let bygone be bygone
see even your favourite tree
has taken on new leaves,
new clothing and is swinging
inviting you to a dance
tanka by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Cured
and so the words
which he swallowed for years
and years
those that he chewed so well
turning liquid mixed with his blood
and spread in all his veins
and he was cured
and there is
no need
about what must be said
or should have been said
consummated the last sunshine
comes and
destruction of the illusions
have become inevitable
gone is gone
and bygone is bygone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Becoming Truant
To be a truant is of great account
Where history is made and future is served
Having nicety and familiarization with purpose
To vouchsafe the future of woebegone
And to give the message let the bygone be bygone
Those who did not hid them-self into veil of lie
Are the most supernal-one of far and wide
Without using Machiavellian wherewithal
Solidify their 'motto' with matchless warmth
poem by Hafiz Qasim
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Is there any specific name the tree that drops something like tears?
Hey! Young twitter bird smells like cinnamon
You're very talkative like your beautiful Mom!
Still remember the bygone days how she danced?
You ask where are the fruits
A good question exactly.
There were times really I was laden with juicy fruits
O the migrant birds trespssed from different countries.
I had golden leaves like paper notes
All gone with the short-sighted wind!
I am just a hollow, skeleton tree like a retired politician!
You only hear my wordless singsong
And see the termites dance happily on the bark.
Not necessary an Axe!
Just give a mild push
And I give you a bagful of firewood!
nimal dunuhinga
* 'Thank you for reading my poems;
May you find a stream within yourself,
where a child sits weaving melodies,
to sing to your soul.....
-Paddy Martin
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Brother! It seems to be an off-season
The magical song birds flew away from the uncle's orchard without informing him.
The trees some were uprooted and old as same as uncle's gray beard.
I remember the bygone days when the fruits were laden and ripen on the tree tops how they danced merrily?
But now no more any singsong or a friendly chat and only you hear is the faint whisper of decaying leaves over his pet dog 'Marco's' silent tomb.
*Hey! My dear friend nothing could be hold firmly as everything disappears like in a sad dream.
This poem is a dedication to my friend George.Murdock in gratitude.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Don't Dance Me To The End
Don’t dance me to the end of love, but dance
me to the place where it resumes as if beginning
anew, each time, with nothing left to chance
except the penalties that come from sinning.
Like Babylonians let me feel you moving,
but let us not, before we go to bed,
recall Egyptians with their books approving
the afterlife they dream up for the dead.
While we are dancing, let’s think only of
the here and now, and so together burn
with passion for the life and after-love
that follows us when on one bed we turn,
but when in bed, recalling Babylon
whose waters both our ancestors once drank,
let us remember times that, though bygone,
from memories of lovetimes never shrank.
Inspired by Leonard Cohen’s “Dance Mee to the End of Love”:
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
11/14/07
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Past and Present
Bygone days silently curl
Fold in airy yesteryears
They retreat to hide
Behind the elliptic orbits
Of the revolving planets
The days become nights
And they change
Like caterpillars
Or like gelatinous eggs
Of some toads
That detect vibrations
And then they quietly sail
With the solar wind
To distant places in space
To remote galaxies
Filled with shimmering stars.
But in the uncurved spheres
Of the pulsating heart
Amid the fugitive joys
And haunting sorrows of life
The magic lanterns
Of bygone days glow
Under the rainbow clocks
Of ageless hours
And while history
Restlessly meanders
On the foamy stream
Of its inflammable river
Flows the Eternal Now
Of untamed remembrance
poem by Paul Hartal
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This Grudge
14 years
30 minutes
15 seconds
I've held this grudge
11 songs
4 full journals
thoughts of punishment I've expended
not in contact, not a letter
such communication, telepathic
you've been vilified
used as fodder
you deserve a piece of every record
but who's it hurting now?
who's the one that's stuck?
who's it torturing now
with an antique knot in her stomach?
I wanna be big and let go
of this grudge that's grown old
all this time I've not known
how to rest this bygone
I wanna be soft and resolved
cleared slate and released
I wanna forgive for the both of us
like an abandoned house
dusty cupboard, furniture still intact
if i vist it now will i simple relive it?
somehow gratuitous?
but who's still aching now?
who's tired of her own voice?
who's it weighing down with no gift
from time of said healing?
I wanna be big and let go
of this grudge that's grown old
all this time I've not known
how to rest this bygone
I wanna be soft and resolved
cleared slate and released
I wanna forgive for the both of us
maybe as i cut the cord
veils will lift from my eyes
maybe as i lay this to rest
dead weight off my shoulders will rise
here i sit much determined
ever ill-equipped to draw this curtain
how this has enterained, validated
and has served me well
ever the victim
but who's done whining now?
who's ready to put down
this load i've carried longer than i had cared to remember?
I wanna be big and let go
of this grudge that's grown old
for the life of me I've not known
how to rest this bygone
I wanna be soft and resolved
cleared slate and released
I wanna forgive for the both of us.
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of the Soldier's Wifes.
I
At last! In sight of home again,
Of home again;
No more to range and roam again
As at that bygone time?
No more to go away from us
And stay from us? -
Dawn, hold not long the day from us,
But quicken it to prime!
II
Now all the town shall ring to them,
Shall ring to them,
And we who love them cling to them
And clasp them joyfully;
And cry, "O much we'll do for you
Anew for you,
Dear Loves!--aye, draw and hew for you,
Come back from oversea."
III
Some told us we should meet no more,
Should meet no more;
Should wait, and wish, but greet no more
Your faces round our fires;
That, in a while, uncharily
And drearily
Men gave their lives--even wearily,
Like those whom living tires.
IV
And now you are nearing home again,
Dears, home again;
No more, may be, to roam again
As at that bygone time,
Which took you far away from us
To stay from us;
Dawn, hold not long the day from us,
But quicken it to prime!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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A Wand Over You
He preferred me over you and lazed afterwards,
Fatal goodbyes are captivating, always in time.
The mortal destruction commits a spirit too well;
Terrified by it, the farewells are fairly spoken.
My favourite wand is his, my own wand is his,
Yet summer comprises a laughter, so lazy;
Kinfolk are swinging from tree to tree to tree,
Like apes of the kind that bring in the fruits to eat.
You are with family, relatives and scientists,
So that the banana is refreshing, mostly for them
And not you, who loses after music has rung its tune.
Music is the cause of mischief for me, for me.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Middle
When I remember bygone days
I think how evening follows morn;
So many I loved were not yet dead,
So many I love were not yet born.
poem by Ogden Nash
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The First Day
I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me;
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say.
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it! Such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much!
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand! - Did one but know!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Three Little Words
Three little words I long to hear
From that someone very special
Rendered mute from bygone fear
Finds “I love you” reprehensible
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Tale of Freedom
Mourning own ashes,
Sorrowing over freedom,
Long-awaited and wholly missed,
The shooting star did seek
Redemption of existence;
To redeem the tale of freedom,
Much remembered, long-awaited.
To the fallen star spoke thus
The configured multitude,
The fixed stars of high heavens;
Reeking of self-pity.
The stars spoke thus:
O Shooting star, burnt and bygone,
Star-dust you quit,
Oblivious of bonded freedom.
Boundless freedom you chose,
A fallacy though at length to be.
To the fallen star spoke thus
The configured multitude,
The fixed stars of high heavens:
O Shooting star, burnt and bygone,
Wide wilderness you chose,
Only to stagger,
Unaware of the glory of a footway;
Destination it fetches,
Foreshadowing it all along;
Freedom it holds,
As bonded to goal.
But boundless freedom you chose,
A fallacy though at length to be.
To the fallen star spoke thus
The configured multitude,
The fixed stars of high heavens:
O Shooting star, burnt and bygone,
In star-dust you did see not,
A composition often illegible,
An inclusive poetry,
Not without you.
So, exclusive freedom you chose,
A fallacy though at length to be;
When life was to abound
In freedom inclusive,
Bonded and destined,
Bonded to configuration prospective,
Destined to creation unforeseen.
poem by Bhanu Padmo
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Your Grandma is a flower
Each and every deep wrinkle of her sad face
Tells a bygone story about the beauty.
The petals about to fall in the weary Autumn
And the boisterous wind begins its activity.
You cannot hold the storm Grandma!
Let the petals scatter into any direction likewise
But the root of the tree still strong enough
To grab the scorching earth.
Smile as the early summer days
And it's a gift indeed to the offspring Grandma.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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To Sunprincess
Dear Princess,
I know, some pains can't be
cured, I know, your mind
is burdened with sorrow.
Yet, smile at life my babe,
smile at life.
It will be winter here,
the season, Fall is near...
The leaves of some trees
will fall one by one,
withered, unable to do
photosynthesis......
Some will stay and
mesmerize us with their red
hearts, with bleeding parts...
Let us live in meditation
like them, in the memory,
of the fallen ones.....
As they are our kins,
the bygone days, the
never-forgotten hours...
Let's kiss our lives
too then....
Let's....
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Village Garden
To E.M.S.
Here, where your garden fenced about and still is,
Here, where the unmoved summer air is sweet
With mixed delight of lavender and lilies,
Dreaming I linger in the noontide heat.
Of many summers are the trees recorders,
The turf a carpet many summers wove;
Old-fashioned blossoms cluster in the borders,
Love-in-a-mist and crimson-hearted clove.
All breathes of peace and sunshine in the present,
All tells of bygone peace and bygone sun,
Of fruitful years accomplished, budding, crescent,
Of gentle seasons passing one by one.
Fain would I bide, but ever in the distance
A ceaseless voice is sounding clear and low;--
The city calls me with her old persistence,
The city calls me--I arise and go.
Of gentler souls this fragrant peace is guerdon;
For me, the roar and hurry of the town,
Wherein more lightly seems to press the burden
Of individual life that weighs me down.
I leave your garden to the happier comers
For whom its silent sweets are anodyne.
Shall I return? Who knows, in other summers
The peace my spirit longs for may be mine?
Life is Like That
For years and years I lived in trance
Treating life like a fairy dance
Worries and pain seemed far-off
Looking at others sores with scoff
Fear of loss never meant at all
Similar emotions from spring to fall
Then bit by bit and moment by moment
Trance broken, stupor end
Fears of loss paved the days
Sting of memories filled the nights
Those gone never returned
Leaving thoughts of bygone days
Oppressed
Kill any being that devours us,
But we are attacked on all sides.
Depression sets in to equal the stay,
And all of us are reluctant to engage in distraction,
For the oppressed are underneath the plants
Of a bygone age.
poem by Naveed Akram
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