En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Summit of Drying Breath

Summer was her, the day of the snailing school boy
On the shoulder with such poles and GPS tool box
In aslow space, he jet passed near the baseless summit
As if herd of bulls, he hoofed up the heel surturating
Four great strengths but with one escorter's lace
The tour guider of that day afternoon race
While the wind swifly spoke in all angles
The grey day leading on a silent blades rangles
He was the talk of the town heading up like a leader band
So at once he nodded on the pull of the land
He crossed the river empty between on top next was the one
The great searchers of national trig pillar lines
Where they wanted to seal their GPS receiving station
But that hill, he gave much respect and knocked upon loops
Because his air breath lapsed, and lapsed of oops
He fell down, just close the pillar door way
And saw the entire horse race passing by in prairie bay
To the west the sun glared red near the district council
And to the east stood ablue cloth pencil
In the middle was an evergreen eye angel
Wrapped with his best cry of breath tam-tam tassel
He slept afew minutes and knock off again
He rose from the mighty of his stomach grain
And receive afinal call while on the pillar case
The pillar the remained twice darken meal verse
That day he grabbed so hard his finger nailed
On the hill summit they started the journey on rail
After dismantling the radio station basement
The musterpiece of that day play movement
That was adarken sky, the school boy went down
And dropped down non reversable mail till dawn

poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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The Pillar Box

The pillar box is fat and red,
The pillar box is high;
It has the flattest sort of head
And not a nose or eye,
But just one open nigger mouth
That grins when I go by.

The pillar box is very round
But hungry all the day;
Although it doesn't make a sound,
Folks know it wants to say,
"Give me some letter sandwiches
To pass the time away."

"A postage stamp I like to eat
Or gummy letterette."
I see the people on the street,
If it is fine or wet,
Give something to the greedy thing;
They never quite forget.

The pillar box is quite a friend;
When Father goes away
My Mother has such lots to send,
Far letters every day,
And so I drop them in its mouth
When I go out to play.

poem by Katherine Mansfield
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The Pillars Of Our Society

see the pillars of our society.
the church, the provincial and municipal halls,
the university, the house of the family,

try to hold these pillars and feel their
strength and width, you think that they are
too strong to protect you

try piercing each pillar with the questions
deep from your heart
ask if they are that strong to make you
strong too
and protect you till the last breath
of your suffering and pain

ask more questions and find out the answers
from all these pillars
lean on them, and touch them and
shoot them with the bullets of your
quizzical looks

listen carefully to the correct answers
and stare at all of them

slowly, these pillars will crumble
and turn to powder for in truth there is no
other pillar stronger than what
they have constructed for you through all these years

except the pillar that your body built
on your legs from the bottom of your feet

it is you ultimately that you can only lean on
you to protect you
till the last breath of you is finally taken away.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Simeon

Yes, I know his new poems;
all Beirut is raving about them.
I'll study them some other day.
I can't today because I'm rather upset.
Certainly he's more learned in Greek than Libanius.
A better poet than Meleager though? I wouldn't say so.
But Mebis, why talk about Libanius
and books and all these trivialities?
Mebis, yesterday (it happened by chance)
I found myself under Simeon's pillar.
I slipped in among the Christians
praying and worshipping in silence there,
revering him. Not being a Christian myself
I couldn't share their spiritual peace-
I trembled all over and suffered;
I shuddered, disturbed, completely caught up.
Please don't smile; for thirty-five years -think of it-
winter and summer, night and day, for thirty-five years
he's been living, suffering, on top of a pillar.
Before either of us was born (I'm twenty-nine,
you must be younger than me),
before we were born, just imagine it,
Simeon climbed up his pillar
and has stayed there ever since facing God.
I'm in no mood for work today-
but Mebis, I think it better that you tell them this:
whatever the other sophists may say,
I at least recognize Lamon
as Syria's leading poet.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Apple flower petal

Apple flower petal
Fall on snowy day
Sunshine white and glow
On empty station roof ice pillar melted
Falling down with my tears
This journey didn’t make me sad
It’s because I hate you
I don’t want to see your face
And I don’t want to hear your voice again
But I couldn’t bear that
Because I really hate you

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Welcome To A Safehouse

this may look like
the house of a dove
for it has but one
pillar

for it has many windows
without an enclosure

it towers above them
almost touching
the hands of the wind

the sounds of cries
are as gentle as the early morning waves
on storms that fail to come

not much words here
just signs and
gazes

this the house of my mind
the doves of my thoughts
on the pillar of
privacy
on the windows of openness
no dogmas here
but freedom.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Pillar

Life and its tragedies
Life and its mysteries,
Life and its challenges,
The unbearable moments,
The deepest fears,
In my moments of weakness,
You remain my pillar of strength

Life and its hopeless wishes,
Life and its unrealistic myths,
Life and its broken dreams,
The moments of agony
The moments of wrong visions,
You remain my pillar of reality

Life and its conspiracy,
The innuendo and insinuations,
Life and its unintented outcomes,
The hopeless hope
The faithless faith
You remain my pillar of hope

poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Pillar of Strength

Lightning
Furious wind
Thunder
And whirlwind
Will all come in your life...
But
Don't let you tremble...
Be strong and determined
And be the pillar of strength

And live the life you dream
And turn your fears into faith
And then you'll see
When you can't stop the waves
You can at least
Let yourself
Learn to surf
To survive....

And don't let cold and bitter wind
To stop your smooth flow
From meeting an exciting adventure ahead
Just be the pillar of strength
And shed all your insecurities
And limitations
Of life.......

poem by Seema Chowdhury
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Mirror On The Wall

I look on the mirror
And I see a shiny face
Smiling at me.

Dropping down the pillar
My eyes are rushing down in a race
Like a river flowing in the sea

How are you vanilla?
Fine I guess
You are saying what I'm saying so we both agree

I turn my face to look like a drug dealer
But he seems to be upset at this case
So I tell him it was just a joke and he as well tells me

I tell him that he is me
And he tells me I'm him
What a crazy friend I have
Who does what I do.

poem by Walani Ndhlovu
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The Chestnut Stallion

(To horse lovers)

He was born of noble blood
This great Chestnut Stallion
No man would ever mount him
Mum came by Spanish Galleon

In spring the mare did foal
A gangly, unsure colt
Possessed he great soul
Betwixt eyes a thunderbolt

Before long grew strong ‘n fast
Quite something this chestnut hoss
He lived with herd on prairie vast
Was clear one day he’d be boss

Challenge came one summer day
Chestnut called out “Old Roan”
A mighty fight they'd display
Old chief finally dethroned

Adrenalin ran thru Stallion’s blood
Eyes flashed red at nervous herd
His coat matted with gore ‘n mud
Banished Roan, ran off East-ward

Chestnut ringed herd into tight band
They set off for distant winter range
Away from winter kill, to canyon land
Instinctive migration, timeless change

Back to prairie homeland come spring
New foals’ pranced in tall green grass
Hawks circled above, Larks did sing
Frozen time, while seasons’ passed

Stood guard their “Chestnut Stallion”
Who’s mum came by Spanish Galleon

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Clock-O'-Clay

In the cowslip pips I lie,
Hidden from the buzzing fly,
While green grass beneath me lies,
Pearled with dew like fishes' eyes,
Here I lie, a clock-o'-clay,
Waiting for the time o' day.

While the forest quakes surprise,
And the wild wind sobs and sighs,
My home rocks as like to fall,
On its pillar green and tall;
When the pattering rain drives by
Clock-o'-clay keeps warm and dry.

Day by day and night by night,
All the week I hide from sight;
In the cowslip pips I lie,
In the rain still warm and dry;
Day and night and night and day,
Red, black-spotted clock-o'-clay.

My home shakes in wind and showers,
Pale green pillar topped with flowers,
Bending at the wild wind's breath,
Till I touch the grass beneath;
Here I live, lone clock-o'-clay,
Watching for the time of day.

poem by John Clare
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West End Girls

(....forever)
Sometimes youre better off dead
Theres gun in your hand and its pointing at your head
You think youre mad, too unstable
Kicking in chairs and knocking down tables
In a restaurant in a west end town
Call the police, theres a madman around
Running down underground to a dive bar
In a west end town
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
Too many shadows, whispering voices
Faces on posters, too many choices
If, when, why, what?
How much have you got?
Have you got it, do you get it, if so, how often?
And which do you choose, a hard or soft option?
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
Oooh west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
Youve got a heart of glass or a heart of stone
Just you wait till I get you home
Weve got no future, weve got no past
Here today, built to last
In every city, in every nation
From lake geneva to the finland station
(how far have you been? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
A west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how far have you been? )
Girls
East end boys
And west end girls
And west end girls
And west end girls
East end boys
The west end girls
The west end boys
And west end girls
The west end girls
The west end boys
The west end girls

song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Bark School

It was built of bark and poles, and the floor was full of holes
Where each leak in rainy weather made a pool;
And the walls were mostly cracks lined with calico and sacks –
There was little need for windows in the school.

Then we rode to school and back by the rugged gully-track,
On the old grey horse that carried three or four;
And he looked so very wise that he lit the master's eyes
Every time he put his head in at the door.

He had run with Cobb and Co. – "that grey leader, let him go!"
There were men "as knowed the brand upon his hide",
And "as knowed it on the course". Funeral service: "Good old horse!"
When we burnt him in the gully where he died.

And the master thought the same. 'Twas from Ireland that he came,
Where the tanks are full all summer, and the feed is simply grand;
And the joker then in vogue said his lessons wid a brogue –
'Twas unconscious imitation, let the reader understand.

And we learnt the world in scraps from some ancient dingy maps
Long discarded by the public-schools in town;
And as nearly every book dated back to Captain Cook
Our geography was somewhat upside-down.

It was "in the book" and so – well, at that we'd let it go,
For we never would believe that print could lie;
And we all learnt pretty soon that when we came out at noon
"The sun is in the south part of the sky."

And Ireland! that was known from the coast-line to Athlone:
We got little information re the land that gave us birth;
Save that Captain Cook was killed (and was very likely grilled)
And "the natives of New Holland are the lowest race on earth".

And a woodcut, in its place, of the same degraded race
Seemed a lot more like a camel than the blackfellows that we knew;
Jimmy Bullock, with the rest, scratched his head and gave it best;
But his faith was sadly shaken by a bobtailed kangaroo.

But the old bark school is gone, and the spot it stood upon
Is a cattle-camp in winter where the curlew's cry is heard;
There's a brick school on the flat, but a schoolmate teaches that,
For, about the time they built it, our old master was "transferred".

But the bark school comes again with exchanges 'cross the plain –
With the Out-Back Advertiser; and my fancy roams at large
When I read of passing stock, of a western mob or flock,
With "James Bullock", "Grey", or "Henry Dale" in charge.

And I think how Jimmy went from the old bark school content,
With his "eddication" finished, with his pack-horse after him;
And perhaps if I were back I would take the self-same track,
For I wish my learning ended when the Master "finished" Jim.

poem by Henry Lawson
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My friend, your great heart shone with the sunrise of the East like the snowy summit of a lonely hill in the dawn.

aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Commemoration

I sat by the granite pillar, and sunlight fell
Where the sunlight fell of old,
And the hour was the hour my heart remembered well,
And the sermon rolled and rolled
As it used to roll when the place was still unhaunted,
And the strangest tale in the world was still untold.

And I knew that of all this rushing of urgent sound
That I so clearly heard,
The green young forest of saplings clustered round
Was heeding not one word:
Their heads were bowed in a still serried patience
Such as an angel's breath could never have stirred.

For some were already away to the hazardous pitch,
Or lining the parapet wall,
And some were in glorious battle, or great and rich,
Or throned in a college hall:
And among the rest was one like my own young phantom,
Dreaming for ever beyond my utmost call.

'O Youth,' the preacher was crying, 'deem not thou
Thy life is thine alone;
Thou bearest the will of the ages, seeing how
They built thee bone by bone,
And within thy blood the Great Age sleeps sepulchred
Till thou and thine shall roll away the stone.

'Therefore the days are coming when thou shalt burn
With passion whitely hot;
Rest shall be rest no more; thy feet shall spurn
All that thy hand hath got;
And One that is stronger shall gird thee, and lead thee swiftly
Whither, O heart of Youth, thou wouldest not.'

And the School passed; and I saw the living and dead
Set in their seats again,
And I longed to hear them speak of the word that was said,
But I knew that I longed in vain.
And they stretched forth their hands, and the wind of the spirit took them
Lightly as drifted leaves on an endless plain.

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Hey What's Next School Is Over

School is over and I got no summer school
I passed all my classes because I am not a fool
Throughout the school year many students wanted to be cool
Now they're in a summer program where all teachers rule
I no longer have to wake up early in the A.M
I worked my way through and passed my final exam
What more can I say for the great I am
I am truly blessed so I have to confess
Unlike others I didn't end up in some summer school mess
Sorry summer schoolers not being mean I just had to get it off my chest

poem by Wolkine Stany
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Playing.

Blowing trees,
From pillar to post
Careless wisp and sway.
Ancient songs of night and day.
Blowing trees,
From post to pillar.
The wearied, yet fresh soothsayer.
Witchdoctor on high
Of fears yet to come.
Blowing trees!
The sway of old worlds,
Unravelling like gales,
Out to sea.

poem by Peter Vealey
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Pillar of Fire

Fire surges through the closed forest -
roaring past highways of cars
swiveling by like the hurricane of
the wild wild north: Pillar of Fire!
Tearing across:
though not damaging the forest
beyond hands reach.

Above the rear of my eye:
the wilderness stays put not
a devestating sight - but
darkness overwhelming the look of an eye -
burning a coal of scar across
my sight:
whistle the Pillar of Fire leaps...

the path of fire springs into
the path of anger catching
leaves, storming the mind - laughing
at the blue of the night;
creating a hole;
pushing my eye into its
protective cover.
The fire smiles - yells at
the distant blooming sky
of winter crossing the path
turning fire into
ice of a cold
pondering land of?

of questions howling above the
roar of the so like hurricane of fire.
Answers staining the blueprint
of our heart - and
the Pillar of Fire melts away;
growing smaller out of reach.

poem by Celine Berghmans
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Skipping School

It's Monday morning and he wanted to skip school,
his stomach was hurting, that's how he would fool.

Mama approached and he held the stomach hard,
She stood and watched as he cried out, ' Oh my God! '

Mama scolded:
'Told you not to sleep late, Why didn't you follow the rule? '
He said:
'I have a stomachache, please don't send me to school.'

Mama told him to rest, believing all the lies,
and set off to work, giving lots of advice.
He slept for sometime, glad to be at home,
but got up in no time, happy but alone.

He watched some TV and played video games,
but actually was missing all school mates.

Restless and lost, Lazy and bored,
eating all junk food, finally he dozed.

Mama returned home and woke him up,
along came his friends happy and pepped up.
startled but awake now, he asked 'how was school? ',
they all said 'wow, it was pretty cool'.

Suddenly he stood up rattling his brain,
everyone looked up when he shouted in pain.
'come here and feel, my stomach is aching,
this time for real, I am not faking.'

Mama said 'drink some water and soon the pain will pass',
His friends gave the school work which he had missed in the class.
Off they went to play
wishing him to get well soon
He knew he had to stay
as he had wasted the afternoon.

He promised himself, will never make an excuse,
bunking the school was really of no use.

poem by Rahul Aithal
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Sonnet: A Poet’s Life

Oh, how some poets have suffered in life!
In trying to eke their just livelihood;
To most, their most intimate friend was strife;
Orphaned and desperate right from childhood.

Oh, how they had run from pillar to post!
Doing odd jobs and working through the night;
Poverty remained forever a ghost;
For long years, denied were they of limelight.

Much vexed, some gave in to many a vice,
To taste an iota of so-called joy!
Their poems great offered others advice;
Alas! they remained an ill-fated toy.

Could not the Maker protect them from strife?
Perhaps, they all await a better life.

poem by John Celes
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And the Greatest of These Is War

Around the council-board of Hell, with Satan at their head,
The Three Great Scourges of humanity sat.
Gaunt Famine, with hollow cheek and voice, arose and spoke,—
'O, Prince, I have stalked the earth,
And my victims by ten thousands I have slain,
I have smitten old and young.
Mouths of the helpless old moaning for bread, I have filled with dust;
And I have laughed to see a crying babe tug at the shriveling breast
Of its mother, dead and cold.
I have heard the cries and prayers of men go up to a tearless sky,
And fall back upon an earth of ashes;
But, heedless, I have gone on with my work.
'Tis thus, O, Prince, that I have scourged mankind.'
And Satan nodded his head.

Pale Pestilence, with stenchful breath, then spoke and said, —
'Great Prince, my brother, Famine, attacks the poor.
Page 38
He is most terrible against the helpless and the old.
But I have made a charnel-house of the mightiest cities of men.
When I strike, neither their stores of gold or of grain avail.
With a breath I lay low their strongest, and wither up their fairest.
I come upon them without warning, lancing invisible death.
From me they flee with eyes and mouths distended;
I poison the air for which they gasp, and I strike them down fleeing.
'Tis thus, great Prince, that I have scourged mankind.'
And Satan nodded his head.

Then the red monster, War, rose up and spoke,—
His blood-shot eyes glared 'round him, and his thundering voice
Echoed through the murky vaults of Hell. —
'O, mighty Prince, my brothers, Famine and Pestilence,
Have slain their thousands and ten thousands,— true;
But the greater their victories have been,
The more have they wakened in Man's breast
The God-like attributes of sympathy, of brotherhood and love
And made of him a searcher after wisdom.
But I arouse in Man the demon and the brute,
I plant black hatred in his heart and red revenge.
From the summit of fifty thousand years of upward climb
I haul him down to the level of the start, back to the wolf.
I give him claws.
I set his teeth into his brother's throat.
I make him drunk with his brother's blood.
And I laugh ho! ho! while he destroys himself.
O, mighty Prince, not only do I slay,
But I draw Man hellward.'

And Satan smiled, stretched out his hand, and said, —
'O War, of all the scourges of humanity, I crown you chief.'
And Hell rang with the acclamation of the Fiends.

poem by James Weldon Johnson
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