fairs you do not know;
I am a bankrupt trader--dear eyes, do not deny it,
I could have bought your love, dear, but that was long ago.
My soul has left me widowed, my heart has made me orphan,
Leave me--all good things, dear, have left me--leave me too!
For here is ice no tears of yours, no smiles of yours can soften:
Leave me, leave me, leave me, I have no love for you!
I have no flowers to give you, they grow not in my garden;
I have no songs to sing you, my songs have all been sung;
I have no hope of heaven, no faith in any pardon,
I might have loved you once, dear, when I was good and young.
I will not steal, nor cheat you; take back the heart you lent me.
O God, whom I have outraged, now teach me how to pray,
That love come never again so near me to torment me,
Lest I be found less faithful than, by Thy grace, to-day.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The horns of the sister are horns of gold; the horns of the wife are true horns.
The Chrysanthemums in the Eastern Garden
The days of my youth left me long ago;
And now in their turn dwindle my years of prime.
With what thoughts of sadness and loneliness
I walk again in this cold, deserted place!
In the midst of the garden long I stand alone;
The sunshine, faint; the wind and dew chill.
The autumn lettuce is tangled and turned to seed;
The fair trees are blighted and withered away.
All that is left are a few chrysanthemum-flowers
That have newly opened beneath the wattled fence.
I had brought wine and meant to fill my cup,
When the sight of these made me stay my hand.
I remember, when I was young,
How easily my mood changed from sad to gay.
If I saw wine, no matter what season,
Before I drank it, my heart was already glad.
But now that age comes,
A moment of joy is harder and harder to get.
And always I fear that when I am quite old
The strongest liquor will leave me comfortless.
Therefore I ask you, late chrysanthemum-flower
At this sad season why do you bloom alone?
Though well I know that it was not for my sake,
Taught by you, for a while I will open my face.
If Flowers Turn
Flowers for a girl who was placed in the dark
Flowers from a world that had taken her heart
They looked so pretty, but the blood stained them
If flowers turn
Throw them away, throw them away
If flowers turn
Throw them away, throw them away
Pull the braids untie all of the pain from your hair
Don't let the buzzards try or they'll take what's been there
Signs appear, and the worst you fear
If flowers turn
Throw them away, throw them away
If flowers turn
Throw them away, throw them away
Don't look to the dark all of the pain that you want is here
Uncover your heart so the feeling can disappear
The worst winds are calling, they need you they want you
I'm in the dark and I can see a thing for miles
If flowers turn
Throw them away, throw them away
If flowers turn
Throw them away, throw them away
I know, I've seen the pain in your heart
Because I died for us
song performed by by Ours
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Natural selections
Where there prevail
Proximity and absence of suspicion
In relation between the two
There strikes adultery.
Others dear by love and passion
Are only withered flowers
03.08.2000, Paralakhemundi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Consummation
They may be duds or they may be drones,
Or legislators heaven-sent;
But the A.L.P. for all atones
When it gets them into Parliament.
Tho' they talk sheer drivel once they're there,
Our job is done. Why should we care?
They may be mild or they may be reds,
Or 'has-beens' who have missed the bus.
But the simple job of counting heads
Is all that matters much to us.
And the job we do with wondrous ease
Is the mas production of M.P's.
So, why blame us in peevish gloom,
And charge us with this grievous sin?
They may involve the land in doom;
But our job's done; we've got 'em in.
As from the pod come peas all green
We turn 'em out with our machine.
They may be robots, built with care,
Or silly sheep, or crazy goats;
But, once they're tied and branded there,
They art no longer men, but votes.
Thus, we our glorious aim achieve,
And triumph, tho' the nation grieve.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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How To Train A Snake
How To Train A Snake
Date: August 22,2012
Teach me not to suffer, dear
To rise up from the fall
Teach me to feel the sunshine
And to understand the call
Teach my heart, to be as stone
Numbed against the sting
Teach me how to shed my skin
And never feel a thing
Teach me how to carry on
To close the open doors
Teach me to darken every page
And never yearn for more
Teach me all, you know so well
To search for prey, as you
Teach me how to slither by
Still smiling when I'm through
********************************** ***********
Copyright © 2012 Leria Hawkins, All Rights Reserved
poem by Leria Hawkins
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Teach The Gifted Children
Teach the gifted children
Teach them to have mercy
Teach them about sunsets
Teach them about moonrise
Teach them about anger
The sin that comes with dawning
Teach them about flowers
And the beauty of forgetfulness
Then take me to the river (take me to the river)
And put me in the water (and put me in the water)
Bless them and forgive them (take me to the river)
Father cause they just dont know (take me to the river)
All the gifted children
Teach the gifted children
The way of men and animals
Teach them about cities
The history of the mysteries
Their vice and their virtues
About branches that blow in the wind
On the wages of their sins
Teach them of forgiveness
Teach them about mercy
Teach them about music
And the cool and cleansing waters
What do they say, take me to the river (take me to the river)
Take me to the river (take me to the river)
Put me in the water (take me to the river)
And teach the gifted children (take me to the river)
All the gifted children (take me to the river)
(take me to the river)
(take me to the river)
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turn Around
(malvina reynolds/allan greene/harry belafonte)
Where are you going my little one, little one
Where are you going my baby my own
Turn around and youre two
Turn around and youre four
Turn around and youre a young girl
Going out of the door
Turn around
Turn around
Turn around and youre a young girl
Going out of the door
Where are you going my little one, little one
Little dirndls and petticoats, where are you know
Turn around and youre tiny
Turn around and youre grown
Turn around and youre a young wife
With babes of your own
Turn around
Turn around
Turn around and youre a young wife
With babes of your own
Turn around
Turn around
Turn around and youre a young wife
Turn around and youre a young wife
With babes of your own
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Disappear Like a Fool
My summers have withered
Like thirsty flowers,
And I cannot turn back
The unforgiving clock
To a happy hour;
And despite youth
Hitchhiking to destinations gone;
Maturity has not arrived,
And I remain
A stranger in the world.
Young mothers grace
The kind boulevards of my dreams
Strolling the children
I never fathered,
And my hopes have been swallowed
Like a coffin in a grave,
And I have to accept
The mistakes I’ve made
And disappear like a fool
Without posterity
To protect my memories.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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It’s the second day that I visit
It’s the second day that I visit
on the farm near Reivelo,
just past Vryburg.
They farm with cattle, goats,
a few sheep, muscovy ducks, turkeys
and chicken.
The scrambler bumps up and down
right through the field
and go past rocks and bushes,
while we drive along the rough field
and the hot wind
cut across my face
and there are places
where it cannot go.
It’s time to transform
young bulls to oxen,
to brand cattle
and to cut their horns
and I get a black stallion
to ride into the field.
My cousin rides in front
with a brown Arabian mare
and there are bushes
and flat slabs of rock
and small hillocks that we past
to try and round up young cattle
to the corral.
It’s nice to be a cattle herder
for a time
and to use legs and heels
and reigns,
to round up cattle in the field.
Every thing goes well until
I chase a young black bull
just to the entrance of the fold,
where it stops stubbornly
and doesn’t want to move
a feet further.
I jump out of the saddle,
fasten the reigns
to a small branch
and rush to the obstinate bull.
It stands and snorting
and stamp its feet
and when it sees me,
it rushes confused
at the horse.
That faithful horse stands firm
while the bulls horns swishes
onto the reigns
and the horse
stops that bull in its tracts,
that a piece of the bridle
breaks right off.
Then I am at the bull
and pull the reigns
out of its horns
and it walks meek
into the corral,
while in astonishment
I stand and look at that animal.
With a knee-strap
and pliers in the nose
we draw the bull to the ground
and when we shear it,
it moans like a heifer
and there’s a burning smell
that goes up from the branding iron
and I see the horns
dropp at my feet
and it’s another beast
when it stand on its feet.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Pussy Willow
In the half-tone light of a young morning
She sighs and shifts on the pillow.
And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly
To kiss the pussy willow.
In her fairy-tale world shes a lost soul singing
In a sad voice nobody hears.
She waits in her castle of make-believing
For her white knight to appear.
Pusy willow --- down fur-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs for the train --- see, eight oclocks coming
Cutting dreams down to size again.
Pussy willow --- down fur-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs from the train. hear her typewriter humming
Cutting dreams down to size again.
She longs for the east and a pale dress flowing
An apartment in old mayfair.
Or to fish the spey, spinning the first run of spring
Or to die for a cause somewhere.
Pussy willow --- down fur-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes.
Runs from the train. hear her typewriter humming
Cutting dreams down to size again.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Singing Lesson
Far-fetched and dear-bought, as the proverb rehearses,
Is good, or was held so, for ladies: but nought
In a song can be good if the turn of the verse is
Far-fetched and dear-bought.
As the turn of a wave should it sound, and the thought
Ring smooth, and as light as the spray that disperses
Be the gleam of the words for the garb thereof wrought.
Let the soul in it shine through the sound as it pierces
Men's hearts with possession of music unsought;
For the bounties of song are no jealous god's mercies,
Far-fetched and dear-bought.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Alas, So Long!
AH! dear one, we were young so long,
It seemed that youth would never go,
For skies and trees were ever in song
And water in singing flow
In the days we never again shall know.
Alas, so long!
Ah! then was it all Spring weather?
Nay, but we were young and together.
Ah! dear one, I've been old so long,
It seems that age is loth to part,
Though days and years have never a song,
And oh! have they still the art
That warmed the pulses of heart to heart?
Alas, so long!
Ah! then was it all Spring weather?
Nay, but we were young and together.
Ah! dear one, you've been dead so long,—
How long until we meet again,
Where hours may never lose their song
Nor flowers forget the rain
In glad noonlight that never shall wane?
Alas, so long!
Ah! shall it be then Spring weather,
And ah! shall we be young together?
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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African Dream
Every young African has a dream,
The very dream to get out of the poverty line;
Every dreamer has a dream,
Of dreams to prosper in life;
But, many die too young with their dreams.
It is in Africa where talents are bound,
It is in this place that we struggle to gain;
But, can we jump this fence from here?
One mortal, one number;
One man, one humdred;
We still have hopes to overcome.
One million-ways of visionaries to tap,
One thousand roses ot love to share with;
Like those of the Innovators and the Footballers.
Back to one mortal being,
Back to the days of struggle;
The Sate of Africa is entangled with poverty! !
Like a candle in the wind where,
The roses die too soon;
Every African is battling poverty.
But, can we juump this fence from here?
Rather teach a child how to fish than,
Giving the fish to eat always;
We still have this dream to overcome.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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