the remnant of Leteng
When they imprisoned our minds into the grave...
among the dead we found breathing bones,
When they crucified our bright crude crave...
some of us died battling a way out
We rode over humps of pain to this far,
then broke the shells, they only heard the crepitate
now upon our house hopes precipitate
'However, long the night the dawn will break'
we've seen the silver lining,
Oree, the twins and mum have reason to stay smiling
I and Mogo have grown to be great authors
with the past, our past is past
poem by Mpho Leteng
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Time Long Past
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
Is Time long past.
A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last,
Was Time long past.
There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:
And, was it sadness or delight,
Each day a shadow onward cast
Which made us wish it yet might last--
That Time long past.
There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.
'Tis like a child's belovèd corse
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Mr. What's-His-Name
They called him Mr. What's-his-name:
From where he was, or why he came,
Or when, or what he found to do,
Nobody in the city knew.
He lived, it seemed, shut up alone
In a low hovel of his own;
There cooked his meals and made his bed,
Careless of all his neighbors said.
His neighbors, too, said many things
Expressive of grave wonderings,
Since none of them had ever been
Within his doors, or peered therein.
In fact, grown watchful, they became
Assured that Mr. What's-his-name
Was up to something wrong--indeed,
Small doubt of it, we all agreed.
At night were heard strange noises there,
When honest people everywhere
Had long retired; and his light
Was often seen to burn all night.
He left his house but seldom--then
Would always hurry back again,
As though he feared some stranger's knock,
Finding him gone, might burst the lock.
Beside, he carried, every day,
At the one hour he went away,
A basket, with the contents hid
Beneath its woven willow lid.
And so we grew to greatly blame
This wary Mr. What's-his-name,
And look on him with such distrust
His actions seemed to sanction just.
But when he died--he died one day--
Dropped in the street while on his way
To that old wretched hut of his--
You'll think it strange--perhaps it is--
But when we lifted him, and past
The threshold of his home at last,
No man of all the crowd but stepped
With reverence,--Aye, _quailed_ and _wept_!
What was it? Just a shriek of pain
I pray to never hear again--
A withered woman, old and bowed,
That fell and crawled and cried aloud--
And kissed the dead man's matted hair--
Lifted his face and kissed him there--
Called to him, as she clutched his hand,
In words no one could understand.
Insane? Yes.--Well, we, searching, found
An unsigned letter, in a round
Free hand, within the dead man's breast:
'Look to my mother--_I'm_ at rest.
You'll find my money safely hid
Under the lining of the lid
Of my work-basket. It is hers,
And God will bless her ministers!'
And some day--though he died unknown--
If through the City by the Throne
I walk, all cleansed of earthly shame,
I'll ask for Mr. What's-his-name.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Past Carin
Now up and down the siding brown
The great black crows are flyin',
And down below the spur, I know,
Another `milker's' dyin';
The crops have withered from the ground,
The tank's clay bed is glarin',
But from my heart no tear nor sound,
For I have gone past carin' --
Past worryin' or carin',
Past feelin' aught or carin';
But from my heart no tear nor sound,
For I have gone past carin'.
Through Death and Trouble, turn about,
Through hopeless desolation,
Through flood and fever, fire and drought,
And slavery and starvation;
Through childbirth, sickness, hurt, and blight,
And nervousness an' scarin',
Through bein' left alone at night,
I've got to be past carin'.
Past botherin' or carin',
Past feelin' and past carin';
Through city cheats and neighbours' spite,
I've come to be past carin'.
Our first child took, in days like these,
A cruel week in dyin',
All day upon her father's knees,
Or on my poor breast lyin';
The tears we shed -- the prayers we said
Were awful, wild -- despairin'!
I've pulled three through, and buried two
Since then -- and I'm past carin'.
I've grown to be past carin',
Past worryin' and wearin';
I've pulled three through and buried two
Since then, and I'm past carin'.
'Twas ten years first, then came the worst,
All for a dusty clearin',
I thought, I thought my heart would burst
When first my man went shearin';
He's drovin' in the great North-west,
I don't know how he's farin';
For I, the one that loved him best,
Have grown to be past carin'.
I've grown to be past carin'
Past lookin' for or carin';
The girl that waited long ago,
Has lived to be past carin'.
My eyes are dry, I cannot cry,
I've got no heart for breakin',
But where it was in days gone by,
A dull and empty achin'.
My last boy ran away from me,
I know my temper's wearin',
But now I only wish to be
Beyond all signs of carin'.
Past wearyin' or carin',
Past feelin' and despairin';
And now I only wish to be
Beyond all signs of carin'.
poem by Henry Lawson
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I Don't Know Where The Past Is Gone
I don’t know where the past is gone
I only know most of my own life is over-
I don’t know where the past has gone
I only know so many people I loved
Are no longer here and will never be here again-
I don’t know where the past has gone
I only know that that chance I had that hope for so many years
Can never be mine in the same way again-
I don’t know where the past has gone
So many moments of beauty and love and opportunity missed and longing unrealized-
I don’t know where the past has gone
And what of it I should miss
And why I should long for it so.
I don’t know where the past has gone
And where my life was lost and why I did not do better in it-
I don’t know where the past has gone
And what will be when for me
Everything is only the Past gone
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Fly Fishing
Staring at the water for that bright silver ring
Casting his line to that very spot
Hoping that it will become hot
Standing waiting without a care
When all of a sudden there it was there
Dancing and flashing in the sun
He hopes he has caught the great big one
But no this was not to be
It went and broke his line you see
With not a worry or a care
Just that silver tint upon his hair
It reminds him of the past
When he went fishing with his Dad
13 04 1995
Derby
poem by Jim O'Donnell
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Blood Feud
Once, when my husband was a child, there came
To his father's table, one who called him kin,
In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin.
His look was grave and kind; he bore the name
Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile.
Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke;
"I've been in the laurel since the winter broke;
Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while."
He'd killed a score of foemen in the past,
In some blood feud, a dark and monstrous thing;
To him it seemed his duty. At the last
His enemies found him by a forest spring,
Which, as he died, lay bright beneath his head,
A silver shield that slowly turned to red.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Fated to Mate
You say...
Your heart is too easy to break.
And you're getting over past mistakes,
But
Give me another reason
Why you think I might make,
Those same mistakes.
You say...
You think I'm the one for you.
And you really want to know
If I'll stay true.
But,
You must have a certain reason
Why you think I might do
The same to you.
On my mind,
You're staying.
All the time,
I'm praying...
Relationships that we once had,
Has prepared us for the future...
Not the past!
I'm alone more than you know.
I'm not seeking fun to run
With playmates for show!
I know what it is I want.
If It wasn't you,
I wouldn't let this haunt me!
You say...
You think I'm the one for you!
And I knew from 'that' moment...
You were too,
But...
Give me another reason,
Why we shouldn't escape
From those memories
To accept we are fated to mate!
You say...
Your heart is too easy to break.
And you're getting over past mistakes,
But
Give me another reason
Why you think I might make,
Those same mistakes.
With you!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Days among the Dead are Past
My days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;
And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
My thoughts are with the Dead, with them
I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.
My hopes are with the Dead, anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on
Through all Futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.
poem by Robert Southey
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His Books
MY days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old:
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal
And seek relief in woe;
And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
My thoughts are with the Dead; with them
I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears;
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.
My hopes are with the Dead; anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on
Through all Futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.
poem by Robert Southey
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Before Our Weakness Gets To Strong
What are we doing in this place alone is our desire to relive our past this strong
True love we knew in the past is gone but our weakness lingers on
Let's go home before our weakness gets too strong
Long ago we let the flame of love burn out of control
Now we have no reason to reach for love that has grown cold
If we live our past in the present our future will be gone
Let's go home before our weakness gets too strong
[ fiddle ]
Line with temptation we raced into the past
On a road too small to let the past and the present pass
Are we going too fast to turn back and leave the past alone
Let's go home before our weakness gets too strong
Long ago we let the flame...
Let's go home before our weakness gets too strong
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dark Past
My past is dark
It's full of pain and tears
My past is my story
My past made me stronger
People still don't know why my past is dark
But I will tell you
No more hiding for me
My past is red stained razors
I admit I did cut
But, I will no more
My closest friend was the only one that knew
Me and her alike in so many ways
We helped each other through thick and thin
My future is bright and happy
I am loved and always will be loved
In my future I will not shed a tear
For I will be surrounded by loved ones
My past is erased I have no regrets
My life is better oh..so much better
poem by Jasmine Kayleen
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Gone
Everything of the past is a memory gone
Remembering my past will only be a sign of weakness
Now life is so cruel, that the past has left no meaning
I am very alone and that is how I have to live my future life.
Anything which reminds me of my past, is to be stayed away from
That is the best and the only way to survive.
If I said I still do love you
Then it would be a big lie now
Since, now the love which I had for you has actually turned into hate
Earlier I loved you a lot and very truly
Now I do not love you
As a matter of fact, the hate is so much that the pain of the past is like a volcano
Which will just blast, if I ever again came close to you
Stay away my past, you are my memory, which is gone.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Barnacles
My soul is sailing through the sea,
But the Past is heavy and hindereth me.
The Past hath crusted cumbrous shells
That hold the flesh of cold sea-mells
About my soul.
The huge waves wash, the high waves roll,
Each barnacle clingeth and worketh dole
And hindereth me from sailing!
Old Past let go, and drop i' the sea
Till fathomless waters cover thee!
For I am living but thou art dead;
Thou drawest back, I strive ahead
The Day to find.
Thy shells unbind! Night comes behind,
I needs must hurry with the wind
And trim me best for sailing.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Past must last
Past must last
That too very fast
It may unnecessarily cast
Raise many questions and doubts
It may lead to formation of a thick cloud
That may emerge and speak very loud
Mystery must shroud
May hurt several time not to feel proud
Past may be glorious
But no need to remember it continuous
Reasons can be cited as various
The result is known and obvious
Past can be made as jumping ground
For more happiness to be found
Errors can taken care of and new foundation is laid
"Past makes us perfect" as it is well said
Past is to be kept in mind
For new horizons to find
A new concept to be tried
But truth should never be denied
If past was not that bright
Its burial may be considered to make it right
There is no place for dead memories
As it adds to tension and worries
I, for one, may go for bright future
Making every aspect very much sure
Result can be anything either in swing or favor
But I shall not compromise it with honor
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The dead citizen
A man went to get his identity document
and for a passport at the same time
and was found by the Department of Home Affairs
to be dead and buried
and they did not care that he was still living
and instead declared him deceased and past away
His accounts at the bank were frozen
as part of the estate
of a person deceased
and he couldn’t leave the country
or renew his driver’s license
and draw any money
and he was declared to be deceased and past away.
He went to the head office
of that great State Department
and declared his problem with them
and they were amused
that the dead citizen
had risen again,
but he was still a living man
with substance and form
and not a ghost
that had stepped from the grave
and he was declared to be deceased and past away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Past Lives
An angel came to me last night
She saw me in a different light
She showed me things I thoughht I could be
Are not a million miles away
As surely as night follows day
It follows, Im a king not a slave
It is another case of dj vu
It seems to happen everyday
It all comes back to me whatever I do
Theres always been a price to pay
Past lives, past lives
You can never put the ghost to bed
Get the feeling that you live, forever she said
Past lives, past lives
Rub my stomach while I pat my head
Get the feeling in your mind
When youre out of your head
And to the eastern side of the bay
My shadow is sailing away
Treasure possessions and money to burn
I wont be taking these with me
I hear the echos and Ive nowhere to turn
After all Im at sea
Past lives, past lives
We can anchor off the coast she said
The storm will pass and the fog will clear in your head
Past lives, past lives
You can never put the ghost to bed
Get the feeling that you live forever she said
In another world when dreams collide
To the mocking bird of faith we tied
She comes to pass but not to stay
Through the looking glass, she fades away
Welcome to the house of usher
An angel came to me last night
She sold me down the river of life
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last night I had a dream
Last night i had a dream
a dream about a future
a future that i had buried
deep within
A dream that made me wonder
how deep is that burial place
within me
Last night i had a dream
a dream about a past
a past that my memory
refuses to name.
Dug up by another name from
that very past
Last night i had a dream
a dream about the present
a present that i choose to
live in oblivion off.
a present with hurt, betrayal
pain and sadness
A present that however hard
i run away from shackles
me to my past and my future
chains, which i am unable to
break free from
which tie me down and make me who and what i am
Last night i had a dream
do i wish to wake up and
face reality.
are not the dream and the reality
one and the same.
Last night i had a dream
a dream or was i awake
finally.
poem by Jasveen Ahluwalia
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A shadow from my past
i wonder if details matter,
it happened so long ago,
is it really important?
do i really need to know,
who and why?
you a shadow from the past,
but you haunt my mind,
just knowing part of what you did,
makes me wonder why i trusted you,
i begged not to see you,
but my begging wasn't strong enough,
not without a reason why,
so i continue to be abused,
i was scared of you,
is that the reason you remain,
being a shadow in my thoughts?
i blocked you out,
just like the pain,
no longer have a face,
but yet you remain a mystery,
in my past,
i'm starting to think,
it should be where you stay,
no need to open a can of worms,
that don't need to be open,
for me to understand the whole story.
poem by Mona Martinez
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Above Berkeley (For Connie)
Past stone houses
Along the dangerous road
We raced, top down
Past the homes of the rich
Laughing
We flew into the night
To the top
And when we stopped
The marchwind still filled my hair
And lifted my breath
High above the bright city
(its streets were constellations Carelessly glittering
Diamonds
Cast into black waters)
But walking past dark bulldozers
Beyond the battered, red, warning sign
Our laughter suddenly fell
Startled by the silver presence
Above the trees.
We climbed to the peak
As a halo encircled the full moon.
Silenced at last
We heard an almost-human cry.
Nearly invisible, we saw them,
The plaintive, grazing deer.
poem by Steven Federle
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Truism Sonnet
Truisms become truth, as justice become adjudication;
Knowledge becomes reality, and reality, life's education!
My heart has stopped beating since 2007, that Veteran's Day;
Ached has it since, more than I could ever say!
Our life together, so amazing, so true;
Our family, together, so beauteous and new;
Though, KMKG is what we may be proclaimed:
Kristina, Maurice, Kalina and Gabriella, who we are, in name!
What is past is prologue, or so it may be said;
What is past affects us, until are days are dead;
What is past never ceases, nor leaves us alone;
What is past ne'er halts, until we have truly grown!
Whensover my love, you allow past to leave us-
Then only my beloved, will you truly see us!
Maurice Harris,8 December 2007
poem by Maurice Harris
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