Acrostic 1992
Narrow the world, with very little scope
Inside its boundaries for warring creed.
Now seed, now bloom, now dead in word and deed,
Ended scarce begun, yet still we hope
To add an extra twist to Time’s short rope,
Expressing trust which on itself does feed,
Energy recycling. Great our need,
Never flags, grows greater, while we grope
New yardsticks more secure, for seldom Pope
Imam or preacher can in conscience lead,
Nor can sham shaman really draw a bead
Exact ‘twixt Hell and Heaven. Few can cope!
Their lives are lonely interludes which slope
Year after year towards the grave, their seed
Too thinly scattered, and their barren breed
With other worries blessed, which telescope.
One sighs while lonely hearts in silence bleed …
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Storm Tossed
Narrow the world, with very little scope
Inside its boundaries for warring creed.
Now seed, now bloom, now dead in word and deed,
Ended scarce begun, yet still we hope
To add an extra twist to Time's short rope,
Expressing trust which on itself does feed,
Energy recycling. Great our need,
Never flags, grows greater, while we grope
New yardsticks more secure, for seldom Pope
Imam or preacher can in conscience lead,
Nor can sham shaman really draw a bead
Exact between Hell and Heaven. Few can cope!
Their lives are lonely interludes which slope
Year after year towards the grave, their seed
Too thinly scattered, and their barren breed
With other worries blessed, which telescope.
One sighs while lonely hearts in silence bleed.
(1 January 1992)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Wait For The Right Time
What grows on the earth? !
What is left to mankind?
But, do wait for the right time to come;
Then you can express yourself with your status.
Of the small planets,
Of the frozen planets,
Telescope, cope, slope, dope, rope, lope, scope, hope, mope;
And of these things!
Because, there is the planting time and of the harvest time.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Lonely hearts
Lonely hearts, they don't cry
They moan in silence, they want to die.
Lonely hearts, they have no fear
And strength to dropp a single tear
Lonely hearts, they're cold inside
They have a dreadful pain to hide,
Lonely hearts, they're wrapped by grief
No joy, no prayers, no relief
Lonely hearts, they stop to beat
When hope is weak and starts to split.
Lonely hearts, forgotten dreams...
They fade away with stifled screams
poem by Katerina Yanchuk
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The Word and the Deed
THE Word was first, says the revelation:
Justice is older than error or strife;
The Word preceded the Incarnation
As symbol and type of law and life.
And always so are the mighty changes:
The word must be sown in the heart like seed;
Men's hands must tend it, their lives defend it,
Till it burst into flower as a deathless Deed.
The primal truth neither dies nor slumbers,
But lives as the test of the common right,
That the laws proclaimed by the sworded numbers
May stand arraigned in the people's sight.
The Word is great, and no Deed is greater,
When both are of God, to follow or lead;
But, alas, for the truth when the Word comes later,
With questioned steps, to sustain the Deed.
Not the noblest acts can be true solutions;
The soul must be sated before the eye,
Else the passionate glory of revolutions
Shall pass like the flames that flash and die.
But forever the gain when the heart's convictions,
Rooted in nature the masses lead;
The cries of rebellion are benedictions
When the Word has flowered in a perfect Deed.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Sleep With Silence
Whole world may be sleeping with dead silence
The minds at rest with no more worries hence
Next day may bring new hopes to their life
World may find new horizons and witness no more strife
Whole year has passed with enough of blood shed
Millions have starved and met death while unfed
Many dictators have fallen victims to their own folly
People have rejoiced in the streets and enjoyed wholly
How many lost their lives in safeguarding our lives?
Countless and still not certain how many more may fear to relive?
Nothing can be achieved by merely expressing grave concern
The tragedy may knock your door one by one or in turn
We don’t know yet how the hell like life is enjoyed
How their dear ones are lost and houses destroyed
Who has wiped their tears and consoled the souls?
Life may return to normal as it may slowly crawl
It is painful to know the exact theory
Why at all so much cruelty and misery?
At what cost we are going to have upper hand?
Can we not have contentment and change in our trend?
I am no one to comment on it as have not suffered
Not gone out of hide outs and help offered
Yet I bleed with thousand of my fellow brethrens
It is grave matter and invites our deepest concerns
Aid in the form of wheat or material may help to some extent
But have we no reason to feel shame on humanity aspect and regret
That can we stoop so below and play with the precious lives?
Disregard for what our god fathers have left behind to preserve and believe?
I sincerely hope some thoughts may be given
You may think by giving some money it may be forgiven
It may grow with hidden hatred and ask for revenge
How then can we pray for and ask for the change?
Time is yet not gone out of hand
It is not necessary to find foe and friend
Let us make and build beautiful end
Where at place of time we feel it necessary to mend
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Awakening for Seasons
Alarm call signal beeps, wakes life to hope.
While vague, untidy heap stirs, seeking soap.
Above white sheets eyes peep – ‘collide a scope’
Knaps excerpt from sleep's waves, attempts to cope
Extracts dream-echoes deep which telescope
Nano half-lives, fragile figments elope.
Isolated fragments salmon-surface grope
Now mid the mind’s adjustments, knot loose rope,
Glimpse anchors dreams yet keeps thoughts in their scope.
Flashes snow sheep show, recounted hope
Of t[r]apping spring of sleep... dream’s periscope.
Rise above life's challenge slope!
SEA-change awaits as crocus, once snowbound,
SONg sings which trees decks green, gifts green to ground.
7 December 1991 revised 12 April 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Of Hope (a fourteener)
Hope flourishes as flower which, when watered, nurtured, sprouts -
but first seed must take root in garden free from shady doubts.
mind's probing fingers, working, plucking weeds that stunt, consume;
strip hazards from environment so seed of Hope can bloom.
while some say Hope's perpetual and grows e'en without seed,
won't falter - feast or famine - and can withstand dirty deed.
I think more so Hope grows where effort made has clearly shown
that Faith was planted justly and then - Hope - the harvest grown.
Hope feeds upon a memory of expectations met,
where struggles as a seedling then grows larger, stronger yet.
And bow-tied with a ribbon, Hope becomes a gift still more -
for Hope as gift soon shape-shifts until Faith stands at the door.
yet caution wise to realize that Hope, when falsly gained
as dissapointment underlies; Faith/Hope fails - none retained.
let application/ action then help Hope become a tree,
the end result - a gift to self - instilled in me by me.
111909
poem by Terri Turrell
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Road to Oblivion
I know what I want and I know where I’m going.
Each year power expands and fortune keeps growing.
I’ve no time to listen to the ignorant or weak.
How can they know anything of what I speak?
Better to view the world through my own telescope
Than depend on unequals who can’t seem to cope.
As I lumber ahead so many fall silent and recede…
Family and friends fade from sight, but it’s money I need.
Then my fortune and I make a startling find.
Alone in our rage the world has left us behind
On a road to oblivion that’s sad and lonely for sure.
A one way lane filled with pain we fought hard to secure.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Grope
Grope, rope, dope, hope, Pope, cope, mope, lope, slope;
Oppressed and robbed! !
For, the gods of the wood and the gods of the stones are now controlling you.
A thing of horror!
An object of biting remarks;
To dropp off,
To go into captivity,
And like the reflections of your works in the mirror! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Creed Indeed
I have a creed:
In word and deed
I will proceed
Without the greed
That can impede
Me to succeed.
I will feed
But not exceed.
I won’t use weed;
I’ll often read,
And be studied,
And thus be freed
From the need
To be pitied;
But not envied
And, too, copied.
Besides varied,
I’ll be journeyed;
My home tidied
(Maybe married) .
If I’m bullied
I'd rather plead,
And maybe bleed
Than be dirtied.
Advice I’ll heed
And not mislead
My future seed.
When I’m wearied
I’ll be carried,
But when readied
Myself will lead.
I will not cede,
Perform misdeed,
Or stay worried
My life.
Agreed?
-written and submitted by
poem by Shadigo Claws
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The Seed And The Tree
Who can say for sure as to what came first: the seed or the tree?
If the seed came first where did it come from if not from the tree?
But then if the tree came first where did it come from except from a seed!
So then you'll have to re-ask again that question of the origin of the seed.
An endless circle with no logical conclusion soon appears
until one looks beyond the seed and the tree that it bears.
Although the seed comes from the tree and the tree from the seed
each one grows in the ground of mother Earth which both does feed.
The Earth is the womb of everything living and supports all we know
and then becomes the tomb back into which all forms one day must go.
The underlying essence of all nature is of consciousness-energy-intelligence
that includes and sustains all things despite our ever incessant belligerence.
Has anyone ever heard it said that God is in the form of the world
and so all within it carries a divine spark from which it has swirled.
God is the infinite eternal seed of all existence and can be experienced like this:
usually as an overwhelming love within us and as all power, knowledge and bliss.
So the seed and tree came from the Earth which itself has come from and exists in God
and to enquire where God has come from is useless if we haven't transcended this sod.
The limited mind of man has to merge into that unlimited universal mind of the Creator
only then can we know the original cause or final end of everything and of their Maker.
---------------------
Note:
This should remind one of the other similar paradox being that of 'the chicken and the egg'.
poem by George Krokos
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Tears Never Lies
Unable to talk the tell, i, the whisper is among the trees - Unable to walk the path, where the sun shadows three hundred degrees - Pinpoint the direction, seldom mentioned, why, is that the questioned - Bought by time, the lyric played by age - Thirst before the blow, sand is the seed, not to be sown - The strike, lightning is on her knees, who flowers the bloom to the bees - Crossed by the eyes, only tears never lies - Brought into function, by a heart beat - The deed is the need to feed, then bleed
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Special Needs
Special Needs breed creativity
Permitting change extending human scope,
Encourage opportunities to cope,
Compensating inner doubts to free
Ideas and feelings, as the Present's plea
Answered is, providing all with hope.
Life's lottery incentives gives. We grope,
Now well, now worse, in our diversity,
Ever onwards, seeking ways to see
Ever outwards, - search with telescope
Deep hidden truths which, slippery like soap,
Sleep hid within each one in pregnancy.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Easter Day, II
So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone,
I with my secret self held communing of mine own.
So in the southern city spake the tongue
Of one that somewhat overwildly sung,
But in a later hour I sat and heard
Another voice that spake another graver word.
Weep not, it bade, whatever hath been said,
Though He be dead, He is not dead.
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
Weep not beside His tomb,
Ye women unto whom
He was great comfort and yet greater grief;
Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam,
Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home;
Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief;
Though He be dead, He is not dead,
Nor gone, though fled,
Not lost, though vanished;
Though He return not, though
He lies and moulders low;
In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground,
Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly look around.
Whate’er befel,
Earth is not hell;
Now, too, as when it first began,
Life is yet life, and man is man.
For all that breathe beneath the heaven’s high cope,
Joy with grief mixes, with despondence hope.
Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief;
Or at least, faith unbelief.
Though dead, not dead;
Not gone, though fled;
Not lost, though vanished.
In the great gospel and true creed,
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mintah William
Sieve, believe, grieve;
And like the muse of 'Mintah William' in the land of my birth;
Succeed, proceed, seed, creed, heed, weed, breed!
With words of love and works of peace;
But, my mind is still on you.
Greed, reed, freed, treed, peed, need, deed, feed!
Searching around and looking for you;
But, i do hope to meet you one day,
For the muse of this village is all about the works of your people.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Psalm For New Year’s Eve
A FRIEND stands at the door;
In either tight-closed hand
Hiding rich gifts, three hundred and three score:
Waiting to strew them daily o'er the land
Even as seed the sower.
Each drops he, treads it in and passes by:
It cannot be made fruitful till it die.
O good New Year, we clasp
This warm shut hand of thine,
Loosing forever, with half sigh, half gasp,
That which from ours falls like dead fingers' twine:
Ay, whether fierce its grasp
Has been, or gentle, having been, we know
That it was blessed: let the Old Year go.
O New Year, teach us faith!
The road of life is hard:
When our feet bleed and scourging winds us scathe,
Point thou to Him whose visage was more marred
Than any man's: who saith
'Make straight paths for your feet'--and to the opprest--
'Come ye to Me, and I will give you rest.'
Yet hang some lamp-like hope
Above this unknown way,
Kind year, to give our spirits freer scope
And our hands strength to work while it is day.
But if that way must slope
Tombward, O bring before our fading eyes
The lamp of life, the Hope that never dies.
Comfort our souls with love,--
Love of all human kind;
Love special, close--in which like sheltered dove
Each weary heart its own safe nest may find;
And love that turns above
Adoringly; contented to resign
All loves, if need be, for the Love Divine.
Friend, come thou like a friend,
And whether bright thy face,
Or dim with clouds we cannot comprehend,--
We'll hold out patient hands, each in his place,
And trust thee to the end.
Knowing thou leadest onwards to those spheres
Where there are neither days nor months nor years.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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One Year In Heaven
One year in heaven,
One year you've been there,
So far away,
Someday I'll see you in the air,
One year in heaven,
I miss you so much,
Smile down upon me,
And show me your love.
One year in heaven,
It seems like so long,
Since the last time I saw you,
And then you were gone,
One year in heaven,
You left earth to soon,
But I know they need you,
More then I do,
One year in heaven,
I'm alone on the earth,
I miss your sweet kisses,
And all that you're worth,
One year in heaven,
Is God really there?
Why did he take you,
As I cried in despair.
One year in heaven,
I still see your face,
The day that you took,
The last breath you would take,
One year in heaven,
Why did you die,
I know God needed you,
But still I cry.
One year in heaven,
Soon I'll be there,
So wait by the gate,
Please, this do swear,
One year in heaven,
To me it is long,
But you have no pain,
From this earth you have gone.
One year in heaven,
It's so hard to move on,
I'll send you a prayer,
And sing you a song,
One year in heaven,
Life's not the same,
Since you left this world,
I'm living in a daze.
One year in heaven,
You watch from above,
Sit there and smile,
And send me your love,
One year in heaven,
You may think it's just a day,
But this world is so different,
Since God took you away
poem by Michele Weston
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To Cease Upon the Midnight - 0401
What plot encompasses our story's scope?
Ret-urning tears well, eloquently dumb,
where shadows numberless leave yearning numb,
and where the headstone's granite shoulders slope
squat down upon grave tomb's departed hope.
Chips cover churning worms which gorge plum, plumb
fame's name, life's game, both spurning: zero sum.
Why worry whether minister or pope
on empty blessing strings pain sermon's rope,
vain hope remains in echo's braggart drums!
The petty pomp which time spent pawning crumbs
is thrust by Time, nonplussed, from g[r]asp and grope.
A sandy trickle ends, calls each to task,
the handy sickle bends, falls, reach to mask.
(10 July 1991)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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All alone on Christmas
The cold wind is blowing,
An the streets are getting dark,
I’m looking for you everywhere,
An I don’t know were to start.
The Christmas songs are playing in the street,
People window shopping down in the town,
I walk and see the snow beneath my feet,
It must be Christmas time again right here,
Every year I get a little lonely around this time,
Do people still find love at Christmas?
Tell me, were do lonely hearts go?
Well, no-one ought to be all alone on Christmas
My childhood dreams are a thing in the past,
Nothing to find or nothing to hope for,
Everything will not last,
Do Christmas dreams ever come true?
I’m all grown up but I’m the same you’ll see,
I’m looking for because I still believe,
I know I have been good this year,
Can’t you stay with me right here?
This Christmas will always be the same,
For everyone to still believe,
That were do lonely hearts go,
Because no-one ought to be all alone on Christmas,
All alone on Christmas.
24/12/08
poem by Paul Prescott
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I'm very lonely,
Im very lonely,
So lonely I'm I,
So lonely,
That I thought of metaphysic's,
So lonely that I thought, I sit boredom,
Is metaphysics a sense of boredom,
So lonely like the moon,
Is it because other's are hell, ?
So lonely like the sun,
Is it because of no man to trust, ?
Very lonely,
So lonely,
That I can only trust the earthly volition,
So lonely,
That these people Increased my afflctions and agony,
So lonely that I think of the official thought's,
Is time so Official that it gave us another chance to survive.?
Egoism and vicissitude's,
Don't take me there,
Take me here,
No where are we going, ?
Do we human's really know where we be going, ?
Or are we just guessing and living it up.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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