To reap the harvest
I haven’t felt pain when I pelted
But I feel pain when I am pelted.
At my old age I will be pelted
By those who by me have been pelted.
26.07.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Shelley's Vision
Wandering late by morning seas
When my heart with pain was low--
Hate the censor pelted me--
Deject I saw my shadow go.
In elf-caprice of bitter tone
I too would pelt the pelted one:
At my shadow I cast a stone.
When lo, upon that sun-lit ground
I saw the quivering phantom take
The likeness of St. Stephen crowned:
Then did self-reverence awake.
poem by Herman Melville
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A dog is never offended at being pelted with bones.
Hell’s Angels
Hell was furnished with cowards and criminals,
Stones are pelted at them, they are stones from angels.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Highway Electric Poles
Highly in 'highways'
Like that of a human-chain
Hand to hand from a power-hand
They hold their hearts chained
To bow down
For a hurricane connection
Or a cab-collision
Or a mob commotion
To be pelted and hung
All towards a power failure
Letting the highways aghast
With an infernal throne
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Orchard Trees, January
It's not the case, though some might wish it so
Who from a window watch the blizzard blow
White riot through their branches vague and stark,
That they keep snug beneath their pelted bark.
They take affliction in until it jells
To crystal ice between their frozen cells,
And each of them is inwardly a vault
Of jewels rigorous and free of fault,
Unglimpsed until in May it gently bears
A sudden crop of green-pronged solitaires.
poem by Richard Wilbur
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Labor Day
Requiring something lovely on his arm
Took me to Stamford, Connecticut, a quasi-farm,
His family's; later picking up the mammoth
Girlfriend of Charlie, meanwhile trying to pawn me off
On some third guy also up for the weekend.
But Saturday we still were paired; spent
It sprawled across that sprawling acreage
Until the grass grew limp
with damp. Like me. Johnston-baby, I can still see
The pelted clover, burrs' prickle fur and gorged
Pastures spewing infinite tiny bells. You pimp.
poem by Louise Gluck
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Faılure
When stones are pelted,
no heart is melted.
Emotions and understanding runs astray,
Upon that bed of thorns do I lay.
Of success did I boast,
But failure did I host,
Of happiness did I dream,
Strangely, all does sad seem.
A heavy burden on my shoulder I now take,
The weight, a result of each of my mistake.
Oh! Why cannot I turn this clock backwards?
To take back some of my empty promises and words.
The night be darkest before the dawn, they say.
In wait of the light, here I lay.
To success, is failure the stepping stone,
Now towards success, will work my every bone.
poem by Shreya Sharma
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Summer Storm
it came stamping down the street
one heaving June (so thick my
tongue could slice the air)
complaining all the way,
grumbling, gargling each dropp as
it pelted my shoes with muffled joy,
and a little bit of
god would show as he parted the
sky in a sudden quick
(just to let us know he's still around)
the clouds all
coughed til their summered
juice spilled on cracked asphalt -
which never said thankyou.
with each deep breath of every cloud i
sighed and groaned for the mad
freedom of the shimmering storm
not wishing for the power of
the air, but just to be a piece
of rain and splatter love on the
sidewalk.
(June 9,1965)
poem by Donna Ialongo
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zz 113 Fate is the backwash
Fate is the backwash or the headtide slop,
the rip of someone else’s harsh restriction.
Fate can no more bend than the will stop.
Fate unwelcome and unwilled is fiction.
Impossible as that the world is wrong,
or that creation circles in a doubt.
Our lovers, if they seem to be so strong
as to defy the elements without,
rather combine their wills to make new fate.
For instance, we’re aground and yet a redwood
can push apart (not even excavate)
a canyon in us where we thought we stood,
until our heads are pelted like two fools,
that lovers are begetting more than souls.
poem by Edward Wright Haile
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Wasp Sting
A diabolic deed:
A pebble I pelted
At the hanging shelter
On the stem of plantain cluster:
Vengeance vapours; war clouds.
A smart wasp dared;
Sting of sting; I writhed:
Smouldering compunction;
Pricking tension;
I rubbed red forehead mine.
As a balloon tiny,
Blown with atrocity,
My forehead swelled:
Pang resolved
Never to trespass the insect kingdom.
A big foe retreated;
An act self pledged
For the wasp hamlet:
An act, we bewail, rusted in our hamlet,
Exposed to self absorption.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Sentinel of the Dark
The furtive husher of noise
Stealthily graceful in poise
The silent sentinel in the din
Call them cute or mean!
They flourish they thrive
Networking like beehive
A stubborn snatching cult
Life for them is difficult!
They're surely a game
Stones are pelted at them
People say they're no good
Always hungry for food!
Out in the rain and heat
There's no love in the street
Day for them is rough ride
Cowering in corners to hide!
When the town sleeps at night
In the dark their eyes glow bright
Presence they freely announce
These hunters are ready to pounce!
But I feel so love-smitten
By the blue eyes of a kitten
And the way it looks at my eyes
When on my lap it peacefully lies!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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And I Waited
And I was still alone, under our tree.
Yet another Evangeline.
My tears having dried like spiderwebs
across my sunburnt cheeks.
Cheeks sore from laughter.
And I waited.
I waited where we always met,
day after day.
But then the sun hid behind a fleet of clouds
and crystal insects pelted the leaves
in a torrent of cold tears from the sky.
The fallen leaves lay on the ground before me.
But I stayed.
And my hair clung to my neck
and my cheeks burned like Hell
and I waited.
When the clouds parted, our tree was bare.
It shivered in the breeze,
dancing with me to the Waltz of Loss.
And I waited.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Anger
Anger i have Anger i did
Anger so hot, in Furnace i lived
Venting and Fuming, Huffing and Puffing
Consuming my Soul, some memories old
Burning and Seething, misdeeds repeating
Spreading hurt and making Hearts cold
Anger so toxic, it heated up my Veins
this hot blood then reached my Brain
all rationale and logic then failed
pelted everyone, lashing words like ' Hail '
Anger so frequent, there was no peace
even in Icelandic cold, i wouldn't freeze
Steaming my actions to undiscovered 'Darkness '
Words like 'Razor ' cutting souls with 'Sharpness
All my Love, this Anger consumed
where did i find it and how come so soon?
Saw it, felt it perpetually in Denial
Let's extinguish it with something remedial
Surrounded myself with things of Beauty
keeping it at bay, like a ritual and a Duty
Sigh... i will Breathe again
When, in my veins ONLY ' love' remains
Anger i can't, Anger i don't
The Coffin of Anger, i Buried alone!
poem by Yamini Khanna
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Rain
It rains on the redwood
that cover the mountain
The bark of them glistens
and darkens upon them.
I know the rain gladdens
The heart of the redwood
their branches all burdened
with numberless gems.
But what would they think, now,
these trees, if they knew
that the water they drink
was a poisonous brew
and the drops that accrue
to the needles and cling
were soon to undo them
and earthward-ward bring?
Oh, the forests are whispering
over all the vast land
'We are poisoned, O brothers
by poisonous hands.
Our children are sickened
and the last of our race
are pelted with sulphur
and poisoned apace.
So be mindful, O People
that the earth is an only
descended from father
to progeny born
and cannot be jetted
like the rind of an orange
like the hull of an acorn
for lack of a plan.
So, are...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Uhland's White Stag
Into the woods three huntsmen came,
Seeking the white stag for their game.
They laid them under a green fir-tree
And slept, and dreamed strange things to see.
(FIRST HUNTSMAN)
I dreamt I was beating the leafy brush,
When out popped the noble stag--hush, hush!
(SECOND HUNTSMAN)
As ahead of the clamorous pack he sprang,
I pelted him hard in the hide--piff, bang!
(THIRD HUNTSMAN)
And as that stag lay dead I blew
On my horn a lusty tir-ril-la-loo!
So speak the three as there they lay
When lo! the white stag sped that way,
Frisked his heels at those huntsmen three,
Then leagues o'er hill and dale was he--
Hush, hush! Piff, bang! Tir-ril-la-loo!
poem by Eugene Field
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Accented merit
Accented merit twines his diligence,
Spring morning on pelted blossom petals
forsooth perceptual force experience
redemptive muse bestows the war's medals.
Opalescent far stars, cold nacreous view,
companion souls had left, in bold retention,
from onset comely death not to eschew,
absconding to the night's stardom ascension.
Siren of Had's invoked by modes of aves,
of Sacred Legion robust fighting knight,
proud in ablution Styx, departs to aboves,
Day nuptial of his nymph renders in light.
pean of Dorians and crimson dew cloves,
embellished lithe Naiad to embrace on sight.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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A Thunderstorm
A moment the wild swallows like a flight
Of withered gust-caught leaves, serenely high,
Toss in the windrack up the muttering sky.
The leaves hang still. Above the weird twilight,
The hurrying centres of the storm unite
And spreading with huge trunk and rolling fringe,
Each wheeled upon its own tremendous hinge,
Tower darkening on. And now from heaven's height,
With the long roar of elm-trees swept and swayed,
And pelted waters, on the vanished plain
Plunges the blast. Behind the wild white flash
That splits abroad the pealing thunder-crash,
Over bleared fields and gardens disarrayed,
Column on column comes the drenching rain.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Mob justice
The judge in this lawless court he
Has the strength of ten devils...
And I saw the fairness of mob justice
And with their jabbering mouths they
Sentenced their victims to the punishment
Of their blood thirsty stoning
Before my own eyes I see the tyranny
Of mob justice
It's ugliness glares angrily at me
It's victims are jeered at
They are prodded with iron rods
Their eyes are torn from their sockets
Their limbs are broken with hammers
They are pelted with rocks
Nobody wants to hear their version
The perpetrators of the hyenas crime are
Many and the criminal cowards can with
New found bravado toy with their quarry
And ill star on national television
The corpses are burnt in the dusty street
The killers saunter homeward and with chilling
Lust they make love to their grateful wives
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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My First Hurt
I see myself in the past and I dont want to return
From those days those mistakes I have caught to have learned
But why do I still feel the pain
See day by day I tried to get over you
Just to have found out what people had said about you was true
But why do I still feel the pain
Is it because I told you since they day that we met
I wanted you to be the one I wont ever forget
Is that why I'm starting to feel the pain
Or was it cuz I still wanted you for me
But you were married you see
Is that why I'm starting to feel the pain
You took the one thing special I had away
After that is when I felt the most ashamed
Because it is now more than ever that I have felt HURT and PAIN
The pain you gave me that day
The pain you gave me the next
The pain that you had nothing to say
Or just the worst pain that in the end all you wanted was SEX! ! !
poem by Vicky Jaimes
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Pain!
? You say that you have felt pain?
You have no idea what pain is.
Pain is hearing, 'She doesn't
like you anymore.' WHAT?
How can so much pain be caused by
someone who is so small,
so young,
so far?
Yet I tell you, I have felt pain,
pain at hearing your name
mentioned by some ignorant
person, someone who doesn't
know what you have put me
through. Pain? Yes, that is pain.
Pain is knowing that you will
never be mine, though I once would have been
wholly yours. Yours, though
you may never know it. That
also is pain- not being able to
say what I want you to hear.
This and more have you put me
through. This, and also the
torture of hearing from your
own lips- lips that I have longed
for, lips that I have loved in
my own way- that you liked
another guy.? No, I will not
call him a man, for he is not,
or else cannot be, for he loves
you. What? Now you wish to
leave him? And for me, again?
No, I am sorry, love, I cannot
and will not endure your
tortured love again. I have
felt the pain once, and I no
longer have any desire to feel
your pain again. Enjoy it, love.
Pain. Embrace it, rather than me,
for me you will not have, and now
pain is all you have?
poem by Anthony Foote
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