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The Higher Kinship

Life is too grim with anxious, eating care
To cherish what is best. Our souls are scarred
By daily agonies, and our conscience marred
By petty tyrannies that waste and wear.
Why is this human fate so hard to bear?
Could we but live with hill-lakes silver-starred,
Or where the eternal silence leaneth toward
The awful front of nature, waste and bare:

Then might we, brothers to the lofty thought
And inward self-communion of her dream,
Into that closer kin with love be brought,
Where mighty hills and woods and waters, wan,
Moon-paved at midnight or godlike at dawn,
Hold all earth's aspirations in their gleam.

poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Sonnet LXXXI: Rest with your dream inside my dream

Already, you are mine. Rest with your dream inside my dream.
Love, grief, labour, must sleep now.
Night revolves on invisible wheels
and joined to me you are pure as sleeping amber.

No one else will sleep with my dream, love.
You will go we will go joined by the waters of time.
No other one will travel the shadows with me,
only you, eternal nature, eternal sun, eternal moon.

Already your hands have opened their delicate fists
and let fall, without direction, their gentle signs,
you eyes enclosing themselves like two grey wings,

while I follow the waters you bring that take me onwards:
night, Earth, winds weave their fate, and already,
not only am I not without you, I alone am your dream.

poem by Pablo Neruda
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The Winter Lakes

Out in a world of death far to the northward lying,
Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day;
Under the glimmer of stars and the purple of sunsets dying,
Wan and waste and white, stretch the great lakes away.

Never a bud of spring, never a laugh of summer,
Never a dream of love, never a song of bird;
But only the silence and white, the shores that grow chiller and dumber,
Wherever the ice winds sob, and the griefs of winter are heard.

Crags that are black and wet out of the grey lake looming,
Under the sunset's flush and the pallid, faint glimmer of dawn;
Shadowy, ghost-like shores, where midnight surfs are booming
Thunders of wintry woe over the spaces wan.

Lands that loom like spectres, whited regions of winter,
Wastes of desolate woods, deserts of water and shore;
A world of winter and death, within these regions who enter,
Lost to summer and life, go to return no more.

Moons that glimmer above, waters that lie white under,
Miles and miles of lake far out under the night;
Foaming crests of waves, surfs that shoreward thunder,
Shadowy shapes that flee, haunting the spaces white.

Lonely hidden bays, moon-lit, ice-rimmed, winding,
Fringed by forests and crags, haunted by shadowy shores;
Hushed from the outward strife, where the mighty surf is grinding
Death and hate on the rocks, as sandward and landward it roars.

poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Summer

Some men there are who find in nature all
Their inspiration, hers the sympathy
Which spurs them on to any great endeavor,
To them the fields and woods are closest friends,
And they hold dear communion with the hills;
The voice of waters soothes them with its fall,
And the great winds bring healing in their sound.
To them a city is a prison house
Where pent up human forces labour and strive,
Where beauty dwells not, driven forth by man;
But where in winter they must live until
Summer gives back the spaces of the hills.
To me it is not so. I love the earth
And all the gifts of her so lavish hand:
Sunshine and flowers, rivers and rushing winds,
Thick branches swaying in a winter storm,
And moonlight playing in a boat's wide wake;
But more than these, and much, ah, how much more,
I love the very human heart of man.
Above me spreads the hot, blue mid-day sky,
Far down the hillside lies the sleeping lake
Lazily reflecting back the sun,
And scarcely ruffled by the little breeze
Which wanders idly through the nodding ferns.
The blue crest of the distant mountain, tops
The green crest of the hill on which I sit;
And it is summer, glorious, deep-toned summer,
The very crown of nature's changing year
When all her surging life is at its full.
To me alone it is a time of pause,
A void and silent space between two worlds,
When inspiration lags, and feeling sleeps,
Gathering strength for efforts yet to come.
For life alone is creator of life,
And closest contact with the human world
Is like a lantern shining in the night
To light me to a knowledge of myself.
I love the vivid life of winter months
In constant intercourse with human minds,
When every new experience is gain
And on all sides we feel the great world's heart;
The pulse and throb of life which makes us men!

poem by Amy Lowell
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Love Not Hate Sestina

I'm so glad that I found you my love
You must have been sent to me from above
You have taught me to never hate
Our lives entwined, it must be fate.
You and yours, I'll always cherish
Even after I shall perish

Us not being one, is a thought I perish
The nights are better with you my love
Our days together I will always cherish
My favorite times, watching the stars above
Is this our destiny, or is it just fate
The nights without you, I will always hate

Devotion is so much better than hate
These feelings I have, shall never perish
Our lives together, such a great fate
Shall this diminish, never my love
Only if the moon falls from above
Shall I stop loving the woman that I cherish

To adore, to care, to want and to cherish
These feelings are here to deny that I hate
Anything that lives on the earth or above
My heart sinks, when I see one perish
Your influence is that strong, my love
And from now on you determine our fate

I'm not sure what has decided my fate
But I must accept that fact and cherish
The knowledge that I have been given your love
To keep within my heart and never hate
The others in your life, before they perish
Because they too, were sent from above

Sometimes my heart soars in the clouds above
Never denying this grand glorious fate
Hoping that it will stay and not ever perish
Of this my Lord, I pray you will cherish
Our relationship, and not allow hate
To interrupt this wondrous time, with my love

I beseech the Lord above, to help me to always cherish
Our time, for it taught me, my fate is to adore, and never hate
Even after I do perish, you'll be my very essence, my love

poem by J.B. LeBuert
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Intimations Of Immortality (In Answer To William Wordsworth)

Love is something that we see
in a eternal light
with a own illumination in the darkest night
and its goodness is more than mere charity

as if immortality comes to it
when it is true and sincere,
when we really hold someone dear
and it fills our souls bit by tiny bit

and where our lives are only fleeting
we long for some perfection,
something more to our affection,
something that goes beyond each meeting

of the human kind
something of the divine,
something rare past fine,
that we try to define in the human mind.

We notice the sun that hides during the night
but returns daily with a kind of celestial light
and view it as necessary to maintain life,
we notice the ocean stretching beyond mere sight

and even at times the hills seems eternal,
the seasons that comes and go
the falling rain, the winter snow,
volcanoes that seem infernal

holds to us a special place
are all things that we view as being constant
and for life on some of them we are dependant
but we only live by amazing grace.

Yet everything is fleeting and transitory,
stars explode; their energy at a time is spent
and it is this earth’s story
that all things are evanescent.

III

Only God is eternal and immortal,
and His power with which He sustains things
while to us who are merely mortal
by His grace there are daily awakenings

and with every new birth
His unconditional love is expressed
as involvement from the divine on this earth
and continually we are blessed

while rainbows hold a own secret message,
while there is life in every meadow, grove, and stream
and His power and presence isn’t just a dream
but is expressed from eternity and still acts in this age.

[Reference: “Intimations of Immortality” by William Wordsworth.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Lifes Missfit

Im a missfit of life.
Never had nowhere to belong.
Argue with every1
this was my way.
Confontation everywhere I went.

Anger eating away.
Death my only way.

I didnt fit any where in life.
Just an accident waiting to happen.
Why oh why was I born?

As a waste of life
And a waste of time.

Only my life wasnt a waste to some#
It was grate for them to use and abuse.

Now I see
I was put on this earth
For others to use me as a toy.

Well not no more
As I walk through deaths door

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Dream comes true!

The hills are the status,
to the rich and powerful,
so I wanted to live on a hill,
with spacious garden and guard dogs.

If I stay on a hill,
I can touch the clouds,
be closer to moon and stars.
I wanted to stay on a hill.

The hills always belong to people,
who possess the hard cash and metal,
so I am put in an apartment,
that is built as high as a hill.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Reconsideration

Brothers, why shall we despair?
Brothers, why do we never care?
Let's be considerate and fair,
Life is good and love is there,
Don't deny love which moves every part,
We all need one another's heart,
So do it and put the horse before the cart,
We all ask for one common feature,
To care and help our human nature,
Life is not get, take and torture,
Life is trust, care and such a feature,
Let our life be eternal and rare,
Have you heard words of care,
Please never quit nor them tear.

poem by Omar Jabak
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Sonnet: Why Waste …?

Why waste your voice, extolling men on earth,
Who don’t deserve the smallest praise, you give?
Why waste your life in earthly aims since birth,
When there are better things for which to live?

Why waste your talents, earning name and fame,
When nothing we can take back when we die?
Why waste your precious days in acts of shame,
When we can thank the Lord and God, Most High?

Why waste your labor, building things that break,
When you can share the love of God with all?
Why waste your life in taking risks to make
One skyscraper, that must anytime fall?

Why waste God-given time in sin and vice,
When God expects us to remain soul-wise?

poem by John Celes
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What Is It To Waste A Night?

WHAT IS IT TO WASTE A NIGHT?

What is it to waste a night
When I have wasted years?
Why worry now so close to the end
Hasn’t it all been a waste?
Won’t it all be a waste one day
No matter how I play the game
Of seeking to make my name eternal?
But this is this night and no other
And I writing this now
Am redeeming it from ‘waste’
And fooling myself for one more day
‘It has not been a waste nothing is a waste
when I can write a real poem now.’

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Another For The Briar-Rose

O treacherous scent, O thorny sight,
O tangle of world’s wrong and right,
What art thou ’gainst my armour’s gleam
But dusky cobwebs of a dream?

Beat down, deep sunk from every gleam
Of hope, they lie and dully dream;
Men once, but men no more, that Love
Their waste defeated hearts should move.

Here sleeps the world that would not love!
Let it sleep on, but if He move
Their hearts in humble wise to wait
On his new-wakened fair estate.

O won at last is never late!
Thy silence was the voice of fate;
Thy still hands conquered in the strife;
Thine eyes were light; thy lips were life.

poem by William Morris
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Wasted Kisses

Chorus:
Why did I waste my kisses on u, baby?
Why did I waste my kisses on u now?
Why did I waste my kisses on u, baby?
Why did I waste my kisses on u now?
Overdue c thats how I described the hour
The minute, the moment that I first laid eyes on u
I guess I knew that sooner or later this power
Would manifest itself into a rendezvous
Small dark room c thats where I let u smother
In front of your [gut, tell another]
Why should I care?
Cheap perfume all over those burgundy stockings
The ones I tied u up with
I shoulda just left em there (shoulda just left em there)
Whyd I waste my kisses on u?
Why did I waste my kisses on u, baby?
Chorus
Whyd I waste my kisses on u, baby? (on u)
Why did I waste my kisses on u now?
Whyd I waste my kisses on u, baby? (on u)
Why did I waste my kisses on u now?

song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Proem

O antique fables! beautiful and bright
And joyous with the joyous youth of yore;
O antique fables! for a little light
Of that which shineth in you evermore,
To cleanse the dimness from our weary eyes,
And bathe our old world with a new surprise
Of golden dawn entrancing sea and shore.

We stagger under the enormous weight
Of all the heavy ages piled on us,
With all their grievous wrongs inveterate,
And all their disenchantments dolorous,
And all the monstrous tasks they have bequeathed;
And we are stifled with the airs they breathed;
And read in theirs our dooms calamitous.

Our world is all stript naked of their dreams;
No deities in sky or sun or moon,
No nymphs in woods and hills and seas and streams;
Mere earth and water, air and fire, their boon;
No God in all our universe we trace,
No heaven in the infinitude of space,
No life beyond death--coming not too soon.

Our souls are stript of their illusions sweet,
Our hopes at best in some far future years
For others, not ourselves; whose bleeding feet
Wander this rocky waste where broken spears
And bleaching bones lie scattered on the sand;
Who know we shall not reach the Promised Land;
Perhaps a mirage glistening through our tears.

And if there be this Promised Land indeed,
Our children's children's children's heritage,
Oh, what a prodigal waste of precious seed,
Of myriad myriad lives from age to age,
Of woes and agonies and blank despairs,
Through countless cycles, that some fortunate heirs
May enter, and conclude the pilgrimage!

But if it prove a mirage after all!
Our last illusion leaves us wholly bare,
To bruise against Fate's adamantine wall,
Consumed or frozen in the pitiless air;
In all our world, beneath, around, above,
One only refuge, solace, triumph,--Love,
Sole star of light in infinite black despair.

Of antique fables! beautiful and bright,
And joyous with the joyous youth of yore;
O antique fables! for a little light
Of that which shineth in you evermore,
To cleanse the dimness from our weary eyes
And bathe our old world with a new surprise
Of golden dawn entrancing sea and shore.

poem by James Thomson
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