Daughter Poesy
An adopted child mine daughter Poesy
At this age of sixtyplus
My skin wrinkly and body rickety
Senses dying and soul almost ready
To up on a count down
Like the fading light of evening sky
Longing for a full moon in new moon night...
Asking everybody why
Opted I for a foreign lexicon
Whilst not an adept in home diction itself
Just a desire before expire
Though in brain much I require..
Ponder my Poesy enforcing the quintescence
So far of my cognition, Poesy to soar high
Progressively speaking, my Poesy
Years few old, amazingly
Like my country Lotus growing divine
God sent blessings! Pamper Poesy with gratitude
All concepts, knowledge mine exclusively for Poesy
My elder daughters the tamils aren't jealousy
But ponder their sister, my English Poesy
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Woman Who Loves Poesy
She has a twenty years old daughter but she leads a single life
And she knows what it feels like to be a mother but not to be a wife
Her great love is Goddess Poesy only poesy she admire
And her creative source it comes from poesy and poesy in her verse inspire.
She writes such beautiful poetry as a poet she is well known
And as a genuine wordsmith her reputation it has grown
The woman who loves poesy is good at what she do
At least one can say of her to her own self she is true.
Since writing poetry can be a hungry belly game the well informed say
She works as a bar maid in the Golf Club Rooms for to earn her hard earned pay
But all of her spare time devoted to poesy since poetry she loves to write
Her poems on many different subjects are a source of delight
To poetry lovers who read her verses and many of her say
That from penning verse she will grow wealthy and become quite well known one day
But she does not write for fame or money she only writes because she
Happens for to be a person devoted to Goddess Poesy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sonnet: In the Wings of Poesy
How far do I go in poesy’s wings?
I keep asking myself again, again;
From my inspired heart, my poem just springs,
To the clouds and sky, descending like rain.
How high a can I fly with Poesy’s Wings?
Sky high and beyond to the Stellar Space!
I can meanwhile do acrobatic things,
In this newer field too, I feel an ace.
The more I fly and higher in the sky,
Poesy’s Wings grow stronger everyday;
I shall do this ably until I die;
A record new, it will become one day.
God gave me Wings and showed me how to fly!
All praise and glory is His, the One High.
poem by John Celes
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Decay
O Poesy is on the wane,
For Fancy's visions all unfitting;
I hardly know her face again,
Nature herself seems on the flitting.
The fields grow old and common things,
The grass, the sky, the winds a-blowing;
And spots, where still a beauty clings,
Are sighing 'going! all a-going!'
O Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.
The bank with brambles overspread,
And little molehills round about it,
Was more to me than laurel shades,
With paths of gravel finely clouted;
And streaking here and streaking there,
Through shaven grass and many a border,
With rutty lanes had no compare,
And heaths were in a richer order.
But Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.
I sat beside the pasture stream,
When Beauty's self was sitting by,
The fields did more than Eden seem
Nor could I tell the reason why.
I often drank when not adry
To pledge her health in draughts divine;
Smiles made it nectar from the sky,
Love turned een water into wine.
O Poesy is on the wane,
I cannot find her face again.
The sun those mornings used to find,
Its clouds were other-country mountains,
And heaven looked downward on the mind,
Like groves, and rocks, and mottled fountains.
Those heavens are gone, the mountains grey
Turned mist--the sun, a homeless ranger,
Pursues alone his naked way,
Unnoticed like a very stranger.
O Poesy is on the wane,
Nor love nor joy is mine again.
Love's sun went down without a frown,
For very joy it used to grieve us;
I often think the West is gone,
Ah, cruel Time, to undeceive us.
The stream it is a common stream,
Where we on Sundays used to ramble,
The sky hangs oer a broken dream,
The bramble's dwindled to a bramble!
O Poesy is on the wane,
I cannot find her haunts again.
Mere withered stalks and fading trees,
And pastures spread with hills and rushes,
Are all my fading vision sees;
Gone, gone are rapture's flooding gushes!
When mushrooms they were fairy bowers,
Their marble pillars overswelling,
And Danger paused to pluck the flowers
That in their swarthy rings were dwelling.
Yes, Poesy is on the wane,
Nor joy nor fear is mine again.
Aye, Poesy hath passed away,
And Fancy's visions undeceive us;
The night hath ta'en the place of day,
And why should passing shadows grieve us?
I thought the flowers upon the hills
Were flowers from Adam's open gardens;
But I have had my summer thrills,
And I have had my heart's rewardings.
So Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.
And Friendship it hath burned away,
Like to a very ember cooling,
A make-believe on April day
That sent the simple heart a-fooling;
Mere jesting in an earnest way,
Deceiving on and still deceiving;
And Hope is but a fancy-play,
And Joy the art of true believing;
For Poesy is on the wane,
O could I feel her faith again!
poem by John Clare
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Sonnet: Poetry and Myself
Poesy served to poise my shattered heart,
That bled from earthly ‘missiles’ of turmoil;
And helped me upgrade my literary art,
As I began burning the midnight-oil.
The pearl I found in sea of my troubles!
Perhaps, it was by serendipity;
Pricey for me turned on the tables;
What a priceless, lucky discovery!
Like a plumb-line, I plunged into the sea,
And learned to swim ’midst the tall waves and tides;
The ‘pearl of joy’ was mine eternally!
I guarded it night and day, me besides
O Pearl of the deep seas, my Poesy!
Thou art no myth but a reality.
poem by John Celes
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Painful Poetry
I've been
Seeing him
For so many
Years now…
Only painful
Poetry
Comes out of him
All his poems
Drip with immense
Agony…
Not a single
Poesy of glee
I feel so pained
On reading his
Poetry…
As if the sun
Never shines
For him
As if the pain
Has blinded him
So much -
That he only sees
Darkness around him.
God, it melts me.
Doesn't it melt your
Apathy?
Such a life
Full of endless
Misery,
You've given him
That he spits it out
In his everyday
Poetry…
That's the only way
He copes with this
Unbearable pain.
God, give him
Some sunshine
Some rain…
Let him blossom again
So that he's able to
Write at least
One poesy
Of glee.
Is it too much
Asking of thee?
I just want him
To be happy.
Won't you heed
My plea?
Please release him
From this misery.
(dedicated to a fellow poet)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Sonnet: My Poetry Today
Each poem that I write, gives me new hope;
Each sonnet I compose- fresh lease of life;
With Poesy’s wings, problems I can cope;
My heavy heart’s relieved; so is my strife.
My every line of verse gives me great joy;
My every theme new/old, has truths to tell;
New genres/techniques, I wish to employ;
With peace renewed, my heart and mind are well.
Sometimes, I feel I tell the same old things!
But it is not so: I tell in different ways;
In words of melody great, my heart sings;
And thus, I forget my unpleasant days.
Despite my grief, my face keeps wearing smiles;
In Poesy’s domain, I’ve traveled miles.
9-20-2002
poem by John Celes
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A Flower of poesy to Dr.A.M.S,
A Flower of poesy to Dr. A.M.S.
Dear Dr.A.M.Selvaraj, the magnificent healer, so great,
Receive please, this flower of poesy, proffered with warm love.
Accolades swell with yet another feather in your cap ornate,
Matchless, " Platinum Man" to thee with genuflection, we bow.
Sickness prodding—we prostrate at your divine feet—
Endearing words; focused acumen blot the blight:
Loving care and a magical touch—such a wonderful feat!
Ventilate we, our nagging troubles even past midnight,
And our qualms are allayed regardless of personal ease!
Radiant Star! In "Medicines Hall of Fame", aloft with glories!
Almighty Lord, on you His choicest Blessings to descend,
Jointly supplicating, we pray from the core of our heart's blend.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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The Uses of Poetry
I've fond anticipation of a day
O'erfilled with pure diversion presently,
For I must read a lady poesy
The while we glide by many a leafy bay,
Hid deep in rushes, where at random play
The glossy black winged May-flies, or whence flee
Hush-throated nestlings in alarm,
Whom we have idly frighted with our boat's long sway.
For, lest o'ersaddened by such woes as spring
To rural peace from our meek onward trend,
What else more fit? We'll draw the latch-string
And close the door of sense; then satiate wend,
On poesy's transforming giant wing,
To worlds afar whose fruits all anguish mend.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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My other Talent –Poesy
God is to me very kind;
To His tenets, I always bind;
My Poetry is but His gift!
My soul from Him can’t shift
Yet, peace of mind gets disturbed oft,
In search of worldly pleasures loft;
In vain, I seek them, time is lost;
And soul remains sin-cast.
My foes and woes trouble me much;
Sometimes, I feel I am a wretch!
And when I search my mind again,
God helps me solace regain.
My Poesy has made me fit;
My body, mind, soul bit by bit;
I talk with God who guides me right;
He tells me what’s wrong, correct.
With time, my soul regains due course;
My Poetry, my sin absolves;
Immersed in it, I find great peace,
Of mind and I am at ease.
Thoughts divine in me prevail;
My ship of Poesy sets sail;
It is an unchartered voyage;
That’s safe with God’s message.
God is my beacon and compass!
Invisible Captain of my ship;
I am the driver, novice,
‘Tis my maiden voyage.
My heart is full of confidence;
Impermanent’s my residence;
The weather lovely, calm for now;
My ship is on the move somehow!
poem by John Celes
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On The Goddess Of Poesy
The Goddess of Poesy the Goddess of Song
To the Universal immortals she surely belong
The poets of the World her praises do sing
The gift of poetry to their souls she does bring.
The poets to write poems Goddess Poesy inspire
And of singing her praises they don't seem to tire
The poetry of sorrow the poetry of joy
The poetry of youth of the young girl and boy.
The poetry of youthfulness and of growing old
Of young women in their prime lovely to behold
The beauty of Nature the birds and the bees
The mammals and fishes of land and of seas.
The Goddess of poets of every gender race and creed
For their inspiration to write in her lives her they need
Of love, life and Nature she inspires poets to write
For the lovers of poetry to read and recite.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To Everlasting Oblivion
THOU mighty gulf, insatiate cormorant,
Deride me not, though I seem petulant
To fall into thy chops. Let others pray
Forever their fair poems flourish may.
But as for me, hungry Oblivion,
Devour me quick. Accept my orison,
My earnest prayers which do importune thee,
With gloomy shade of thy still empery
To veil both me and my rude poesy.
Far worthier lines in silence of thy state
Do sleep securely, free from love or hate,
From which this, living, ne'er can be exempt,
But whilst it breathes will hate and fury tempt.
Then close his eyes with thy all-dimming hand
Which not right glorious actions can withstand.
Peace, hateful tongues! I now in silence pace
Unless some hound do wake me from my place.
I with this sharp yet well-meant poesy
Will sleep secure, right free from injury
Of canker'd hate or rankest villany.
poem by John Marston
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Were I Born With
Were I born with the gift of poesy I'd write of the beauty I see
The unrivalled beauty of Nature that is everywhere around me
I'd pen my songs to Mother Nature I've loved her since I was a boy
From her people are always learning and lessons from her I enjoy,
I belong to the Goddess of Nature and she is the one I adore
Each day my love for her grows greater I love her now as never before
I feel humans belong to Nature and to her we'll return one day
In the coolness of her dark earthy bosom our remains are destined to lay
So many have great love for Nature and they love her far more than I
They fight to save her trees from deevelopers and they will fight for her until the day that they die
To them she is the one true Goddess yet people like her Seasons come and go
But she is the one who lives forever and her rivers to her oceans flow
were I born with the gift of poesy of Nature I surely would write
her sights and sounds and the scents of her perfume to the senses a source of delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Looking Back Upon My Poesy's Past!
For long a time, I've travelled by this road!
For quite some years, I'd taken poesy's wings;
For hours on end, I struggled with my pen;
A lifetime's work is already now writ!
I did not start expecting great rewards;
I do not hanker for any awards;
I know I'm one among the well-known bards;
My accolades are not yet in my cards!
Many a thing, we do for love of it;
Some things we do better, for we are fit;
Most things in life don't duly get lime-lit;
Nevertheless, we carry on by wit!
But seasons ought to change as time goes on;
It is not good to have always the sun;
Some things in life remain for long half-done;
But pride is one thing we must always shun!
Good poetry must guide the future men;
Good poetry must make the earth, heaven;
Good poetry must kindle heart and ken;
When readers read them, they must say, ‘amen! '
I have done well despite my struggles past;
This earthly span may not for longer last;
My ship of poesy has now a mast;
But I have reached the ocean very vast!
poem by John Celes
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Poet And Priest.
The poet's born, the priest is made: at last
Shall come a day when all men at the shrine
Of poesy shall pay their vows, and know
The oracles of Nature are divine,
And but the inspired have authority.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Prologue: The Pleasant Comedy Of Old Fortunatus
OF Love's sweet war our timorous Muse doth sing,
And to the bosom of each gentle dear,
Offers her artless tunes, borne on the wing
Of sacred poesy. A benumbing fear,
That your nice souls, cloyed with delicious sounds,
Will loath her lowly notes, makes her pull in
Her fainting pinions, and her spirit confounds,
Before the weak voice of her song begin.
Yet since within the circle of each eye,
Being like so many suns in his round sphere,
No wrinkle yet is seen, she'll dare to fly,
Borne up with hopes, that as you oft do rear
With your fair hands, those who would else sink down,
So some will deign to smile, where all might frown:
And for this small circumference must stand,
For the imagined surface of much land,
Of many kingdoms, and since many a mile
Should here be measured out, our Muse entreats
Your thoughts to help poor art, and to allow
That I may serve as Chorus to her senses;
She begs your pardon, for she'll send one forth,
Not when the laws of poesy do call,
But as the story needs; your gracious eye
Gives life to Fortunatus' history.
poem by Thomas Dekker
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To Death
(From Lenau.)
If within my heart there's mould,
If the flame of Poesy
And the flame of Love grow cold,
Slay my body utterly.
Swiftly, pause not nor delay;
Let not my life's field be spread
With the ash of feelings dead,
Let thy singer soar away.
On Burns
In whomsoe'er, since Poesy began,
A Poet most of all men we may scan,
Burns of all poets is the most a Man.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Mine Is Annabelle
oh i see
you named
your puppy
laura lee
may i suggest
another
name
with much
significance
of poesy
please
call her
annabelle lee
in honor
of mr. edgar
allan
poe.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Heartless
Jim Sturgess, Clémence Poésy, Noel Clarke, Luke Treadaway, Justin Salinger
by Philip Ridley from Heartless (2009)
Submitted by Film Fan
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Mr. Morgan's Last Love
Gillian Anderson, Michael Caine, Clemence Poesy, Justin Kirk, Jane Alexander, Richard Hope
by Sandra Nettelbeck from Mr. Morgan's Last Love (2013)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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