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The Uses of Poetry

I've fond anticipation of a day
O'erfilled with pure diversion presently,
For I must read a lady poesy
The while we glide by many a leafy bay,

Hid deep in rushes, where at random play
The glossy black winged May-flies, or whence flee
Hush-throated nestlings in alarm,
Whom we have idly frighted with our boat's long sway.

For, lest o'ersaddened by such woes as spring
To rural peace from our meek onward trend,
What else more fit? We'll draw the latch-string

And close the door of sense; then satiate wend,
On poesy's transforming giant wing,
To worlds afar whose fruits all anguish mend.

poem by William Carlos Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Woman Who Loves Poesy

She has a twenty years old daughter but she leads a single life
And she knows what it feels like to be a mother but not to be a wife
Her great love is Goddess Poesy only poesy she admire
And her creative source it comes from poesy and poesy in her verse inspire.

She writes such beautiful poetry as a poet she is well known
And as a genuine wordsmith her reputation it has grown
The woman who loves poesy is good at what she do
At least one can say of her to her own self she is true.

Since writing poetry can be a hungry belly game the well informed say
She works as a bar maid in the Golf Club Rooms for to earn her hard earned pay
But all of her spare time devoted to poesy since poetry she loves to write
Her poems on many different subjects are a source of delight

To poetry lovers who read her verses and many of her say
That from penning verse she will grow wealthy and become quite well known one day
But she does not write for fame or money she only writes because she
Happens for to be a person devoted to Goddess Poesy.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daughter Poesy

An adopted child mine daughter Poesy
At this age of sixtyplus
My skin wrinkly and body rickety
Senses dying and soul almost ready
To up on a count down
Like the fading light of evening sky
Longing for a full moon in new moon night...

Asking everybody why
Opted I for a foreign lexicon
Whilst not an adept in home diction itself
Just a desire before expire
Though in brain much I require..
Ponder my Poesy enforcing the quintescence
So far of my cognition, Poesy to soar high

Progressively speaking, my Poesy
Years few old, amazingly
Like my country Lotus growing divine
God sent blessings! Pamper Poesy with gratitude
All concepts, knowledge mine exclusively for Poesy
My elder daughters the tamils aren't jealousy
But ponder their sister, my English Poesy

poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: In the Wings of Poesy

How far do I go in poesy’s wings?
I keep asking myself again, again;
From my inspired heart, my poem just springs,
To the clouds and sky, descending like rain.

How high a can I fly with Poesy’s Wings?
Sky high and beyond to the Stellar Space!
I can meanwhile do acrobatic things,
In this newer field too, I feel an ace.

The more I fly and higher in the sky,
Poesy’s Wings grow stronger everyday;
I shall do this ably until I die;
A record new, it will become one day.

God gave me Wings and showed me how to fly!
All praise and glory is His, the One High.

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fragment Of A Sleep-Song

SISTER Simplicitie,
Sing, sing a song to me,
Sing me to sleep.
Some legend low and long,
Slow as the summer song
Of the dull Deep.

Some legend long and low,
Whose equal ebb and flow
To and fro creep
On the dim marge of gray
’Tween the soul’s night and day,
Washing “awake” away
Into “asleep.”

Some legend low and long,
Never so weak or strong
As to let go
While it can hold this heart
Withouten sigh or smart,
Or as to hold this heart
When it sighs “No.”

Some long low swaying song,
As the sway’d shadow long
Sways to and fro
Where, thro’ the crowing cocks,
And by the swinging clocks,
Some weary mother rocks
Some weary woe.

Sing up and down to me
Like a dream-boat at sea,
So, and still so,
Float through the “then” and “when,”
Rising from when to then,
Sinking from then to when
While the waves go.

Low and high, high and low,
Now and then, then and now,
Mow, now;
And when the now is then, and when the then is now,
And when the low is high, and when the high is low,
Low, low;
Let me float, let the boat
Go, go;
Let me glide, let me slide
Slow, slow;
Gliding boat, sliding boat,
Slow, slow;
Glide away, slide away
So, so.

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Decay

O Poesy is on the wane,
For Fancy's visions all unfitting;
I hardly know her face again,
Nature herself seems on the flitting.
The fields grow old and common things,
The grass, the sky, the winds a-blowing;
And spots, where still a beauty clings,
Are sighing 'going! all a-going!'
O Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.

The bank with brambles overspread,
And little molehills round about it,
Was more to me than laurel shades,
With paths of gravel finely clouted;
And streaking here and streaking there,
Through shaven grass and many a border,
With rutty lanes had no compare,
And heaths were in a richer order.
But Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.

I sat beside the pasture stream,
When Beauty's self was sitting by,
The fields did more than Eden seem
Nor could I tell the reason why.
I often drank when not adry
To pledge her health in draughts divine;
Smiles made it nectar from the sky,
Love turned een water into wine.
O Poesy is on the wane,
I cannot find her face again.

The sun those mornings used to find,
Its clouds were other-country mountains,
And heaven looked downward on the mind,
Like groves, and rocks, and mottled fountains.
Those heavens are gone, the mountains grey
Turned mist--the sun, a homeless ranger,
Pursues alone his naked way,
Unnoticed like a very stranger.
O Poesy is on the wane,
Nor love nor joy is mine again.

Love's sun went down without a frown,
For very joy it used to grieve us;
I often think the West is gone,
Ah, cruel Time, to undeceive us.
The stream it is a common stream,
Where we on Sundays used to ramble,
The sky hangs oer a broken dream,
The bramble's dwindled to a bramble!
O Poesy is on the wane,
I cannot find her haunts again.

Mere withered stalks and fading trees,
And pastures spread with hills and rushes,
Are all my fading vision sees;
Gone, gone are rapture's flooding gushes!
When mushrooms they were fairy bowers,
Their marble pillars overswelling,
And Danger paused to pluck the flowers
That in their swarthy rings were dwelling.
Yes, Poesy is on the wane,
Nor joy nor fear is mine again.

Aye, Poesy hath passed away,
And Fancy's visions undeceive us;
The night hath ta'en the place of day,
And why should passing shadows grieve us?
I thought the flowers upon the hills
Were flowers from Adam's open gardens;
But I have had my summer thrills,
And I have had my heart's rewardings.
So Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.

And Friendship it hath burned away,
Like to a very ember cooling,
A make-believe on April day
That sent the simple heart a-fooling;
Mere jesting in an earnest way,
Deceiving on and still deceiving;
And Hope is but a fancy-play,
And Joy the art of true believing;
For Poesy is on the wane,
O could I feel her faith again!

poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My other Talent –Poesy

God is to me very kind;
To His tenets, I always bind;
My Poetry is but His gift!
My soul from Him can’t shift

Yet, peace of mind gets disturbed oft,
In search of worldly pleasures loft;
In vain, I seek them, time is lost;
And soul remains sin-cast.

My foes and woes trouble me much;
Sometimes, I feel I am a wretch!
And when I search my mind again,
God helps me solace regain.

My Poesy has made me fit;
My body, mind, soul bit by bit;
I talk with God who guides me right;
He tells me what’s wrong, correct.

With time, my soul regains due course;
My Poetry, my sin absolves;
Immersed in it, I find great peace,
Of mind and I am at ease.

Thoughts divine in me prevail;
My ship of Poesy sets sail;
It is an unchartered voyage;
That’s safe with God’s message.

God is my beacon and compass!
Invisible Captain of my ship;
I am the driver, novice,
‘Tis my maiden voyage.

My heart is full of confidence;
Impermanent’s my residence;
The weather lovely, calm for now;
My ship is on the move somehow!

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Poetry and Myself

Poesy served to poise my shattered heart,
That bled from earthly ‘missiles’ of turmoil;
And helped me upgrade my literary art,
As I began burning the midnight-oil.

The pearl I found in sea of my troubles!
Perhaps, it was by serendipity;
Pricey for me turned on the tables;
What a priceless, lucky discovery!

Like a plumb-line, I plunged into the sea,
And learned to swim ’midst the tall waves and tides;
The ‘pearl of joy’ was mine eternally!
I guarded it night and day, me besides

O Pearl of the deep seas, my Poesy!
Thou art no myth but a reality.

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A River Pool

Sweet streamlet bason! at thy side
Weary and faint within me cried
My longing heart, In such pure deep
How sweet it were to sit and sleep;
To feel each passage from without
Close up, above me and about,
Those circling waters crystal clear,
That calm impervious atmosphere!
There on thy pearly pavement pure,
To lean, and feel myself secure,
Or through the dim-lit inter-space,
Afar at whiles upgazing trace
The dimpling bubbles dance around
Upon thy smooth exterior face;
Or idly list the dreamy sound
Of ripples lightly flung, above
That home, of peace, if not of love.

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Spring Comes Hither

Spring comes hither
Buds the rose . . .
Roses wither
Sweet spring goes . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would she carry me.

Summer soars
Wide-wing'd day . . .
White light pours
Flies away . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would he carry me.

Soft winds blow
Westward borne . . .
Onward go
Towards the morn
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.

Sweet birds sing
O'er the graves
Then take wing
O'er the waves
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.

poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On Looking Back Upon My Poesy's Past!

For long a time, I've travelled by this road!
For quite some years, I'd taken poesy's wings;
For hours on end, I struggled with my pen;
A lifetime's work is already now writ!

I did not start expecting great rewards;
I do not hanker for any awards;
I know I'm one among the well-known bards;
My accolades are not yet in my cards!

Many a thing, we do for love of it;
Some things we do better, for we are fit;
Most things in life don't duly get lime-lit;
Nevertheless, we carry on by wit!

But seasons ought to change as time goes on;
It is not good to have always the sun;
Some things in life remain for long half-done;
But pride is one thing we must always shun!

Good poetry must guide the future men;
Good poetry must make the earth, heaven;
Good poetry must kindle heart and ken;
When readers read them, they must say, ‘amen! '

I have done well despite my struggles past;
This earthly span may not for longer last;
My ship of poesy has now a mast;
But I have reached the ocean very vast!

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: My Poetry Today

Each poem that I write, gives me new hope;
Each sonnet I compose- fresh lease of life;
With Poesy’s wings, problems I can cope;
My heavy heart’s relieved; so is my strife.

My every line of verse gives me great joy;
My every theme new/old, has truths to tell;
New genres/techniques, I wish to employ;
With peace renewed, my heart and mind are well.

Sometimes, I feel I tell the same old things!
But it is not so: I tell in different ways;
In words of melody great, my heart sings;
And thus, I forget my unpleasant days.

Despite my grief, my face keeps wearing smiles;
In Poesy’s domain, I’ve traveled miles.

9-20-2002

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At one's wits' end

In the wind chill,
A broken-wing lavish bird
Crash-land to my wistful world
and begged for a shelter.
I said that I can look after her
bringing fruits from an orchard.
I never latch the cage my little bird
but one thing you have to promise me.
Never try to flee once you get your wings back.
She agreed with a sarcastic smile.

To the birds cannot flutter!

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night

SILENCE, and whirling worlds afar
Through all encircling skies.
What floods come o'er the spirit's bar,
What wondrous thoughts arise.
The earth, a mantle falls away,
And, winged, we leave the sod;
Where shines in its eternal sway
The majesty of God.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hips Sway

Not the harsh sunshine
Cast soft dusk ambers instead
Brow furroughs not be shown
Let only clarity be read
Sway. Just sway

Close your eyes now
Sway
Let your mind wander now
Hips Sway
Let your mind wander
Hips Sway Sway

And like the road
That tells of no fatalities
Let me fool you one more time
Nievete travels smooth-Just fine
When you're with me
Sway Just sway

Close your eyes now
Sway
Let your mind wander now
Hips sway
Let your mind wander
Hips Sway Sway

Let the sweet of my lips
Linger on your finger tips
Longer than the rational of time
Not trying to keep you
Not trying to make you mine
Sway. Just sway

Close your eyes now
Sway
Let your mind wander now
Hips Sway
Let your mind wander
Hips Sway Sway

So when the night shadows
No longer move my way
Persuaded you can not be
Not even one more day
Impaled I will not be
Instead retreat to mountain tops
To face the sky and say
Remember how we used to sway

Close your eyes now
Sway.
Let your mind wander now
Hips Sway
Let your mind wander
Hips Sway Sway

poem by Atty Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Island Hawk

Hushed are the whimpering winds on the hill,
Dumb is the shrinking plain,
And the songs that enchanted the woods are still
As I shoot to the skies again!
Does the blood grow black on my fierce bent beak,
Does the down still cling to my claw?
Who brightened these eyes for the prey they seek?
Life, I follow thy law!
For I am the hawk, the hawk, the hawk!
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.

As I glide and glide with my peering head,
Or swerve at a puff of smoke,
Who watcheth my wings on the wind outspread,
Here – gone – with an instant stroke?
Who toucheth the glory of life I feel
As I buffet this great glad gale,
Spire and spire to the cloud-world, wheel,
Loosen my wings and sail?
For I am the hawk, the island hawk,
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.

My mate in the nest on the high bright tree
Blazing with dawn and dew,
She knoweth the gleam of the world and the glee
As I drop like a bolt from the blue.
She knoweth the fire of the level flight
As I skim, close, close to the ground,
With the long grass lashing my breast and the bright
Dew-drops flashing around.
She watcheth the hawk, the hawk, the hawk
(Oh, the red-blotched eggs in the nest!)
Watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way.
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.

She builded her nest on the high bright wold,
She was taught in a world afar
The lore that is only an April old
Yet old as the evening star.
Life of a far off ancient day
In an hour unhooded her eyes.
In the time of the budding of one green spray
She was wise as the stars are wise.
An eyas in eyry, a yellow-eyed hawk,
On the old elm's burgeoning breast,
She watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way.
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.

She hath ridden on white Arabian steeds
Thro' the ringing English dells,
For the joy of a great queen, hunting in state,
To the music of golden bells.
A queen's fair fingers have drawn the hood
And tossed her aloft in the blue,
A white hand eager for needless blood.
I hunt for the needs of two.
A haggard in yarak, a hawk, a hawk!
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.

Who fashioned her wide and splendid eyes
That have stared in the eyes of kings?
With a silken twist she was looped to their wrist:
She has clawed at their jewelled rings!
Who flung her first thro' the crimson dawn
To pluck him a prey from the skies,
When the love-light shone upon lake and lawn
In the valleys of Paradise?
Who fashioned the hawk, the hawk, the hawk,
Bent beak and pitiless breast?
Who watcheth him sway in the wild wind's way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.

Is there ever a song in all the world
Shall say how the quest began
With the beak and the wings that have made us kings
And cruel – almost – as man?
The wild wind whimpers across the heath
Where the sad little tufts of blue
And the red-stained grey little feathers of death
Flutter! Who fashioned us? Who?
Who fashioned the scimitar wings of the hawk,
Bent beak and arrowy breast?
Who watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.

poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet XV: You That Do Search

You that do search for every purling spring,
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring;

You that do dictionary's method bring
Into your rimes, running in rattling rows;
You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes,
With new-born sighs and denizen'd wit do sing,

You take wrong ways: those far-fet helps be such
As do bewray a want of inward touch:
And sure at length stol'n goods do come to light.

But if (both for your love and skill) your name
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame,
Stella behold, and then begin to endite.

poem by Philip Sidney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Astrophel and Stella: XV

You that do search for every purling spring
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring;
Ye that do dictionary's method bring
Into your rimes, running in rattling rows;
You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes
With new-born sighs and denizen'd wit do sing:
You take wrong ways; those far-fet helps be such
As do bewray a want of inward touch,
And sure, at length stol'n goods do come to light.
But if, both for your love and skill, your name
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame,
Stella behold, and then begin to endite.

poem by Philip Sidney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Everlasting Oblivion

THOU mighty gulf, insatiate cormorant,
Deride me not, though I seem petulant
To fall into thy chops. Let others pray
Forever their fair poems flourish may.
But as for me, hungry Oblivion,
Devour me quick. Accept my orison,
My earnest prayers which do importune thee,
With gloomy shade of thy still empery
To veil both me and my rude poesy.
Far worthier lines in silence of thy state
Do sleep securely, free from love or hate,
From which this, living, ne'er can be exempt,
But whilst it breathes will hate and fury tempt.
Then close his eyes with thy all-dimming hand
Which not right glorious actions can withstand.
Peace, hateful tongues! I now in silence pace
Unless some hound do wake me from my place.
I with this sharp yet well-meant poesy
Will sleep secure, right free from injury
Of canker'd hate or rankest villany.

poem by John Marston
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Last Boat Leaving

Hush my little one dont cry so
You know your daddys bound to go
They took his pride
They took his voice
Dont upset him now, dont make a noise
They said youre lucky son youve still got a choice
Last boat leaving
Dont waste your tears
Its not as if Im in chains
I dont want to go now, it would be better for
You, too, if I dont look back when we sail
Hush my dear, while I whisper it in your ear
Were not going to sail tonight
Were going to disappear
And it feels like a punishment, but I dont know what for
Take care of your mother, son, its you that she adores
cos no matter how long we sail well never reach the shore
Last boat leaving
So dry your tears
Its not as if Im in chains
When you go to school, son, youll read my story in history books
Only they wont mention my name
So hush now, my darling, my sweet little one
I hope that you never have to do what Ive done
Do you know what Ive done?
Why Im going away? on the last boat leaving this stinking town
Its the last boat leaving, its the last boat leaving
Youve had my innocence, youve had my heartbreak
Youve taken the place where I once belonged
Now what more can you take?

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sitting On The Shore

THE tide has ebbed away:
No more wild dashings 'gainst the adamant rocks,
Nor swayings amidst sea-weed false that mocks
The hues of gardens gay:
No laugh of little wavelets at their play:
No lucid pools reflecting heaven's clear brow--
Both storm and calm alike are ended now.

The rocks sit gray and lone:
The shifting sand is spread so smooth and dry,
That not a tide might ever have swept by
Stirring it with rude moan:
Only some weedy fragments idly thrown
To rot beneath the sky, tell what has been:
But Desolation's self has grown serene.

Afar the mountains rise,
And the broad estuary widens out,
All sunshine; wheeling round and round about
Seaward, a white bird flies.
A bird? Nay, seems it rather in these eyes
A spirit, o'er Eternity's dim sea
Calling--'Come thou where all we glad souls be.
O life, O silent shore,
Where we sit patient; O great sea beyond
To which we turn with solemn hope and fond,
But sorrowful no more:
A little while, and then we too shall soar
Like white-winged sea-birds into the Infinite Deep:
Till then, Thou, Father--wilt our spirits keep.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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