A Dream
Alongside the wide gray road stood I,
To watch a procession passed by,
Of the damsels, rather all in teen,
Of the same size height and colour,
The bulk and body; dressed in green,
But all bore the features quite different.
Drenched them the incessant rain;
They passed and passed by jostling,
In silence in rows long, unendingly,
Numerous, countless were they all,
Neither worried, nor did seem happy;
Glanced they at me with stealing looks,
And I stood silent with lowering eyes,
Peeping into innerself like a criminal,
When brought among the fellow men.
It confounds, troubles me when I think,
Whether their plight was shown to me,
Or mine to them, I could not decide.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Jostling Crowed
Upon the edge of a deserted wide road,
Placed I was to see the dismal vision,
From the distant corner of the upper side,
Turned a procession, following rushingingly,
A coffin of the dead faith, wrapped in shroud,
Advanced it ahead as opaque floody water,
Passes through the banks, on the dry bottom.
In the jostling crowed I did find to see,
The men neither young nor too old,
Of all races, forms, colours and sizes,
With harrowed grisly faces jostling ahead,
Their rebellious legs hastened against their wills.
The crowed passed and passed by unendingly,
To fill the spacious belly of the infernal land,
Stood I stunned, horrified, engrossed in thoughts,
Indecisive, thinking upon my own plight,
“I am an observer or a member of the crowed? ”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Joint Feeling
I did not see The Lord,
But I felt myself in front
Of His Mighty Court of Justice,
Along with numerous men,
Dressed in grey,
Like the students of olden times.
All with naked heads,
And naked feet,
They gathered in an open ground,
To account for their deeds,
Waited for their turn
For appearance before the Justice.
I had been acquainted
With a few of them,
They were potent
In public and politics,
Enjoyed themselves authority,
And high place,
By dint of wealth and estate,
But then hapless.
All were still like penguins
On the coastal-line,
When come out of cold waters
To bask in the sun,
They stood with bent heads
And lowering eyes,
All speechless, silent
As if ashamed and horrified
On their own doings.
On the other side I stood too
With the bowed neck as if peeping
Into my own inner-self,
Sometime I glanced at others
With stealing looks,
And went through a joint feeling:
Shame and dread
But bitter, more intensified
Than I used to experience
When went to school in early age,
Without doing home-work
Assigned for the summer vacation.
Though I went through
A nightmare yet it was meaningful,
Reminded me of my own follies.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Window Shopper
I stood before a candy shop
Which with a Christmas radiance shone;
I saw my parents pass and stop
To grin at me and then go on.
The sweets were heaped in gleamy rows;
On each I feasted - what a game!
Against the glass with flatted nose,
Gulping my spittle as it came;
So still I stood, and stared and dreamed,
Savouring sweetness with my eyes,
Devouring dainties till it seemed
My candy shop was paradise.
I had, I think, but five years old,
And though three-score and ten have passed,
I still recall the craintive cold,
The grimy street, the gritty blast;
And how I stared into that shop,
Its gifts so near and yet so far,
Of marzipan and toffee drop,
Of chocolate and walnut bar;
Imagining what I would buy
Amid delights so rich and rare . . .
The glass was misted with my sigh:
"If just one penny Pop could spare!"
And then when I went home to tea
Of bread and butter sparsely spread,
Oh, how my parents twitted me:
"You stood for full an hour," they said.
"We saw you as we passed again;
Your eyes upon the sweets were glued;
Your nose was flattened to the pane,
Like someone hypnotized you stood."
But when they laughed as at a joke,
A bitterness I could not stem
Within my little heart awoke. . . .
Oh, I have long forgiven them;
For though I know they did no own
Pennies to spare, they might, it seems
More understanding love have shown
More sympathy for those vain dreams,
Which make of me with wistful gaze
God's Window Shopper all days.
poem by Robert William Service
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Funeral Procession
I saw a funeral procession today:
No one I knew had passed away,
But as the cortege passed me by,
I felt as though I wanted to cry.
Gone were the teardrops of rain:
Left were the teardrops of pain.
It took me back, to the death of my Dad:
To how I felt then - so extremely sad.
I've always been such a sensitive soul,
And feelings of empathy took ahold.
I halted my journey and stood to one side;
My feelings of sadness, I could not hide.
I bowed my head as a mark of respect;
My mood, this encounter, really did affect.
The funeral cortege was very soon gone,
And, with my own journey, I carried on.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Old And Young
LONG ago, on a bright spring day,
I passed a little child at play;
And as I passed, in childish glee
She called to me, “Come and play with me!”
But my eyes were fixed on a far-off height
I was fain to climb before the night;
So, half-impatient, I answered, “Nay!
I am too old, too old to play.”
Long, long after, in Autumn time—
My limbs were grown too old to climb—
I passed a child on a pleasant lea,
And I called to her, “Come and play with me!”
But her eyes were fixed on a fairy-book;
And scarce she lifted a wondering look,
As with childish scorn she answered, “Nay!
I am too old, too old to play!”
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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A Silent Prayer
I sat in a graveyard
and watched people visit there.
They stood above a grave in silence
and spoke to those buried there.
They said a silent prayer
for God their soul to keep.
Laid some flowers for their loved one
and a tear did weep.
Even as the years pass
you will always see them there
with their thoughts of their loved ones
who had long passed away.
4 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Be My Rain
When you fell into my arms
Appearing so frail, if you ever were
And you told me a thousand things
I've never dreamt about
When your eyes fell grey
Could it be I made them shine for awhile?
Now you're gone, as if you ever meant to stay
Be my rain
Be my rain
To wash the pain and the truth away
Be my rain
Be my rain
Embrace my world, everlasting
We were talking through the night
No one could say a word
Of what had passed or should be said
As if time stood silent,
The dawn never came
And the skies are empty
Since we stopped
Far away,
We cannot share the love within us
You're far away,
And rising up to start
again
song performed by by Zeraphine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Caged Eagle
. . . I went the other day
To see the birds and beasts they keep enmewed
In the London Zoo. One of the first I saw —
One of the first I noticed, was an Eagle,
Ragged, befouled, within his iron bars
He sat without a movement or a sound,
And, when I stood and pitying looked at him,
I saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed
Out to the horizon sky. I passed from there,
And walked about the gardens hither and thither,
Till all the afternoon was spent. Returning then
To seek my home, again by chance I passed
The Eagle's cage, and stood again and looked,
And saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed
Out to the horizon sky. So I went home. . . .
The Eagle is Ireland.
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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The Road to Kerity
Do you remember the two old people we passed
on the road to Kerity,
Resting their sack on the stones, by the drenched wayside,
Looking at us with their lightless eyes
through the driving rain, and then out again
To the rocks, and the long white line of the tide:
Frozen ghosts that were children once,
husband and wife, father, and mother,
Looking at us with those frozen eyes;
have you ever seen anything quite so chilled
or so old?
But we - with our arms about each other,
We did not feel the cold!
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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In The Peace They Have Found
They stood as memorials
to those who passed before us.
Epitaphs for formal lives,
white markers upon their grave
and as I sat among them,
there was silence everywhere.
Their bodies lay silent
deep within the ground.
They rest there for eternity
in the peace they have found.
22 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Drummer Boy
A drummer boy dressed in white tapped his drum as he passed by my bed,
he never looked at me, and not a word was said.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, was his marching beat.
There was blood from a wound, but he kept to his feet.
As he marched back and forth it looked as though he was going to fall,
but he continued to beat his drum, as he walked through the wall.
On his departure the sound of a bugle was heard above the drum,
whistling rifle shots and cannon fire added to the battle’s hum.
A boy dressed in red and white, blowing a bugle marched passed my bed,
he had suffered a wound, and blood was flowing from his head.
Blowing with all his might I could see the determination on his face,
he seemed to be running out of breath, as he slowly lost the pace.
The drummer boy came up beside him and marched by his side,
the bugle boy stood up straight, and blew the charge as he cried.
Another drummer boy passed my bed followed by two more,
the bugle boy stood and looked ahead, and then fell to the floor.
Several soldiers charged pass, with bayonets fixed for attack,
passing the drummer boy one yelled, “Keep playing and don’t look back.”
With the sound of bullets in the air and shells exploding all around
soldiers charged and fell by my bed to the now distant drumming sound.
It suddenly all went quiet as everyone disappeared through the wall,
except for the drummer boy who played as he stood tall.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum; a much softer beat,
he then looked at me with tears in his eyes, as he faded at my feet.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Shoes
'Get rid of those old shoes, ' she said,
'Their time has come and gone.'
I looked down at my battered soles
And smiled, as she went on;
When women talk of 'romance', then
It must be dressed to kill,
But these old shoes saw more romance
Than she could ever tell.
I took these shoes to China,
They passed through Singapore,
They trod old Wenzhou's meaner streets
In silence, pride and awe;
They padded through fine Restaurants
And stood before my class,
While Chinese students bit their pens
Translating Poe, en masse.
These shoes took me to Shanghai,
To walk the Nanjing Road,
They stood while shoppers gaily passed
And chattered some sweet code,
These shoes have trod through old Beijing
The Square, Tian'anmen,
Where Marco Polo did his thing
My shoes had followed on.
They walked the Summer Palace
Where Emperors played their roles,
A thousand years of history
Was scuffed along their soles,
They slithered over Kunming Lake
Long frozen, on the ice,
They strolled the Bronze Pavilion
Like some ancient paradise.
Then on the heights at Ba-da-ling
They helped me climb 'The Wall',
They dragged my poor old bones aloft,
I thought that I would fall,
They paced beside the Terra Cotta
Warriors at Xian,
These shoes have seen more romance
Than a new pair ever can.
'Get rid of these old shoes, my dear,
I couldn't, I regret;
I bought them when I first met you,
When we were young, my pet;
They hold too many memories
Of how we were back when;
I'll keep them underneath our bed - '
The wife - she kissed me then!
21 February 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Wild garden
I saw rows of white,
yellow and red lilies bloom,
next to the railway tracts.
Loaded trains rattled past
and that garden,
sprang up by itself between the weeds.
With the early summer rain
rows of blue, white and pink wild flowers
bloomed next to the road that passed nearby.
Some finches nested in the trees
and red, yellow and green birds
flew past the vast garden
of earth that came alive
as far as the eye could see.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The never-ending road
I saw the landscape passing by,
while the car swept
on with a never-ending road.
Buildings rose up into the air
and everywhere people were
packed square by square
in offices, flats and apartments.
White yellow mine dumps
and huge cranes glided by
and I felt small as a fly,
against the immensity of it all
Acres of corn surrounded me
and all the way to the horizon,
I saw no tree.
The green was all around me
and a mechanical spray point,
where showering water in an arc.
The land flattened
while I drove South
and grey thorn bushes flashed by.
Here and there
some rocky outcrops
stood red brown against the flat plain,
but everything begged for a dropp of rain.
In the far distance up in the sky
a lightning bolt twisted to the ground
and when the rain came gushing down,
life sprouted from the sand.
The road stretched on
and in the distance
the black of the tar
met with the sky
and except for the windmills I passed by,
that road could have been
anywhere on this good great earth.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 40
A man was sleeping dead-drunk on the highway and the bridle of spontaneity had slipped from his hands. A hermit passed near him and considered the disgraceful condition he was in. The youth raised his head and recited: When they passed near something contemptible, they passed it kindly. When thou beholdest a sinner be concealing and meek.
Turn not thy face from a sinner, O anchorite.
Look upon him with benignity.
If I am ignoble in my actions
Pass me by like a noble fellow.
Aedh Tells of a Valley Full of Lovers
I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood;
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes:
I cried in my dream ‘O women bid the young men lay
‘Their heads on your knees, and drown their eyes with your hair,
‘Or remembering hers they will find no other face fair
‘Till all the valleys of the world have been withered away.’
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Acquainted with the Night
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
poem by Robert Frost
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A Train Journey
We left old Melbourne City in the darkness
And the northbound train stopped at each rural town
And a gray dawn broke as we neared outer Sydney
This Land now green has often been so brown.
Beyond Gosford the scenery was changing
We passed by coastal paddocks wide and green
This Land can be compared to a chameleon
It changes it's colours where the rains have been.
Through Wauchope and Nambucca Heads places of beauty
And as we neared Grafton it commenced to rain
To New South Wales on the first of September
The spring has brought it's greenery again.
Before we reached Casino night had fallen
It was a long day's journey into night
On through Lismore, Mullumbimby and through the cane country
Of Murwillumbah in the faint moonlight.
On to the last stop Murwillumbah station
And the memory with me will long remain
Of that train journey on the first of September
Through New South Wales made green by recent rain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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He Tells Of A Valley Full Of Lovers
I DREAMED that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood;
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes:
I cried in my dream, O women, bid the young men lay
Their heads on your knees, and drown their eyes with your fair,
Or remembering hers they will find no other face fair
Till all the valleys of the world have been withered away.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Dooms Day
Many a times
I passed through trouble
Many a times
I passed through pain
I was exploited
I was was humiliated
I was condemned
I was consumed by mystery
My wings were taken
So i couldn't fly
All i eat all day was my cry
I asked myself why
And there came a voice saying
In your affliction
Will you learn right
In your oppression
Will you rise how to fight
The sun shines at day
And stars at night
Arise and see the light
After six comes seven
I passed through hell
Before i could see heaven
I did not know that my worries
Will lead me to my haven
Many times
I passed through trouble
Many a times
I passed through pain
poem by Matt Ancient
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