On a Young Lady's Sixth Anniversary
Baby Babbles--only one,
Now to sit up has begun.
Little Babbles quite turned two
Walks as well as I and you.
And Miss Babbles one, two, three,
Has a teaspoon at her tea.
But her Highness at four
Learns to open the front door.
And her Majesty--now six,
Can her shoestrings neatly fix.
Babbles, babbles, have a care,
You will soon put up your hair!
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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The Black Monkey
My Babbles has a nasty knack
Of keeping monkeys on her back.
A great big black one comes and swings
Right on her sash or pinny strings.
It is a horrid thing and wild
And makes her such a naughty child.
She comes and stands beside my chair
With almost an offended air
And says:--"Oh, Father, why can't I?"
And stamps her foot and starts to cry--
I look at Mother in dismay...
What little girl is this, to-day?
She throws about her nicest toys
And makes a truly dreadful noise
Till Mother rises from her place
With quite a Sunday churchy face
And Babbles silently is led
Into the dark and her own bed.
Never a kiss or one Goodnight,
Never a glimpse of candle light.
Oh, how the monkey simply flies!
Oh, how poor Babbles calls and cries,
Runs from the room with might and main,
"Father dear, I am good again."
When she is sitting on my knee
Snuggled quite close and kissing me,
Babbles and I, we think the same--
Why, that the monkey never came
Only a terrible dream maybe...
What did she have for evening tea?
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Bartender vs. Babble
I've taken a job,
to be more social....
A rustic bar,
filled with locals...
People I haven't seen in twenty plus years,
old bartender jokes,
alot of marriage proposals,
my favorite.....
the ones with tears in their beers.
Old Joe is doing this,
Patty doing that.....
Wow....Gary....he's gotten so fat.
A high school buddy comes into my bar,
a wife half his age stops
to find out how we are....
She babbles and babbles about the good life they have...
While he snickers and smiles......
I'm not to believe every word that is said,
the liquor amount goes straight to the head...
How did I get here?
I cannot stay......
This foundation for me....
yep I lay.....
I wonder if life is what I see in this bar....
You know I keep talking about that scar.
It's just this,
the life that I hated....
I truly miss.
Oh God.
Anything.
Is better than this! ! ! ! !
The shallower the brook, the more it babbles.
Clear blue water stream
Gleeful song of spring babbles
summer's promise sings
haiku by Dorothy Holmes (07 June 2008)
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Spring
Spring babbles forth like a brook,
and I watch the clouds that look
like mountains in the sky,
and I wish for a dose of atmosphere.
The rain is so nice!
Don't worry, the sun's hiding will suffice.
poem by Soren Valentine
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New Year’s Eve
Staggering homeward between the stream and the trees the unhappy
drunkard
Babbles a woeful song and babbles
The end of the world, the moon's like fired Troy in a flying
cloud, the storm
Rises again, the stream's in flood.
The moon's like the sack of Carthage, the Bastile's broken, pedlars
and empires
Still deal in luxury, men sleep in prison.
Old Saturn thinks it was better in his grandsire's time but that's
from the brittle
Arteries, it neither betters nor worsens.
(Nobody knows my love the falcon.)
It has always bristled with phantoms, always factitious, mildly absurd;
The organism, with no precipitous
Degeneration, slight imperceptible discounts of sense and faculty,
Adapts itself to the culture-medium.
(Nobody crawls to the test-tube rim,
Nobody knows my love the falcon.)
The star's on the mountain, the stream snoring in flood; the brain-lit
drunkard
Crosses midnight and stammers to bed.
The inhuman nobility of things, the ecstatic beauty, the inveterate
steadfastness
Uphold the four posts of the bed.
(Nobody knows my love the falcon.)
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Anger Rages Inside
Anger is bubbling away at me.
Burning a whole in my heart.
Making me burn with rage.
I have good reason to be angry.
I only wish
I could make them pay.
Put them through
What they did to me.
Anger is destroying me.
For Im hell bent on revenge..
I would love to dish out.
My own justice.
But I cant.
Anger Buabbles away.
Like a swishing sound
Of the waves.
Like a brook babbles
Anger takes ahold.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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It Is Cold
it is cold
there is still this mist
the early morning frost
that they talk about
and now you believe
nature's indifference
you press your palm
on your cheek and let
it stay on the side of
your neck
you hold your thick hair
with your left hand
saving what heat
still lives there
you exhale not often
you save this warm breath
of life inside your chest
inside your veins
you still want to live
a little longer
far from what you
have written in one of
your midnight poems
you put yourself
sometimes in shame
saying one thing and
doing another
the mouth babbles more
to the silent wishes
of your heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Spring River
Heat and cold, dusk and dawn have crowded one upon the other;
Suddenly I find it is two years since I came to Chung-chou.
Through my closed doors I hear nothing but the morning and evening drum;
From my upper windows all I see is the ships that come and go.
In vain the orioles tempt me with their song to stray beneath the flowering trees;
In vain the grasses lure me by their colour to sit beside the pond.
There is one thing and one alone I never tire of watching-
The spring river as it trickles over the stones and babbles past the rocks.
A dadada poem
It is not a fine morning, a storm this june
Sunk a boat killing some of my brothers
And they are not accounted by this government,
Complaints are made and they are not heard,
And remedies are not afforded, and always this
Event happens with everybody from the senator
To the mayor of the town gets a babble,
A da da da da da da da A da da da da da da da
A da da da da da da da A da da da da da da da
And so what has been done? I do not read the papers
I do not take a pair of scissors, I do not choose any article
And cut it and put all the pieces on a bag and close the bag
And shake all the cut pieces and then I throw all the
Pieces from the top of the building in the city
Like a confetti and there I shout, at the top of my voice
This is what is happening and nothing is done
We are all falling like pieces like pieces like
da da da ado
do do do ada
da da da da
Arriving at nothing at all, babbles getting out of the bag
Now emptied of words.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Safe in their alabaster chambers,
Safe in their alabaster chambers,
Untouched by morning and untouched by noon,
Sleep the meek members of the resurrection,
Rafter of satin, and roof of stone.
Light laughs the breeze in her castle of sunshine;
Babbles the bee in a stolid ear;
Pipe the sweet birds in ignorant cadences, --
Ah, what sagacity perished here!
Grand go the years in the crescent above them;
Worlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row,
Diadems drop and Doges surrender,
Soundless as dots on a disk of snow.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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She Shall Not Guess
Even if I died no sound should tell it her.
Death babbles, but the calm of her dear eyes
In vain would ask, no tell--tale breath should stir
The lips still treasuring a thought unwise.
How vain my life has been in its disguise,
Left unregarded, her least pensioner,
Yielding to all, unasking even with sighs
The dole of hope not Heaven could quite confer.
--To--day behold me on this page her name
Over my own inscribing, with no prayer,
Nor daring even to kneel in my distress.
What I have written in this candle's flame
Shrinks ere 'tis finished, and the incensed air
Bears but betrays it not. She shall not guess.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Capture poem
Capture poem
They are there
In the water
In the air
In the light
In the earth
In the sky.
Capture poem
They are there
In the bark, bray, bleat, bell, bellow, buzz, babbles
In the coo, crow, cackles, croak, chant
They are there
In the grunt, gibber, gaggle, growl
In the melody, monotone, neigh, mew, purr, hiss
In the shriek, squeak, scream, screech,
In the laugh, low, yelp
In the roars, booming, clapping, groaning, drizzling
In the pealing clattering
Capture capture
Capture the poem
That are within you
That are beyond you.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Lamp Flickers Far
Lamp flickers far
And I follow its dull light
That falls wide through the silent forest night
Dim stars and the pale moon
A brook babbles nearby
Faint sound of birds invite the king of skies
Doors of horizon open in his honour
His men and cavillary glitter so gracefully through
As conquered they the heavens and the earth
Celebrate they the death and evil
But till the royal chariot rolls through the milky way with
Its fleet
And the majestic grandeur sets on throne
With a thousand angels of light saluting, honoring and
Admiring him
I follow my humble lamp
That guides me home...
poem by Lama Abbas
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Machinist Talking
I sit at my machine,
Hour long beside me Vera aged nineteen,
Babbles her sweet and innocent tale of sex.
Her boy, she hopes, will prove
Unlike his father in the act of love,
Twelve children are too many for her taste.
She looks sidelong, blue-eyed
And tells a girlish story of a bride
With the sweet licence of Arabian queens.
Her child, she says, saw light
Minute for minute, nine months from the night
The mother first lay in her lover’s arms.
She says a friend of hers
Is a man’s mistress who gives jewels and furs
But will not have her soft limbs cased in stays.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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The Flower Shop
Because I have no garden and
No pence to buy,
Before the flower shop I stand
And sigh.
The beauty of the Springtide spills
In glowing posies
Of voilets and daffodils
And roses.
And as I see that joy of bloom,
Sad sighing,
I think of Mother in her room,
Lone lying.
She babbles of the garden fair
Her childhood knew,
And how she gathered roses there
In joyous dew.
I shiver in the street so grey,
Yet still I stop;
In gutter grime it seems so gay,
This flower shop . . .
"Oh Mister, could you spare one rose?"
(There now, I'm crying),
"For Mother,--every blossom knows
--Is dying."
poem by Robert William Service
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Paper Nest
Dementia begins. The ending starts.
Death had many names;
The mountain owls. They fly in flocks
and take prey diving on rabbits or great
bustards. Have you seen the courtship
display of bustards? They are heavy birds. Fly,
but also run very fast.
Soaring flight of eagle. Keen sight and a massive
hooked bill. Hawk takes prey by surprise.
Falcon catches prey from above.
I think water. Don't cry. Your son was
drowned in a tank when he was three. Head
down. We pulled him out after half-an-hour.
Brain damaged. He babbles now, lives a vegetable.
Neat. Death had many faces. You want her.
It will not come on asking. I think flames. We
must lock the house, and come out on skywalk.
poem by Satish Verma
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The River Forever To The Ocean Flow
The river that flows from the hills far away
Through wetlands and dry lands by night and by day
As old as father time will journey forever more
Through the flat coastal lands en route to the sea shore.
It starts on it's journey as a trickling rill
In a pond by a rock at the base of the hill
That is far north of here even as the crow fly
The river flows on and refuses to die.
From a rill to a stream and into a river it grow
As rills and streams from other hills into it flow
It babbles and gurgles by hedgerow and tree
On it's forever journey on down to the sea.
A creek, brook, stream or river call it what you may
Near the ocean it grows to a huge water-way
And Humans like the Seasons to life come and go
But the river forever to the ocean flow
poem by Francis Duggan
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Nurturing That Broken Heart ...
at that moment when i have
learned to forget you
it was then when i begin to
feel the numbness of my loins
the uselessness of those
between us,
i feel nothing but air in this
body, as light as burnt paper
floating higher and scattering
its black ash on the blades of
grass,
desire died, all systems off,
i wake up in the morning
even forgetting my name
i walk past the streets
heading to the office
all the people are faceless
all the buildings are sketches
the usual sound of the traffic
are babbles of the mad man
in ward 8, that nervous breakdown
that xanor failed to save
a scene never reconstructed
days are numbers, hours run too fast,
i have grown more white hairs
due to massive denials,
i send a letter, i will be on leave
for days, taking vacations somewhere
no one knows,
it is like i am squeezing all the pain
like all the juice from an orange
i am the peel without substance now,
i am nothing
the trashcan is laughing
claiming me again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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everything I once owned
Rianne, you evolve somehow
You must know, how you started
Your first lines with something
Like the womb of your mother
Some classical music
And nursery lines recited
Even before you are born
And then you talk about
Papa and mama and their loving hands
The male guitar the female voice
And tender fingers and rosy cheeks
And some babbles on the cradle
You grow up and talk about love
And the opera and some applause
Remembering the phantom songs
And the labyrinths of the heart
A little complication now
A grudge of some little prisons
And some birds wanting to be free
From a golden cage
Then Rianne I anticipate something
Sooner you will learn my language
Of happiness and bliss and wandering
To the sea, the one with a beginning
And seemingly without an end
How I decided to swim be like a fish
And be with the corals of the deep
How I like to have fins and codes
Deep down the far oceans to other continents
How I like some things far away
How I like never coming back
Because there is so much out there
And everything I once owned and claim to own
Have all become exhausted
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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