Lovely Lines
When Madame la Pompadour saw me, she zoomed in
admonishing: You are NOT to read or listening to your
earphones - Yes, Your Majesty, I meekly acquiesced
and took my place as far away as possible from the strict
Madame and the rest of the Royalty, kept my delicious
book firmly closed - I'm reading "Making Money" by Terry
Pratchett and reached the bit about the cabinet that has
not been designed by a girl between four and eleven as it
contains all colours except pink - the hallmark of youthful
femininity - and started to study the Departmental Diary
issued to all officials, delighted with the daily meditation
or maxim at the top of each page: ‘Beauty is not what you
see but what you dream' - yuck, say my colleagues, how
syrupy, yum, says my own mind, how just like I feel; then
‘Kindness is to love people more than they deserve' - there,
now I can love my colleagues again, even if they abhor the
words that make me glad, ‘The true measure of a person is
how he treats someone who can do him no good', perfect,
now I shall be kind to my colleagues who cannot recognise
the beauty in these lovely lines…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Sudden Enlightenment
Maybe telepathic messages between people
do exist, I felt bad, then received SMS from
sis - in bed, ill with something, leading to sud-
den enlightenment when Madame Pompadour
sent her SMS: also in bed, sinus attack
really bad, pain and incontinence
I should never have speculated about lack of
telepathic communication, sis is connected to
a bed-ridden Madame Pompadour, my feeling
ill caused by vibrations from those two - let me
apologise to the genies in the sky for ex-
pressing distrust of telepathy
Today I know everything we think and feel is
diffused through osmosis and picked up by a
sensitive medium like me; let me lock mental
doors, only keep an aperture open for my
lovely colleagues: Pollyanna, Heidi, Maria
Von Trapp and Wendy who said
All is well in Neverland, God is in heaven and
Madame Pompadour in her bed – AMEN –
Heidi replied - eyes twinkling with
merriment…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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See Not At All
The high and mighty lady who seldom
honours state office with her graceful
presence told Madame De Lafayette,
supervisor - off for follow-up tests
Still not coming to the office while the
rest of us are threatened with legal
procedures should we violate any
regulation pertaining to absence
Stunned by these double standards
some openly mimicking Madame La
Pompadour's haughty manner - the
Calvinistic work ethic of colleagues
Enabling them to do her work also, no-
body lodges a complaint; such good
officials, used to oppression for no
apparent reason other than
Management's inefficiency which only
intimidate the law-abiding while serial
offenders are untouchable - best is
to see La Madame not at all…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Awareness (Revised)
Awareness of beauty grows lavishly while seated
among Jacaranda trees, green canopies caress
the sun with more divinity than mere words
embrace – it makes my heart swell in music ‘til
lighter than air I float off on the breeze
Luckily we are government officials anchored to
chairs facing a grindstone patiently; at least my
brave Calvinist colleagues are the most upstanding
people I have ever met and cannot be deterred by
anything as fractious as sheer beauty;
Hanlie spreading good humour & delight wherever
she is; Hermien’s unselfconscious efficiency graced
with the calm of a state secretary; June brisk, tone
always crisp, laughter infectious, smile as precious
as jewels hidden deep in the earth,
And the boss Madame La Pompadour is an exact
replica of ‘Madame Olympia’, staying home under
various pretexts so as to not sully her soul by noise
of the open-plan office, and me growing more like
Madame Medusa in ‘The Rescuers’
Driving is my favourite activity, trying to beat each
other robot, succeeding mostly; slow lane overtaking
when the fast crawls at a snail’s pace, enjoying the
exhilaration of evading other motorists, my liberties
sometimes earn aggressive gestures
I merely respond with a smile, blissfully threatening
pedestrians with amazing goodwill while continuing
this enticing technological dance, my mind delighting
in nirvana of a Zen-like trance…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 33
One of the veziers of a king treated his subordinates with kindness and sought the goodwill of his colleagues. Once he happened to be called to account by the king for something he had done whereon his colleagues endeavoured to effect his liberation. Those who guarded him treated him leniently and the great men expatiated upon his good character to the padshah till he renounced all further inquiry. A pious man who took cognizance of this affair said:
"In order to gain the hearts of friends
Sell even the garden of thy father.
In order to boil the pot of well-wishers
Burn even all the furniture of the house.
Do good even to a malevolent fellow.
Tie up the mouth of the dog with a sop."
Boon Soul
Behold! I'm old; my hair is white;
My eighty years are in the offing,
And sitting by the fire to-night
I sip a grog to ease my coughing.
It's true I'm raucous as a rook,
But feeling bibulously "bardy,"
These lines I'm scribbling in a book:
The verse complete of Thomas Hardy.
Although to-day he's read by few,
Him have I loved beyond all measure;
So here to-night I riffle through
His pages with the oldtime pleasure;
And with this book upon my knee,
(To-day so woefully neglected)
I muse and think how soon I'll be
Myself among the Great Rejected.
Yet as these lines with zest I write,
Although the hour for me is tardy,
I think: "Of all the world to-night
'Tis I alone am reading Hardy";
And now to me he seems so nigh
I feel I commune with his spirit,
And as none love him more than I,
Thereby I gain a modest merit.
Oh Brother Thomas, glad I'll be,
Though all the world may pass unheeding,
If some greybeard con over me,
As I to-night your rhymes are reading;
Saying: "Old Bastard, you and I
By sin are knit in mind and body. . . ."
So ere to hit the hay I hie
Your ghost I'll toast in midnight toddy.
poem by Robert William Service
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Intimacy
I hear people say, "I love my iPhone, "
Or, "I love drinking a Starbucks coffee."
Sometimes: "I love my Versace cologne, "
And also: "I love having this money."
I hear people say, "I love my Walmart, "
Or, "I love the drive-thru at Taco Bell."
"I love my TV. It's state of the art."
"I love the shoes that Nike has to sell."
I hear this: "I love American Idol, "
And, "I love a nice, cold Budweiser."
"I love medicines such as Demerol."
And, "I love my internet provider."
Yet, one thing I don't hear is, "I love you."
Saying that is too intimate to do.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Sonnet LXXI: Who Will in Fairest Book
Who will in fairest book of nature know
How virtue may best lodg'd in beauty be,
Let him but learn of love to read in thee,
Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show.
There shall he find all vices' overthrow,
Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty
Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly;
That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so.
And, not content to be perfection's heir
Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move,
Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair.
So while thy beauty draws thy heart to love,
As fast thy virtue bends that love to good:
But "Ah," Desire still cries, "Give me some food!"
poem by Philip Sidney
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Astrophel and Stella: LXXI
Who will in fairest book of nature know
How virtue may best lodg'd in beauty be,
Let him but learn of love to read in thee,
Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show.
There shall he find all vices' overthrow,
Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty
Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly;
That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so.
And, not content to be perfection's heir
Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move,
Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair.
So while thy beauty draws thy heart to love,
As fast thy virtue bends that love to good:
But "Ah," Desire still cries, "Give me some food!"
poem by Philip Sidney
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Goodbye Mine M.j.
A "Stranger in Moscow" told me that you've gone!
But is it true that you've gone my M.J.?
And with tears in my eyes I say goodbye my M.J.
You who feeds the eyes and the ears
And has graced our African soil
But why did you have to go, you "Smooth criminal"
When you know "They don't care about us"
Tell me, who will "Heal the world"?
Who will make it a better place for us?
Who will give to the poor once and again to their necessity?
Who will be there for them in their anguish and pain?
O', know you not that admired you are of those that hate you most
And did you have to go; or where you too lonely?
But you said "We're the world" that "You are not alone"
Then why did you have to go? And did you leave another "Thriller"
If no, then why choose to be "The man in the mirror"
Thus dirge and elegy now met in my heart. Why?
"Do you remember the time" we first met in my dream
And "The way you make me feel" with your "Childhood"?
Oh king of pop, my M.J., "I want you back"
And you "Got to be there" for me on my birthday
To sing me your song, "Don't stop till you get enough"
While "Rockin Robin and Ben" "Off the wall" till they "Scream"
For your love is magical because you're angelica
You are so wonderful because you're beautiful
You are indispensable because you're irreplaceable
And now I see the "Liberian girl" cry because you're "Speechless"
And upon our bodies the nighted color of mourning you. Why?
Alas death! Why taketh him away when all that look on him yet not satisfied?
O', let not the world lose another "Michael Jackson".
Michael I love you "Yesterday, today and forever."
May the spirit light your way
Through the land of the shadow
To the halls of eternal peace. Amen.
In the cabinet of my imagination, in the treasury of my reason, in the registry of my conscience, and in the council chamber of my thought, there shall you live forever.
I LOVE YOU MINE M.J.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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I think that practising the law, particularly litigation, and particularly in Glasgow, has always been difficult enough without adding to it by having problems with professional colleagues or former colleagues.
quote by Len G. Murray
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Friends flock
Lots of reader friends flock the site
Come with proposals and friendship to delight
I love their wisdom and intelligence
It is really god sent opportunity and chance
Some of them leave behind ever lasting impression
Not with their brilliance alone but with face expression
They speak nothing but rarely a word is missed
You feel intimate enough as if being passionately kissed
I read many faces with humanly concern
Try to understand their point of view in turn
But some of the faces never last from the memory
And if they try to do anytime I feel so sorry
One such character came across like lightening speed
She was "Aakhya" meaning fame with lots of things to feed
It has several meanings to be interpreted like "spoken"
I was all for her beauty on face and never got shaken
Some of the females only might have been blessed
As after long chase her face was traced
What a beauty to speak about and know her feelings
She was all for cooperation and expressed it as willing
Moon is best object to be compared with beauty
She is much more than what I thought can be from almighty
Each line can be read from her beautiful face
So lovely to look at and can be compelled to join the race
She has surprise elements on face
Woven with human colors and more of traces
Feeling for humanity and larger cause for literature
That is how I read and coming things for future
She has tendency to fall in love
May be with her work and firmly believe
That what has been dreamed is achievable
When person is trying to prove and is capable
She has personal gratitude for mother
As beauty with brain she feels no other
I have felt for her brilliance and beauty
She looks imposing and fine person and overall cutie
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Soldier, Soldier
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Why don't you march with my true love?"
"We're fresh from off the ship an' 'e's maybe give the slip,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
New love! True love!
Best go look for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
An' you'd best go look for a new love.
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
What did you see o' my true love?"
"I seed 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did ye see no more o' my true love?"
"I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly --
But you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did aught take 'arm to my true love?"
"I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white --
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll up an' tend to my true love!"
"'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll down an' die with my true love!"
"The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 'im --
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Do you bring no sign from my true love?"
"I bring a lock of 'air that 'e allus used to wear,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!"
"An' I tell you truth again -- when you've lost the feel o' pain
You'd best take me for your true love."
True love! New love!
Best take 'im for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
An' you'd best take 'im for your true love.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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See what you like
There should never be "what" and "if"
We are only green leaf or leaves
Hear what we feel an act as not deaf
Feel to the pulse and say very brief
Love is to care
Love is to dare
Love is to be fare
Spread the fragrance in the air
Eyes may speak
But legs may feel weak
You may know it well
I have nothing more to tell
I loved it all
Waited for your sweet call
You were there in my dream
I always longed for you to swim
I lack the words
But look always forward
I feel warmth and her gentle touch
I never knew love will be as such
I missed her not for the beauty
But I considered it as my duty
Love demands sacrifice
Not words but with full promises
She may be far and away
But I see in her clear way
She guides me from the distance
What a luck and beautiful golden chance!
I may hold her whenever time comes
Offer all praises and heartily welcome
She may be for me and forever
I shall not doubt it any more
Not all people may be lucky
Whatever they want and get it easy
I must be thankful to her and almighty
Who have blessed me with such a fine beauty?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
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Beauty is a Million Colors
Beauty is more than appearance
Beauty is love
The graceful wings of a dove
The endless imagination in a dream
Beauty is not always something that can be seen
Beauty is laughter
And the remembrance after
Beauty is hope
When you have no reason to
Beauty is he and she and me and you
Beauty is forgiving
No matter how hard
Beauty is kindness
Making the best of a mess
Beauty is tears
And overcoming your fears
Beauty is individuality
The courage to be yourself
Beauty is a book, sitting on a shelf
To define beauty,
An impossible task
Because truly,
Does anyone really know, I ask
Beauty is different to me
Than to you
I wonder if anyone ever knew
poem by Sareeah Keelyn
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How Deep Is Your Love?
Superficial, or sacrificial?
Secular, or the supernatural?
How deep is your love?
Would you give up quality of life?
Or give up life itself?
To what do we let go?
To what do we hold on?
People or objects?
How far do we go,
Before we move on?
To our breaking point,
Or until we have proven it.
Hold on to resentment,
Let go of another.
Prove our point, or to prove love.
Beauty is only skin deep.
But beautiful is at the core.
The spirit lives forever.
It endures all.
Our essence, our core, is love itself.
Given by God, as He lives inside of us.
He is buried deep,
Surrounded by lies.
Lies we have bought in a cold cruel world.
A world of shallow love.
Love of self, at the cost of another.
She walked away,
He waited.
She asked, "Why when you had me you did not want me, "
"But now I am gone, and you will fight? "
"You have changed, but it is too late."
"For I have found another."
The man replied, "The answer is simple."
"Why is it, you have me now and do not want me? "
"I have proven the truth of my love."
"I have endured a thousand deaths."
"I have risen each time."
"To become love itself."
"Not for me, but for you."
"Affection is shown, but love is assumed."
"To the superficial, love is all show."
"To the sacrificial, love is the show."
"I can tell you I love you,
"But the words have no substance."
"They disappear in thin air."
"Love is patient."
"Love as a feeling, will come and go."
"Feelings are impatient."
"It is truth that never changes."
"And love, that is true, will endure all."
"As it has since the beginning of time."
"Not as defined by society."
"But as defined by the creator and sustainer."
"It is only once the feelings have broken the heart, the holder of the feelings."
"That the beholder is freed."
"To show the love that will never be broken."
"Love that is true."
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Exemplary And Lavish Extravagance
Aaah, Madame La Pompadour needs time off
from the office they had built her, soundproof,
air-con, and everything she wants inside, today
she plays chauffer to the children in her neigh-
bourhood and visiting her mother in the old-age
home - she condescendingly told us - though
there is really no need why we should know
where she is, she is the free incumbent
Madame La Pompadour suffers agoraphobia
at home and claustrophobia in the office, her
problems are debilitating; she needs a bigger
office of course, with user-friendly interior
decorating - I sigh in admiration, such a very
exemplary and lavish extravagance, with the
cool presumption that a James Bond would
envy her, she does what she wants
Madame La Pompadour looks down on the
mundane civil servants - us - who man the
open-plan office, why should she earn her
salary like a slave when she gets it without
ever leaving her home?
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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A Prima Donna
Madame La Pompadour cannot come to work,
the world is spinning out of control, her dog
needs medical attention, her car cannot start in
the morning, her dog needs another vet, now
Madame Pompadour's newly built office is
empty - it was given as a compelling condition
for her return to work, yet it seems something
is lacking still, can we guess what it is
Maybe a chauffeur to drive her to work every
morning, a special kennel next to her office so
she can bring her dogs to be with her all day,
maybe a built-in a humidifier so she can breathe
freely without germs, maybe a Jacuzzi so she can
get rid of the tension right here at work, maybe
her own cook and kitchenette so she can order
the right meals with the same aplomb as
A Lady Gaga, surely Madame La Pompadour has
already dethroned both Madonna and Lady Gaga
for being a prima donna who gets her own way!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"
-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Tales Of Horror and Suspense
Madame Pompadour honoured us by graciously
informing the Department a terrible bug bit her in
the neck during the night, must have been Dracula
we immediately surmised, she a Damsel in distress
trying her best not to waste her time with the rest
of us plebs in the open-plan office, her door must
have been open and the evil monster attacked
perfectly on cue; mesmerised by the marvellous
adventures of our haughty Madame keeping her
head high while one event is followed by the next
incident; her list of original excuses is growing and
soon we shall publish a book delineating the lovely
progress of her exciting life, enlivening bureaucracy
with tales of Horror and Suspense!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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