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After Invictus

Out of the night that covers me.
Black as the pit from pole to pole.
I thank whatever Gods there be.
For my unconquerable soul

Invictus.
William Ernest Henley 1847-1903.

Out of the night that covers me.
I will emerge into the light.
This dream I follow hopefully.
I know that morning follows night.

Black as the pit from pole to pole.
Though very soon the sun will rise
up to assume his rightful role.
Majestic ruler of the skies.

I thank whatever Gods there be.
That darkness is not permanent.
That we are granted light to see.
The glory of the firmament.

For my unconquerable soul
remains steadfast by day and night.
I know that I will reach my goal.
When death grants me the power of flight.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A tribute to W.E.Henley 1849-1903

A tribute to W.E.Henley 1849-1903

Invictus.

Out of the night that covers me
dark as the pit from pole to pole.
I thank whatever Gods may be
for my unconquerable soul.

A Glosa

Out of the night that covers me.
I won’t relinquish my control
a man must challenge destiny.
To be the captain of his soul.

Black as the pit from pole to pole.
The darkness fails to frighten me,
I travel on towards my goal
pursue my quest relentlessly.

I thank whatever Gods may be
but I believe than on the whole.
That man has the ability
to win the battle for his soul.

For my unconquerable soul
will guard and guide me constantly.
As I perform my earthly role.
I can do all that’s asked of me.

04/05/2009

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tribute to W.E.Henley

Out of the night which covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole.
I thank whatever Gods there be.
For my unconquerable soul.

Invictus. W.E.Henley 1849 -1903

A glosa

Out of the night that covers me.
I shall emerge into sunlight
The darkness holds no fears for me.
My goddess will preserve my sight.

Black as the pit from pole to pole
but I care not why should I fear
As I step out towards my goal.
Each pace I take brings it more near.

I thank whatever Gods there be
who reinforce my attitude.
I know they are protecting me.
I offer them my gratitude.

For my unconquerable soul.
I fear no foe no enemy
I have already paid the toll
the price which was required of me.

Tuesday,29 December 2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Out Of The Night That Covers Me

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

poem by William Ernest Henley
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Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I. M. R. T. Hamilton Bruce (1846-1899)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unconquerable

Put of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the full clutch of circumstances
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

poem by William Ernest Henley
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My Husky Team

I met an ancient man who mushed
With Peary to the Pole.
Said I, "In all that land so hushed
What most inspired your soul?"
He looked at me with bleary eye,
He scratched a hoary head:
"You know that Sourdoughs jest cain't lie
So here's the dope," he said.

"That hike was like a devil's dream,
Just blizzards, gales and fogs,
But I was leadin' wi' my team
O' seven husky dogs.
Day after day I steered my sleigh,
Yet spry o' heart was I,
And every night the Northern Light
Danced ballys in the sky.

"Them dogs o' mine seemed to divine
Their mighty destiny.
They howled with joy, and like a boy
I jined them in their glee.
While like a spark from out the dark
Fame spurred us to our goal,
On, on we sped, the winnin' sled
To gain the Pole, the POLE.

"I saw it clear, I raised a cheer,
I knowed the prize was won:
The huskies too, like wind they flew -
Them critters sure could run.
The light was dim, the site was grim,
But sunshine swept my soul,
To see - each husky lift a limb
And...irrigate the Pole."

poem by Robert William Service
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Other Side of You

I say black and you say white
I turn to the left, you move to the right
No matter what I do
I'm always on the other side of you
I'm always on the other side of you
I want to play but you like to fight
I rise in the morning, you hide in the night
No matter what I do
I'm always on the other side of you
Like paralell lines, so near yet so far
Like North Pole and South Pole, we're oceans apart
I'm always on the other side of you
You let go, I try to connect
You always remember, I try to forget
I'm always on the other side of you.

song performed by by Nazareth, music by Manny Charlton (1986)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This life's dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.

quote by William Blake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jigsaw

Here we hear that a perch stands for fish or for pole, -
though this pole can be twenty four feet long or square –
or a pole upon which
a kingfisher can perch
before diving to fish for his dinner dish.

Don’t consider it rude if we add that a rood
is the same as a perch, or a pole or a rod,
and a rood is a Cross, so please don’t become cross
as we must get across that this cross can be square, -
and this square cross can lengthwise be measured – so there!

A pole, too, is a fish, somewhat flounderish
with fine fins which swish and a face like a dish.
Thus kingfisher must fish for his dish, and that dish is a dish,
so lets face it in anguish, - a dish is a dish is a fish!

As a face is a head, and a head is a poll
which tells who is ahead, or shows what each prole
thought of what someone said:
and a wat, as all know, is a temple Cambo –
all the sages who sow seeds of wisdom say, - oh,
to all this don’t say ‘No! ’

Then watt brings us a light which shines down in the night, -
though this seems ‘out of sight’, you should now see the light, -
that kingfishers alight as they perch on their pole
ere they pounce on their poll
for to search for their perch,
for the soul of the sole in the shoal.
What rude fishermen do
before rod poles align
with a line from their perch to their perch.

Like the kingfisher too, bird of brilliant hue,
is our parrot, Poll, who is no stranger to you.
When he’s not being rude he tends somewhat to brood
or repeat through and through, as in these lines I do.

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Your Fishing Pole

There is something about you, something in your soul
something that seems to surround your fishing pole….

You moved to the coast, now that’s no lie
And we had a hard time with that little goodbye
But no need for heartache, no need to console
You had your boat and your fishing pole.

You know everyday you go out to fish
it’s like a genie granting every little wish
every time that bobber goes out of control
we know you are happy with your fishing pole.

Now on birthdays it’s special out on the water
I hear if you’re there, they’ll jump for the slaughter
You’ll be piling them in like your lucks on a roll
Reeling them in with your fishing pole

So today of all days take heed and relax
Pack up a cooler with drinks and some snacks
put on your shoes and go take a stroll
Down to your boat with your fishing pole.

poem by Kathleen J. Shields
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Invictus (a reply to William Ernest Henley)

While the night stretch black over me
and in the dark sky I see countless lights
burning high,
I thank the God that made me free
to choose which light to follow as a guide.

In dark circumstance and whatever fate brings,
destiny and chance do not conquer
and I still rise wiser
to life and its things

and my will remains free
to decide where my words
and actions belong
whether they are right or wrong
and to no human I bend a knee
and in all things I only answer to Him
who Captain’s me.

[References: Invictus by William Ernest Henley and The Soul’s Captain by Orson F. Whitney.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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90 North

At home, in my flannel gown, like a bear to its floe,
I clambered to bed; up the globe's impossible sides
I sailed all night—till at last, with my black beard,
My furs and my dogs, I stood at the northern pole.

There in the childish night my companions lay frozen,
The stiff fur knocked at my starveling throat,
And I gave my great sigh: the flakes came huddling,
Were they really my end? In the darkness I turned to my rest.

—Here, the flag snaps in the glare and silence
Of the unbroken ice. I stand here,
The dogs bark, my beard is black, and I stare
At the North Pole . . .
And now what? Why, go back.

Turn as I please, my step is to the south.
The world—my world spins on this final point
Of cold and wretchedness: all lines, all winds
End in this whirlpool I at last discover.

And it is meaningless. In the child's bed
After the night's voyage, in that warm world
Where people work and suffer for the end
That crowns the pain—in that Cloud-Cuckoo-Land

I reached my North and it had meaning.
Here at the actual pole of my existence,
Where all that I have done is meaningless,
Where I die or live by accident alone—

Where, living or dying, I am still alone;
Here where North, the night, the berg of death
Crowd me out of the ignorant darkness,
I see at last that all the knowledge

I wrung from the darkness—that the darkness flung me—
Is worthless as ignorance: nothing comes from nothing,
The darkness from the darkness. Pain comes from the darkness
And we call it wisdom. It is pain.

Anonymous submission.

poem by Randall Jarrell
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A Thanksgiving

From brief delights that rise to me
Out of unfathomable dole,
I thank whatever gods there be
For mine unconquerable soul.
In the strong clutch of Circumstance
It has not winced, nor groaned aloud.
Before the blows of eyeless chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
I front unfeared the threat of space
And dwindle into dark again.
My work is done, I take my place
Among the years that wait for men.
My life, my broken life must be
One unsuccourable dole.
I thank the gods- they gave to me
A dauntless and defiant soul.

poem by William Ernest Henley
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Once In A Blue Moon

Once in a blue moon time and tide combine
Net twice in one month double role and roll,
Creative Nature knocks, rocks, protocol
Encouraging bright dress rehearsal shine
In silver chased on canvas faery fine.
Night calls on Earth as witness to extol
An aura drawn from reborn starry bowl,
By chance, or through an overall design,
Linking life/light experience, insight - sign
Unexpected to enhance soul's goal.
Enchanting, shifting shadow pole to pole,
Magic lending even urban skyline.
On this blue moon mysterious we write
ONe simple sonnet spreading shared delight.

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Twilight In The North

O THE long northern twilight between the day and the night,
When the heat and the weariness of the world are ended quite:
When the hills grow dim as dreams, and the crystal river seems
Like that River of Life from out the Throne where the blessèd walk in white.

O the weird northern twilight, which is neither night nor day,
When the amber wake of the long-set sun still marks his western way:
And but one great golden star in the deep blue east afar
Warns of sleep, and dark, and midnight--of oblivion and decay.

O the calm northern twilight, when labor is all done,
And the birds in drowsy twitter have dropped silent one by one:
And nothing stirs or sighs in mountains, waters, skies,--
Earth sleeps--but her heart waketh, till the rising of the sun.

O the sweet, sweet twilight, just before the time of rest,
When the black clouds are driven away, and the stormy winds suppressed:
And the dead day smiles so bright, filling earth and heaven with light,--
You would think 't was dawn come back again--but the light is in the west.

O the grand solemn twilight, spreading peace from pole to pole!--
Ere the rains sweep o'er the hillsides, and the waters rise and roll,
In the lull and the calm, come, O angel with the palm--
In the still norther twilight, Azrael, take my soul.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Resurge

Come forth, O Man, from darkness into light,
Renounce the dust, break through thy sordid bars,
For ever leave the crawling shapes of Night,
And move erect among thy native stars:
No longer grovel in a foetid cell
When all the spaces of the sky are thine,
With Sloth and Want no more a beggar dwell
When thou canst claim a heritage divine;
Awake and live! nor dream the dreams of death
That brood, fantastic, fearful, o'er thy grave,
Thou art not of the stuff that perisheth,
Nor unto Fate and Time art thou a slave;
Thy power extends beyond the starry Pole,
And worlds and suns revolve within thy soul.

poem by William Gay
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The Lucky Penny

There was a boy
Who did not have a penny to his name
Pushed and shoved around
He had to fight to stand on the very ground
He walked on.

Yet he didn’t dream of bread and butter
He starved to achieve something better
Like a beacon, his eyes shone
His heart he wore, like a crest
And drummed his fingers to create
His very own beat
He reached in and found the lucky penny
That many others
Lose sight of, grappling, to emerge victorious in the human heats.

With this penny clenched in his soul
He could go further
Pole to pole.

poem by Kamini Arichandran
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Darkness Of...

Darkness is not the darkness of night
it is the darkness of mind and soul.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of discrimination between poor and rich.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of dishonesty.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of aggravate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is darkness of corruption.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of indiscipline.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of animosity.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of inveterate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of perjury.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness that we all brought up inside us,
so, light the lamp of light inside you...

poem by Suniya Garg
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Ambition

The trouble with the greasy pole is this,
its slippage demands, you stand,
on someone elses shoulder,
for balance,
and tightly must you hold
the ankles above and maybe the shoes.
The one above too does the same.
The position is precarious,
should slippage come, and grip
slip,
and then like Icarus
you slide.

The pole is not so good,
it is a greasy pole.

poem by Bernard Kennedy
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