Madness
(For Sara Teasdale)
The lonely farm, the crowded street,
The palace and the slum,
Give welcome to my silent feet
As, bearing gifts, I come.
Last night a beggar crouched alone,
A ragged helpless thing;
I set him on a moonbeam throne --
Today he is a king.
Last night a king in orb and crown
Held court with splendid cheer;
Today he tears his purple gown
And moans and shrieks in fear.
Not iron bars, nor flashing spears,
Not land, nor sky, nor sea,
Nor love's artillery of tears
Can keep mine own from me.
Serene, unchanging, ever fair,
I smile with secret mirth
And in a net of mine own hair
I swing the captive earth.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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The Vision Of The Holy Grail
_Deere Chryste, let not the cheere of earth,
To fill our hearts with heedless mirth
This holy Christmasse time;
But give us of thy heavenly cheere
That we may hold thy love most deere
And know thy peace sublime._
* * * * *
Full merry waxed King Pelles court
With Yuletide cheere and Yuletide sport,
And, when the board was spread,
Now wit ye well 'twas good to see
So fair and brave a companie
With Pelles at the head.
'Come hence, Elaine,' King Pelles cried,
'Come hence and sit ye by my side,
For never yet, I trow,
Have gentle virtues like to thine
Been proved by sword nor pledged in wine,
Nor shall be nevermo!'
'Sweete sir, my father,' quoth Elaine,
'Me it repents to give thee pain--
Yet, tarry I may not;
For I shall soond and I shall die
If I behold this companie
And see not Launcelot!
'My heart shall have no love but this--
My lips shall know no other kiss,
Save only, father, thine;
So graunt me leave to seek my bower,
The lonely chamber in the toure,
Where sleeps his child and mine.'
Then frowned the King in sore despite;
'A murrain seize that traitrous knight,
For that he lies!' he cried--
'A base, unchristian paynim he,
Else, by my beard, he would not be
A recreant to his bride!
'Oh, I had liefer yield my life
Than see thee the deserted wife
Of dastard Launcelot!
Yet, an' thou hast no mind to stay,
Go with thy damosels away--
Lo, I'll detain ye not.'
Her damosels in goodly train
Back to her chamber led Elaine,
And when her eyes were cast
Upon her babe, her tears did flow
And she did wail and weep as though
Her heart had like to brast.
The while she grieved the Yuletide sport
Waxed lustier in King Pelles' court,
And louder, houre by houre,
The echoes of the rout were borne
To where the lady, all forlorn,
Made moning in the toure,
'Swete Chryste,' she cried, 'ne let me hear
Their ribald sounds of Yuletide cheere
That mock at mine and me;
Graunt that my sore affliction cease
And give me of the heavenly peace
That comes with thoughts of thee!'
Lo, as she spake, a wondrous light
Made all that lonely chamber bright,
And o'er the infant's bed
A spirit hand, as samite pail,
Held sodaine foorth the Holy Grail
Above the infant's head.
And from the sacred golden cup
A subtle incense floated up
And filled the conscious air,
Which, when she breather, the fair Elaine
Forgot her grief, forgot her pain.
Forgot her sore despair.
And as the Grail's mysterious balm
Wrought in her heart a wondrous calm,
Great mervail 'twas to see
The sleeping child stretch one hand up
As if in dreams he held the cup
Which none mought win but he.
Through all the night King Pelles' court
Made mighty cheer and goodly sport.
Nor never recked the joy
That was vouchsafed that Christmass tide
To Launcelot's deserted bride
And to her sleeping boy.
_Swete Chryste, let not the cheere of earth
To fill our hearts with heedless mirth
This present Christmasse night;
But send among us to and fro
Thy Holy Grail, that men may know
The joy withe wisdom dight._
poem by Eugene Field
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O silent night, O holy night, O night divine!
A silent night. It was a long, long silent night.
The hopes and dreams were lost for many years.
The sin's chains kept the cages full.
The wings were broken, nobody could fly,
The prophecies were forgotten, with no freedom in the sight.
O silent night, O holy night,
The hope is shining over the lost world, again.
The stars, filled with wonder,
join the angels clothed in light,
and sing a majestic song together.
At the break of dawn, at the edge of the village,
a Savior is born and laid in a manger.
O silent night, O holy night,
The King of Kings, a humble birth
Goodwill to men and peace on Earth!
Knees of clay pray in silence,
We bring gifts to the newborn King,
On the love's altar, the hearts are burning,
The souls grow wings and fly to kiss the heavens.
It snows slowly with flakes of blessings over the Earth,
The smiling Child has secretly given me a star.
I keep it forever in my heart to remind me of this Christmas Night.
It is mine. It shines, and it shines...
O silent night, O holy night, O night divine!
poem by Marius Alexandru (12 December 2020)
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Coronation
At the king's gate the subtle noon
Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;
Into the drowsy snare too soon
The guards fell one by one.
Through the king's gate, unquestioned then,
A beggar went and laughed, 'This brings
Me chance, at last, to see if men
Fare better being kings.'
The king sat bowed beneath his crown,
Propping his face with listless hand;
Watching the hour-glass sifting down
Too slow its shining sand.
'Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?'
The beggar turned, and pitying,
Replied, like one in dream, 'Of thee,
Nothing. I want the king.'
Uprose the king, and from his head
Shook off the crown, and threw it by.
'O man, thou must have known,' said he,
'A greater king than I.'
Through all the gates, unquestioned then,
Went king and beggar hand in hand.
Whispered the king, 'Shall I know when
Before
his
throne I stand?'
The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste
Were wiping from the king's hot brow
The crimson lines the crown had traced.
'This is his presence now.'
At the king's gate, the crafty noon
Unwove its yellow nets of sun;
Out of their sleep in terror soon
The guards waked one by one.
'Ho here! Ho There! Has no man seen
The king?' The cry ran to and fro;
Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.
On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They called him dead;
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father's stead.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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The Golden Rose
A POOR lost princess, weary and worn,
Came over the down by the wind-washed moor,
And the king looked out on her grace forlorn,
And he took her in at his palace door.
He made her queen, he gave her a crown,
Bidding her rest and be glad and gay
In his golden town, with a golden gown,
And a new gold lily every day.
But the crown is heavy, the gold gown gray,
And the queen's pale breast is like autumn snows;
For he brings a gold lily every day,
But no king gathers the golden rose.
One came at last to the palace keep
By worlds of water and leagues of land,
Gray were his garments, his eyes were deep,
And he held the golden rose in his hand.
She left gold gown, gold town, gold crown,
And followed him straight to a world apart,
And he left her asleep on the wind-washed down,
With the golden rose on her quiet heart.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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White Fog
Heaven-invading hills are drowned
In wide moving waves of mist,
Phlox before my door are wound
In dripping wreaths of amethyst.
Ten feet away the solid earth
Changes into melting cloud,
There is a hush of pain and mirth,
No bird has heart to speak aloud.
Here in a world without a sky,
Without the ground, without the sea,
The one unchanging thing is I,
Myself remains to comfort me.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Iron Bars Of Mine
I stand behind these old iron bars,
To see the things, that I can see
I see a world that is changing everyday,
A world, that will not wait for me.
Behind these iron bars where I must lay,
Behind these bars where I must stay.
In this world where I am alone
Its a world that I helped build,
I make not the laws for how I live,
Time for me, she is held still.
As tomorrow is the same as it is today,
And today is the same, as yesterday.
Behind these bars, its where I am
It is the place where I sit and lie,
My destiny for me has already been chose,
For this is the place where I will die.
When the youth of mine turns into old,
When the dewdrops of dreams turn into snow.
The world that I made out of iron and stone
Where freedom and life is locked away
Where life is a waste, and living a haste,
It is where myself alone will forever stay.
Days and years for me, I have no care.
My only solitude, is sleep and prayer.
My day for me; she will someday come
When from my bars I am allowed to leave,
I will welcome that day with open arms and hope,
As those iron bars, will close behind me..
And for that day I will constantly pray,
As I leave those bars, for the bars of my a grave.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Shut Out
The door was shut. I looked between
Its iron bars; and saw it lie,
My garden, mine, beneath the sky,
Pied with all flowers bedewed and green:
From bough to bough the song-birds crossed,
From flower to flower the moths and bees;
With all its nests and stately trees
It had been mine, and it was lost.
A shadowless spirit kept the gate,
Blank and unchanging like the grave.
I peering through said: 'Let me have
Some buds to cheer my outcast state.'
He answered not. 'Or give me, then,
But one small twig from shrub or tree;
And bid my home remember me
Until I come to it again.'
The spirit was silent; but he took
Mortar and stone to build a wall;
He left no loophole great or small
Through which my straining eyes might look:
So now I sit here quite alone
Blinded with tears; nor grieve for that,
For nought is left worth looking at
Since my delightful land is gone.
A violet bed is budding near,
Wherein a lark has made her nest:
And good they are, but not the best;
And dear they are, but not so dear.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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I'm your friend...at the moment
World has turned into strange place
No, it’s a strange place
Friend is foe, foe is family
Enemy becomes ally, ally is their spy
Children forget their roots
Strangers search paradise for far
So pick a side, take a curly turn
In this world madness party
Today’s blue, tomorrow’s red
Today’s true, tomorrow’s not yet
So easily to change, so desperate for range
Loyalty is frail, emotion is strained
Winner becomes poor, poor becomes king
King abduction to slum, slum raises hero
We are scavengers, sneaking for opportunity
Play the game, exchange the ride
Laugh at day, war at night
All stirred in one messy crowded place
So take my hand, I’ll help you now
But watch your back, maybe I’m the one who first to blow
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Arms Of Mine
They have always been here to hold you,
As they have and will till the end of time
And they will die to defend and protect you
They are; these arms of mine.
Though other Men arms are stronger
That have held you and protected you before,
But my arms, have always been there for you
As they have today, and will forever more.
When you have been in tears, you they held
When you needed help, they were there for you
When you were in trouble, your load they carried
Whatever you needed, for you they would do.
Though other arms have held you once before
Arms, that would give you a smile from a frown
Arms that were there, for your love and care
But mine would pick you up; when you are down.
Though they are flawed and not that strong
And they are here, for just one lifetime
Though others might laugh, when their eyes they past
But for you they're always here; These Arms Of Mine.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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‘He came unto His own, and His own received Him not’
As Christ the Lord was passing by,
He came, one night, to a cottage door.
He came, a poor man, to the poor;
He had no bed whereon to lie.
He asked in vain for a crust of bread,
Standing there in the frozen blast.
The door was locked and bolted fast.
‘Only a beggar!’ the poor man said.
Christ the Lord went further on,
Until He came to a palace gate.
There a king was keeping his state,
In every window the candles shone.
The king beheld Him out in the cold.
He left his guests in the banquet-hall.
He bade his servants tend them all.
‘I wait on a Guest I know of old.’
‘’Tis only a beggar-man!’ they said.
‘Yes,’ he said; ‘it is Christ the Lord.’
He spoke to Him a kindly word,
He gave Him wine and he gave Him bread.
Now Christ is Lord of Heaven and Hell,
And all the words of Christ are true.
He touched the cottage, and it grew;
He touched the palace, and it fell.
The poor man is become a king.
Never was man so sad as he.
Sorrow and Sin on the throne make three,
He has no joy in mortal thing.
But the sun streams in at the cottage door
That stands where once the palace stood.
And the workman, toiling to earn his food,
Was never a king before.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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King Without A Crown
Welcome to the great republic
Guess I should show you round
Where once I was a king
And now I am a clown
The love that we once shared
Made a king of me
But now youre gone... but now youre gone
All I face is poverty
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
But heaven dont boast - no heaven dont boast
The jewel - the pretty jewel I just pawned
Every cloud has a silver lining
Every dog has its day
Oh but I guess the sun stopped shining
On the day you went away
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Yes Im a king - king! king without a crown
Bathed in former glory
Deposed from my throne
How do I get to tell my story?
When all gets your answerphone...
But you aint home
With the love you gave
I felt like royalty
But now youre face to face - face to face
With one ex-member of the aristocracy
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Theres no need to feel down
Yeah just take a look around
Youll see a man whos just a man
Nothing more
A king without a crown
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Of The Night Time World
Ken fowley, michael anthony, paul stanley, bob ezrin
Its so sad, livin at home
Far from the city and the midnight fun
Its so bad, goin to school
So far from me and the dirty things that we do
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Its so fine, lovin with ease
Far from the house and the family fights
Its so fine, bein with you
Bein with me makes everything alright
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream, alright
Its so sad, youre not content
Far from the music and the neon glow
Aint you glad we got the time
Far from our folks, theyll never ever know
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Im the king, Im the king, Im the king, Im the king
Im the king, Im the king, Im the king, Im the king
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Im the king of the night time world
And youre my headlight queen
Im the king of the night time world
Come live your secret dream
Im the king of the night time world
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Accession
ONCE I loved, and my heart bowed down,
Subject and slave, for Love was a King;
He sat above with sceptre and crown,
Turning his eyes from my sorrowing.
The laugh of a god on his lips lay light--
His lips victorious that mocked my pain,
And I mourned in the cold and the outer night,
And my tears and my prayers were vain.
Now the old spell is over and done,
Myself I wear the ermine and gold,
My brows are crowned, I ascend the throne,
I have taken the sceptre and orb to hold.
I smile victorious, set far above
The music of voices that moan and pray,
My feet are wet with the tears of love,
And I turn my eyes away.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A rich queen and a poor king
The handsome threadbare man who struggled in a slum.
I don't know why I loved him and took him to my palace?
I gave an old king's name to bring him to our own society.
This beautiful witch-Queen dragged me to her palace
and given me an ugly name of a Lunatic.
My halcyon slum is a paradise.
The edge of the heavy crown pierced my head
and I never had a sound sleep
since I came to this hell.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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On This Lonely Night 'Continue the Fight
This is such a lonely night
Wondering if I should continue the fight
And if I should even stay
To see if I make it into the next day
I'm so so lonely for you
Knowing how much my love for you is true
Wishing I could see
My one and only
Walking down this lonely street
Watching as the rain drops
Slowly hit my feet
Hoping it never ever stops
The lightning streaks across
The stormy night sky
The rain keeps falling
Like it's wanting me to die
I think to give up the fight
On this oh so lonely night
But instead I think of you
And then I know what I must do
My eyes must dry
No more tears can I cry
I will get out of the middle of the street
And no more rain drops will hit my feet
I love you too much die
And the pain eases
knowing you love me too
Showing what love can put you through
I finally go inside
Lay on my bed
Then close my eyes
And end this lonely night
poem by Matt Burgett
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Lost Tears (an ode to children of alcoholics)
LOST TEARS
To all the boys who never cried
My heart it weeps for you
Longing for a fathers touch
Slipping slowly out of view
A hand it reached within my chest
And entwined around my heart
With every beat the fingers grew
Until they covered every part
And keys would fumble in the door
What would this dark night bring
And in from the night the tyrant came
The beggars received their king
To bow and scrape, perhaps defuse
To laugh at every joke
Perhaps the tyrant king would sleep
Perhaps we would provoke
With every night the fire dies
Embers of the heart recede
The king is god, he rules supreme
Don't hurt our mum the children plead
And darkness overcomes the soul
Into the night the children flee
And all around the curtains fall
And when they fall you cannot see
Who will rid us of this endless night
The blackness and the shades of gray
For beneath the pillow held so tight
Is not a place where children play
Why do these tears that belong to you
Fall down from upon my face
For once I dwelt in shadowland
Its now your dwelling place
So if you wander in the night
A night within your heart
The true King sees behind your veil
He sees you play the part
Oh wont you come on bended knee
And find the tears you lost
The true King longs to set you free
And that at any cost
Don't you long to see the sun
And feel its warm embrace
A heart of flesh and not of steel
And tears upon your face
My God He is the tears you lost
Living waters from above
He restores the broken and the crushed
With Godly tears of love
The true King wept when you could not
He wept to see His Son
And with those tears on Calvary fought
And now the work is done
Come out from amongst the dead He cries
And He will deal with all your fears
For every time you could not cry
My God He shed your tears
And all these tears He's gathered
And they flow from Heavens throne
And when your swept up in this tide
You'll know you were not alone
poem by Frank McEleny
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Miniature Sun
Im 12 oclock,
All daylight hours,
Ill warm your bed,
Ill grow your flowers.
Like Im a miniature sun.
This ball ignited when she told me I was her only one.
Im not the same now.
Im not that plain little boy.
Im all aflame now.
Im king up here like a miniature sun.
No life comes close,
Im rising higher,
On holiday,
On ball of fire,
You made a miniature sun.
Theres no more shadows in this world she says Im her only one.
Im not the same now.
Im not that plain little boy.
Im all aflame now.
I radiate like a miniature sun.
Now everything looks right today,
A billion watts of bright today.
And Im a blazing kite today.
I think Ill float around her house,
And tell her exactly how she makes me glow.
But then the other man leaving merely doffs his hat,
And Im the last to know.
Now everything looks wrong today.
An out of tune sung song today.
Ive grown from big king kong today,
Right down to miniature...
Dont come too close,
Ill burn your arm,
Ill bleach your hair,
Dustbowl your farm,
Ill blind your eyes,
You blinded mine,
Ill spin with rage,
All summertime,
You made a miniature sun. just take a look up in the nightsky, Im not the only one.
Im not the same now.
Im not that vain little boy that I was.
Im all to blame now,
Look out below here I come!
Man crashing down like a miniature sun
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A King in Exile
O THE Queen may keep her golden
Crown and sceptre of command!
I would give them both twice over
To be King of Babyland.
Sure, it is a wondrous country
Where the beanstalks grow apace,
And so very near the moon is
You could almost stroke her face.
And the dwellers in that country
Hold in such esteem their King,
They believe that if he chooses
He can do—just anything!
And, although his regal stature
May be only four-feet-ten,
Think him tallest, strongest, bravest,
Noblest, wisest, best of men.
Ah, how fondly I remember
The good time serene and fair,
In the bygone years when I, too,
Was a reigning monarch there!
But my subjects they discrowned me
When they’d older, colder, grown;
And they took away my sceptre,
And upset my royal throne.
Yet, although a King in Exile,
Without subjects to command,
I am glad at heart to think I
Once was King of Babyland.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Sate
'Sate, sate..... te te'
Sound builders satay at night
echoed through the halls of the capital
go on and on so every night
the walls of the houses across the street, alleys
in the capital of the kingdom
witness craft, tenacity and perseverance
peddle wares
favorite food of all citizens,
officials and the king
anticipated arrival
moreover the king's wife and family
they secretly love it
although manners forbade direct contact
with the repairman satay
'Te, te...... te goat, and cow's father.... '
Until one day the king, officials and retainer
In the vicinity of the royal palace
Angry, out skewers
Preceded by residents who are hungry
From staying up all night, patrolling
The Nayaka, the courtiers can only be silent
When the officials angry
Moreover, the royal family.
'If so, tell the repairman satay'
Only selling to serve the royal family.
Or call a palace cook
The rickshaw satay did not enter the palace
Become a palace cook
He prefers, the king occupies land
In addition to the road to the palace mosque
And do not want to be separated with customers
In this life
Most prized possessions is the fidelity
To the people who love him
Not germerlap money, rewards and praise
Of courtiers
Which at times was bored
So kick
Life can not be measured
only of desire
worldly
poem by Prasetya Utama
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The Three Kings
WHEN the star in the East was lit to shine
The three kings journeyed to Palestine;
They came from the uttermost parts of earth
With long trains laden with gifts of worth.
The first king rode on a camel's back,
He came from the land where the kings are black,
Bringing treasures desired of kings,
Rubies and ivory and precious things.
An elephant carried the second king,
He came from the land of the sun-rising,
And gems and gold and spices he bare
With broidered raiment for kings to wear.
The third king came without steed or train
From the misty land where the white kings reign.
He bore no gifts save the myrrh in his hand,
For he came on foot from a far-off land.
Now when they had travelled a-many days
Through tangled forests and desert ways,
By angry seas and by paths thorn-set
On Christmas Vigil the three kings met.
And over their meeting a shrouded sky
Made dark the star they had travelled by.
Then the first king spake and he frowned and said:
'By some ill spell have our feet been led,
'Now I see in the darkness the fools we are
To follow the light of a lying star.
'Let us fool no more, but like kings and men
Each get him home to his land again!'
Then the second king with the weary face,
Gold-tinct as the sun of his reigning place,
Lifted sad eyes to the clouds and said,
'It was but a dream and the dream is sped.
'We dreamed of a star that rose new and fair,
But it sets in the night of the old despair.
'Yet night is faithful though stars betray,
It will lead to our kingdoms far away.'
Then spake the king who had fared alone
From the far-off kingdom, the white-hung throne:
'O brothers, brothers, so very far
Ye have followed the light of the radiant star,
'And because for a while ye see it not
Shall its faithful shining be all forgot?
'On the spirit's pathway the light still lies
Though the star be hid from our longing eyes.
'To-morrow our star will be bright once more
The little pin-hole in heaven's floor--
'The Angels pricked it to let it bring
Our feet to the throne of the new-born King!'
And the first king heard and the second heard
And their hearts grew humble before the third.
And they laid them down beside bale and beast
and their sleeping eyes saw light in the East.
For the Angels fanned them with starry wings
And the waft of visions of unseen things.
And the next gold day waned trembling and white
And the star was born of the waxing night.
And the three kings came where the Great King lay,
A little baby among the hay,
The ox and the ass were standing near
And Mary Mother beside her Dear.
Then low in the litter the kings bowed down,
They gave Him gold for a kingly crown,
And frankincense for a great God's breath
and Myrrh to sweeten the day of death.
The Maiden Mother she stood and smiled
And she took from the manger her little child.
On the dark king's head she laid His hand
And anger died at that dear command.
She laid His hand on the gold king's head
And despair itself was comforted.
But when the pale king knelt in the stall
She heard on the straw his tears down fall.
And she stooped where he knelt beside her feet
And laid on his bosom her baby sweet.
And the king in the holy stable-place
Felt the little lips through the tears on his face.
* * * * * * *
Christ! lay Thy hand on the angry king
Who reigns in my breast to my undoing,
And lay thy hands on the king who lays
The spell of sadness on all my days,
And give the white king my soul, Thy soul,
Of these other kings the high control.
That soul and spirit and sense may meet
In adoration before Thy feet!
Now Glory to God the Father Most High,
And the Star, the Spirit, He leads us by.
And to God's dear Son, the Babe who was born
And laid in the manger on Christmas morn!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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