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Bandstand Beach

From the west the fast winds blow,
By force and with lovely sound,
By and by my emotions grow,
And freshness is there me around.
Uplifting their heads, waves me reach,
And with stone and rocks they collide,
And sprinkles water on me on the beach,
And I try taking my notebook aside.

O wind! Thou touches the Arabian Sea,
That comes from the holiest place,
And so you lovely and dear to me,
Cause therein thou bring peace and grace.
May you blow through my sad heat,
And bestow me might to face the world,
O thou current and love thy art!
So Wash with love my every word.

Now darkness begins growing much more,
And standing I am not single fellow,
Lovers gather with beloveds on the shore,
Busy in love and romance but slow.
Who is true mate on the way of love?
I've remained my aspirations with me,
Like twinkling stars so high above,
But reflection is merely in the sea.

(composed on November 5th,2009)

poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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Intrigue

THOU art my love
And thou art the peace of sundown
When the blue shadows soothe
And the grasses and the leaves sleep
To the song of the little brooks
Woe is me.

Thou art my love,
And thou art a storm
That breaks black in the sky
And, sweeping headlong,
Drenches and cowers each tree
And at the panting end
There is no sound
Save the melancholy cry of a single owl
Woe is me!

Thou art my love
And thou art a tinsel thing
And I in my play
Broke thee easily
And from the little fragments
Arose my long sorrow
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And thou art a weary violet
Drooping from sun-caresses.
Answering mine carelessly
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And thou art the ashes of other men's love
And I bury my face in these ashes
And I love them
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And thou art the beard
On another man's face
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And thou art a temple
And in this temple is an altar
And on this altar is my heart
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And thou art a wretch.
Let these sacred love-lies choke thee
For I am come to where I know your lies as truth
And your truth as lies
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And thou art a priestess
And in thy hand is a bloody dagger
And my doom comes to me surely
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And thou art a skull with ruby eyes
And I love thee
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And I doubt thee
And if peace came with my murder
Then would I murder
Woe is me.

Thou art my love
And thou art death
Aye, thou art death
Black and yet black
But I love thee
I love thee
Woe, welcome woe, to me.

poem by Stephen Crane
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Bitter Blow of Love

Love! you dealt a bitter blow –
You lay me cross the mortal plains,
Bedewed, bedimmed amongst a show
Of tearful clouds: eternal rains
To weep at my enduring foe

Of harsh reality – searing pains of
Destiny: dependable propensity
To fool myself repeatedly
That I could ever triumph over love!

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow of love, oh love
Love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sonnet 40: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

poem by William Shakespeare
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Love Me Not 06

Love me not as thou would love the moon and stars
Love me not as thou would love an immortal godess

Love me as thou would love a mystery, a shadow
Love me as thou would love a secret, a rose

Love me not to die for me
Love me not as thine own

Love me as thou loves life, as the beautiful unknown
Love me as I am with out question, with out sorrow

Love me not as thou would love the moon and stars
Love me not as an immortal goddess

Love me as thou would love a secret, a shadow
Love me more as each layer, each petal unfolds

poem by Kira Bloom
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Wilt Thou Take Me For Thy Slave?

Wilt thou take me for thy slave,
With my folly and my love?
Wilt thou take me for the bondsman of thy pride?
Thou who dearer art to me than all the world beside;
For I love thee as no other man can love.

Wilt thou take me to thy soul,
For the truth which thou shalt prove?
Wilt thou clothe me with the riches of thy care?
Thou who dearer art to me than gold and jewels rare;
For I love thee as no other man can love.

Wilt thou take me for thy king,
While the sun and stars shall move?
Wilt thou pay me back the homage I have given?
Oh thou dearer unto me than sun and stars and heaven!
For I love thee as no other man can love.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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O love thou create

O love thou create and thou destroy
The innocent girl, the innocent boy
Tis in love that is, that lover's dwell
In foolish love fallen in foolish spell
One in love makes two hearts grow
None in love, and love stills show
On the melancholic face of beauty
In between the lines of poetry
Painted on the grace of Mary
Soaring on the wing of love's ferry
It's love's spell our life doth make
And life what love doth take
When thou say thou love me not
Thou love me not, but still love I got
So live I will.

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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All This Is That

I am that, thou art that, and all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
This is that
Oooo
Daybreak and I take a glide
Into the pool of peace inside
(two waves travel by)
To waves and I both travel by
(and that makes all the difference to me)
Life supporting waves of bliss
Mother divines precious kiss
Brings with love the light of wisdom
And the gift of eternal freedom
To waves and I both travel by
(... and the nature of man...)
And that makes all the difference to me
(krishna...)
All this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
This is that
This is that
Dusk time the shadows fall
Into the timeless time of all
To waves and I both travel by
Golden auras glow around you
Omnipresent love surrounds you
Wisdom warming as the sun
You and I are truly one
To waves and I both travel by
And that makes all the difference to me
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
I am that, thou art that, all this is that
Jai guru dev
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
Jai
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
Jai guru dev
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
Jai
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
(jai guru dev)
(jai guru dev)
(jai guru dev)
Jai guru dev
(jai guru dev)
(jai guru dev)
(jai guru dev)
Jai
(I am that, thou art that, all this is that)
Jai guru dev
Jai
Jai guru dev
Jai
Jai guru dev

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where found Love his yesterday?

WHERE found Love his yesterday?
When is Love's to-morrow? say.
Love has only now.
We can swear it, we who stand
In Love's present, hand in hand,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou.

By and by and Long ago;
Last month's buds, next winter's snow;
Love has only now.
Do we wot of rathe or sere
In Love's boundless summer year,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou?

Suns that rose and suns to set;
Gone for ever and Not yet;
Love has always now.
Do we count by dawn and night,
Dwelling in Love's perfect light,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou?

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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The wind from the West

Blow high, blow low,
O wind from the West;
You come from the country
I love the best.

O say have the lilies
Yet lifted their heads
Above the lake-water
That ripples and spreads?

Do the little sedges
Still shake with delight,
And whisper together
All through the night?

Have the mountains the purple
I used to love,
And peace about them,
Around and above?

poem by Edward Young
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To His Mistress

Why dost thou shade thy lovely face? O why
Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny
The sunshine of the Sun's enlivening eye?

Without thy light what light remains in me?
Thou art my life; my way, my light's in thee;
I live, I move, and by thy beams I see.

Thou art my life-if thou but turn away
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way-
Without.thee, Love, I travel not but stray.

My light thou art-without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darken'd with eternal night.
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.

Thou art my way; I wander if thou fly.
Thou art my light; if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life; if thou withdraw'st, I die.

My eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see:
To whom or whither should my darkness flee,
But to that light?-and who's that light but thee?

If I have lost my path, dear lover, say,
Shall I still wander in a doubtful way?
Love, shall a lamb of Israel's sheepfold stray?

My path is lost, my wandering steps do stray;
I cannot go, nor can I safely stay;
Whom should I seek but thee, my path, my way?

And yet thou turn'st thy face away and fly'st me!
And yet I sue for grace and thou deny'st me!
Speak, art thou angry, Love, or only try'st me?

Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye,
The dead man's life. On thee my hopes rely:
If I but them remove, I surely die.

Dissolve thy sunbeams, close thy wings and stay!
See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray!
-O thou art my life, my light, my way!

Then work thy will! If passion bid me flee,
My reason shall obey, my wings shall be
Stretch'd out no farther than from me to thee!

poem by Lord John Wilmot
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Œnone's Complaint

Melpomene, the muse of tragic songs,
With mournful tunes, in stole of dismal hue,
Assist a silly nymph to wail her woe,
And leave thy lusty company behind.

Thou luckless wreath! becomes not me to wear
The poplar tree for triumph of my love:
Then as my joy, my pride of love, is left,
Be thou unclothed of thy lovely green;

And in thy leaves my fortune written be,
And them some gentle wind let blow abroad,
That all the world may see how false of love
False Paris hath to his Œnone been.

poem by George Peele
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Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho - Be Victorious

Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Come on in and join us under this big
Well decorated and tastefully coloured shelter
Come on in and join us under the
Glittering blue sky and celebrate thy victory

Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Despite the fact that thou know
As each day passes thou art nearing thy death
Be thou victorious
Be thou victorious and dance on
The ever burning earthly turmoil
As the flames of black coal
Dance with the waving wind

Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Blow away thy sleep
From thy ever bright eyes
And in thy demonstration
Show to the world
That thou art victorious

Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Extend thy tender fingers to reach out
The shining stars on the sky
Brushing aside the dogma around them
Be thou victorious

Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Overcoming all the obstacles
Bottlenecks between thou and the victory
Let thou be crowned with victory always
Be thou victorious

Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Despite thy knowing thy weaknesses
But thou know how to harness thy strengths
And emerge victorious
In all challenging situations
Be thou victorious

Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Be thou victorious, be thou victorious
Come on in and join us under this big
Well decorated and tastefully coloured shelter
Come on in and join us under the
Glittering blue sky and celebrate thy victory
Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho, Jai Ho

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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To Amelia, My Last Infant Daughter

On the fifth of chill November
Came my Amie unto me,
Adding one more lovely member
To my numerous family.

Daughter, thou art welcome truly
To the care we can bestow;
May we do our duty duly
While we stay with thee below.

Think not, daughter, we will slight thee,
Since so many claim our love;
Gladly-wish we to delight thee,
As we look for help Above.

Thou art to us, little charmer,
Dear as any child we own;
And our love to each grows warmer
For the sorrows we have known.

Take then, daughter, take our blessing,
It comes forth from loving hearts;
Though we shrink hot from confessing
Oft we fail to act our parts.

poem by Thomas Cowherd
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An intruder

Thou came and won my heart,
I was not ready for that
Yet I sacrificed my ego
At the altar of thy love.
I honoured thy desire
Dishonouring mine,
I illumined thy world Darkening mine,
I inhabited thy heart
Deserting mine.
But all of a sudden
What happened?
Thou shifted the fragrance of thy love
To someone else,
Thou lighted his heart
from
The pyre of my love,
Thou robbed me
Of my love, my emotions,
And
even my dreams,
Thou came into my world stealthily,
Thou were an intruder.

poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Xxi

Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem ' a cuckoo-song,' as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, ' Speak once more--thou lovest ! ' Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year ?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance !--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XXI

Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem ' a cuckoo-song,' as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, ' Speak once more--thou lovest ! ' Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year ?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance !--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Solitude Of The Waves

SOLITUDE OF THE WAVES
Melvin Banggollay

As the tide of the ocean rises high
to kiss the lovely breast of the shore,
flocks of birds keeps on flying high
over the blue ocean's widest floor,
the winter breeze shares its delight
of coldness I can't long endure
while i'm in solitude of solemn sigh
reflecting deeply if I can still endure
memories written with every tides
of a love once build upon this shore.

The shore was filled with serenity
as the moonlight radiance glow,
When I heard her whisper softly
in my ears promises I never knew
have only faithless spirit and beauty
of a love and romance she bestow
that filled my heart with so much glee
that even the waves dances with joy
with the happiness that bewildered me
on that one lucky night upon this shore.

but now as I walk alone this beach
The waves seems come to me to fade
with lonely smile as they try to reach
and take back the footprints I laid
upon the shore once been the seat
of a love now only in memory be made
as teardrops in my eyes start to heat
and melt down again for a decade
of pain and agony as memory unseat
and keep on coming back like waves.

poem by Melvin Banggollay
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Thou knoweth love not like me

Thou knowth love not like me
Thou whom are beauty bound to grace
And me whom is hideous and ugly
Marred to the soul, marred on my face.
I know love's temptation but loved am not
As thou art loved and love no one
I love love but never felt it, only besought
The love thou have, beloved by all like the sun.
I lament in ugliness and with ugliness alone
As beauteous thee, with love marry
I decay like death, and wither to the bone
Married thou art mythicized into a ferry
Beautiful, angelic, thou know love's power
Ugly and hideous I know love's final hour……

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sonnet XXXI: With How Sad Steps, O Moon

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What, may it be that even in heav'nly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries!
Sure, if that long-with love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case,
I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?

poem by Philip Sidney
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Astrophel and Stella: XXXI

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What, may it be that even in heav'nly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries!
Sure, if that long-with love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case,
I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?

poem by Philip Sidney
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