Memorial Of Hope
The world is weary of its pain,
Of selfish greed and fruitless gain
Of tarnished honour, falsely strong, ,
And all its ancient deeds of wrong
With sins and doubts and fear.
Yet people scale through and sleep happily.
Mindful hearts are glad to keep
A tryst of love with them that that sleep.
Not names engraved in marble
Make the best memorials of the dead,
But burdens shouldered for their sake
And tasks completed in their stead.
Mercy gave us joy for tears,
And a gift of life to all who lives
Looking down on all earth’s sin and strife
Lifted us to a nobler life
To brighten hopes and kindlier things
To visions of a larger good.
May 13, 2011
poem by Jokpeme Joseph Omode
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Sleep No Man Desires
There is a sleep no man desires
There is something about that sleep
That sends fear down the hearts of men
That world unknown yet revered by fear
That surrounds a man when he goes to sleep
It is the sleep of the tired women
It is the sleep of the defeated elands
It is the sleep that makes the hyenas laugh
It is the sleep that feeds the vultures
It is the sleep that no man loves
But is the eventual sleep for all that breaths
It is the sleep of paradise
A paradise so desired for good deeds on earth
Yet it is the sleep that hounds the aged and the poor
A sleep that embraces the dying
A sleep that knows no class
It is the silent sleep on angels' chariots
Take a pillow and courage to slip into it
Courage, be brave and face that sleep
That sleep that frightens the mighty
That sleep that is wild on eart
That sleep that has no path
That is hated and more than loathed
A sleep that captured great men of history
It is the sleep of the GONE.
poem by Major Elazia
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Requiem
NOW veiled in the inviolable past
Love lies asleep, who never more will wake;
Nor would you wake him, even for my sake
Who for your sake pray he sleep sound at last.
What good thing had we of him--we who bore
So long his yoke? what pleasant thing had we
That we should weep his deathlong sleep to see,
Or call on Life to waken him once more?
A little joy he gave, and much of pain,
A little pleasure, and enduring grief,
One flower of joy, and pain piled sheaf on sheaf,
Harvests of loss, for every bud of gain.
Yet where he lies in this deserted place
Divided by his narrow grave we sit,
Welded together by the depths of it,
Watching the years pass, with averted face.
We do not mourn for him, for here is peace;
The old unrest frets not these empty years;
With him went smiles a few, and many tears,
And peace is sweeter far than those or these.
Only--we owe him nothing. If he gave,
We too gave gifts--his gifts were less than ours:
We gave the world, that held so many flowers
For this--the world that only holds his grave.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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All For The Cause
Hear a word, a word in season,
for the day is drawing nigh,
When the Cause shall call upon us,
some to live, and some to die!
He that dies shall not die lonely,
many an one hath gone before;
He that lives shall bear no burden
heavier than the life they bore.
Nothing ancient is their story,
e’en but yesterday they bled,
Youngest they of earth’s beloved,
last of all the valiant dead.
E’en the tidings we are telling,
was the tale they had to tell,
E’en the hope that our hearts cherish,
was the hope for which they fell.
In the grave where tyrants thrust them,
lies their labour and their pain,
But undying from their sorrow
springeth up the hope again.
Mourn not therefore, nor lament it,
that the world outlives their life;
Voice and vision yet they give us,
making strong our hands for strife.
Some had name, and fame, and honour,
learn’d they were, and wise and strong;
Some were nameless, poor, unlettered,
weak in all but grief and wrong.
Named and nameless all live in us;
one and all they lead us yet
Every pain to count for nothing,
every sorrow to forget.
Hearken how they cry, “O happy,
happy ye that ye were born
In the sad slow night’s departing,
in the rising of the morn.
“Fair the crown the Cause hath for you,
well to die or well to live
Through the battle, through the tangle,
peace to gain or peace to give.”
Ah, it may be! Oft meseemeth,
in the days that yet shall be,
When no slave of gold abideth
’twixt the breadth of sea to sea,
Oft, when men and maids are merry,
ere the sunlight leaves the earth,
And they bless the day beloved,
all too short for all their mirth,
Some shall pause awhile and ponder
on the bitter days of old,
Ere the toil of strife and battle
overthrew the curse of gold;
Then ’twixt lips of loved and lover
solemn thoughts of us shall rise;
We who once were fools defeated,
then shall be the brave and wise.
There amidst the world new-builded
shall our earthly deeds abide,
Though our names be all forgotten,
and the tale of how we died.
Life or death then, who shall heed it,
what we gain or what we lose?
Fair flies life amid the struggle,
and the Cause for each shall choose.
Hear a word, a word in season,
for the day is drawing nigh,
When the Cause shall call upon us,
some to live, and some to die!
poem by William Morris
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The Best of All
Sleep and turn and sleep again,
Spite of the morning birds.
I am weary of strife with men,
Weary of fruitless words.
Once I traveled in blossomed ways,
Ere I had learned to weep.
Sleep is better than loveless days.
Death is better than sleep.
poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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My Little Man
Dont you know I love you more than life itself,
Dont you know that youre my pride
And I would not have you walking through this world.
Without me by your side
Go to sleep my little man
Dont you weep my little man
Id like to keep you with me all your life,
But I know I cant do that
So I must try to teach you wrong from right,
To keep the vulture from your back
Go to sleep my little man
Dont you weep my little man
And when youre dreaming you can talk to angels,
So wipe the tears from your eyes
And if theres demons that try to steal you breath away.
You cant believe that, know my spirit will be standing by your side
You saved me, you gave me, the greatest gift of all
Believe me, believe, there aint no mountain thats too tall
I will gladly carry your cross for you,
To take your pain away
But what I cant carry is my love for you,
Beyond my dying day
So be strong my little man
When Im gone my little man
You got to be my little man
So dont you weep my little man
Go to sleep my little man
Dont you weep my little man
You got to be my little man
So dont you weep my little man
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pilgrims
Who is your lady of love, O ye that pass
Singing? and is it for sorrow of that which was
That ye sing sadly, or dream of what shall be?
For gladly at once and sadly it seems ye sing.
--Our lady of love by you is unbeholden;
For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor lips, nor golden
Treasure of hair, nor face nor form; but we
That love, we know her more fair than anything.
--Is she a queen, having great gifts to give?
--Yea, these; that whoso hath seen her shall not live
Except he serve her sorrowing, with strange pain,
Travail and bloodshedding and bitterer tears;
And when she bids die he shall surely die.
And he shall leave all things under the sky
And go forth naked under sun and rain
And work and wait and watch out all his years.
--Hath she on earth no place of habitation?
--Age to age calling, nation answering nation,
Cries out, Where is she? and there is none to say;
For if she be not in the spirit of men,
For if in the inward soul she hath no place,
In vain they cry unto her, seeking her face,
In vain their mouths make much of her; for they
Cry with vain tongues, till the heart lives again.
--O ye that follow, and have ye no repentance?
For on your brows is written a mortal sentence,
An hieroglyph of sorrow, a fiery sign,
That in your lives ye shall not pause or rest,
Nor have the sure sweet common love, nor keep
Friends and safe days, nor joy of life nor sleep.
--These have we not, who have one thing, the divine
Face and clear eyes of faith and fruitful breast.
--And ye shall die before your thrones be won.
--Yea, and the changed world and the liberal sun
Shall move and shine without us, and we lie
Dead; but if she too move on earth and live,
But if the old world with all the old irons rent
Laugh and give thanks, shall we be not content?
Nay, we shall rather live, we shall not die,
Life being so little and death so good to give.
--And these men shall forget you.--Yea, but we
Shall be a part of the earth and the ancient sea,
And heaven-high air august, and awful fire,
And all things good; and no man's heart shall beat
But somewhat in it of our blood once shed
Shall quiver and quicken, as now in us the dead
Blood of men slain and the old same life's desire
Plants in their fiery footprints our fresh feet.
--But ye that might be clothed with all things pleasant,
Ye are foolish that put off the fair soft present,
That clothe yourselves with the cold future air;
When mother and father and tender sister and brother
And the old live love that was shall be as ye,
Dust, and no fruit of loving life shall be.
--She shall be yet who is more than all these were,
Than sister or wife or father unto us or mother.
--Is this worth life, is this, to win for wages?
Lo, the dead mouths of the awful grey-grown ages,
The venerable, in the past that is their prison,
In the outer darkness, in the unopening grave,
Laugh, knowing how many as ye now say have said,
How many, and all are fallen, are fallen and dead:
Shall ye dead rise, and these dead have not risen?
--Not we but she, who is tender and swift to save.
--Are ye not weary and faint not by the way,
Seeing night by night devoured of day by day,
Seeing hour by hour consumed in sleepless fire?
Sleepless: and ye too, when shall ye too sleep?
--We are weary in heart and head, in hands and feet,
And surely more than all things sleep were sweet,
Than all things save the inexorable desire
Which whoso knoweth shall neither faint nor weep.
--Is this so sweet that one were fain to follow?
Is this so sure where all men's hopes are hollow.
Even this your dream, that by much tribulation
Ye shall make whole flawed hearts, and bowed necks straight?
--Nay, though our life were blind, our death were fruitless,
Not therefore were the whole world's high hope rootless;
But man to man, nation would turn to nation,
And the old life live, and the old great world be great.
--Pass on then and pass by us and let us be,
For what light think ye after life to see?
And if the world fare better will ye know?
And if man triumph who shall seek you and say?
--Enough of light is this for one life's span,
That all men born are mortal, but not man:
And we men bring death lives by night to sow,
That man may reap and eat and live by day.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Voice of Toil
I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying,
All days shall be as all have been;
To-day and to-morrow bring fear and sorrow,
The never-ending toil between.
When Earth was younger mid toil and hunger,
In hope we strove, and our hands were strong;
Then great men led us, with words they fed us,
And bade us right the earthly wrong.
Go read in story their deeds and glory,
Their names amidst the nameless dead;
Turn then from lying to us slow-dying
In that good world to which they led;
Where fast and faster our iron master,
The thing we made, for ever drives,
Bids us grind treasure and fashion pleasure
For other hopes and other lives.
Where home is a hovel and dull we grovel,
Forgetting that the world is fair;
Where no babe we cherish, lest its very soul perish;
Where mirth is crime, and love a snare.
Who now shall lead us, what God shall heed us
As we lie in the hell our hands have won?
For us are no rulers but fools and befoolers,
The great are fallen, the wise men gone.
I heard men saying, Leave tears and praying,
The sharp knife heedeth not the sheep;
Are we not stronger than the rich and the wronger,
When day breaks over dreams and sleep?
Come, shoulder to shoulder ere the world grows older!
Help lies in nought but thee and me;
Hope is before us, the long years that bore us
Bore leaders more than men may be.
Let dead hearts tarry and trade and marry,
And trembling nurse their dreams of mirth,
While we the living our lives are giving
To bring the bright new world to birth.
Come, shoulder to shoulder ere Earth grows older!
The Cause spreads over land and sea;
Now the world shaketh, and fear awaketh,
And joy at last for thee and me.
poem by William Morris
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Finally...thank you
I finally did it,
I gained the courage,
The courage to move on,
Fear is no longer apart of me,
Because,
Life is too short to dwell,
If it’s not about me,
Then I can’t have you in it,
You taught me things,
Showed me right and wrong,
But,
You gave me pain,
I didn’t know what to do,
I thought,
Sometimes I still think,
That having you in my life,
Is what I need,
Only because I loved you,
My life is all I have,
So what will I do,
Continue to be strong,
Be grateful,
For the things I learned,
Forget the pain you gave me,
And not make the same mistakes,
Life is about learning,
Experiences,
Even though this process was painful,
I learned the most beautiful lesson,
To love me,
Before,
Loving another,
As I write,
Tears want to stream down my face,
But they can’t,
Only because these tears aren’t for sadness,
It’s happiness,
Happiness because I grew strong,
Happiness because I moved on,
And I’m doing my dreams,
On my own…
So all I can say is,
Thank you.
poem by Latoya Fleming
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SONNET: Queries of Life
Why is that people fight o'er little things?
Why is that people act in silly ways?
Why is that people can't take what life brings?
Why is that people live idling most days?
Why is that people forget joys of life?
Why is that people commit sins galore?
Why is that people 'lose their cool' in strife?
Why is that people want and ask for more?
The greed for wealth afills men's hearts and minds;
The aim of life on earth is fast forgot;
The clock of life with labour much, man winds!
God is an endless line; man is a dot!
The search for truth and God is left unsought;
Hence, things go awry when God is forgot!
poem by John Celes
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He Giveth His Beloved Sleep
The long day passes with its load of sorrow:
In slumber deep
I lay me down to rest until tomorrow --
Thank God for sleep.
Thank God for all respite from weary toiling,
From cares that creep
Across our lives like evil shadows, spoiling
God's kindly sleep.
We plough and sow, and, as the hours grow later,
We strive to reap,
And build our barns, and hope to build them greater
Before we sleep.
We toil and strain and strive with one another
In hopes to heap
Some greater share of profit than our brother
Before we sleep.
What will it profit that with tears or laughter
Our watch we keep?
Beyond it all there lies the Great Hereafter!
Thank God for sleep!
For, at the last, beseeching Christ to save us
We turn with deep
Heartfelt thanksgiving unto God, who gave us
The Gift of Sleep.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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He Giveth His Beloved Sleep
The long day passes with its load of sorrow:
In slumber deep
I lay me down to rest until tomorrow,
Thank God for sleep.
Thank God for all respite from weary toiling,
From cares that creep
Across our lives like evil shadows, spoiling
God's kindly sleep.
We plough and sow, and, as the hours grow later,
We strive to reap,
And build our barns, and hope to build them greater
Before we sleep.
We toil and strain and strive with one another
In hopes to heap
Some greater share of profit than our brother
Before we sleep.
What will it profit that with tears or laughter
Our watch we keep?
Beyond it all there lies the Great Hereafter!
Thank God for sleep!
For, at the last, beseeching Christ to save us
We turn with deep
Heartfelt thanksgiving unto God, who gave us
The Gift of Sleep.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Happy Doctors’ Day, 2011
‘Wish you a Happy Doctors Day! ’
The world of people from hearts say;
‘Your life to save lives’, you gave today;
May you on earth happily stay!
All thank you for your sacrifice;
Keep your conduct always nice;
Your job’s a wonderful exercise
Of mind, body, spirit, soul-wise.
You gave your time for others’ sake;
God will never you ev’r forsake;
You can eat and keep Life’s cake
That’s a medical profession’s make!
Love your work with all your heart;
Labour, learn the miraculous craft;
The Maker decides on any graft;
Turn the science into an art!
Keep your spirits always high;
Let not money your heart buy;
Work with zeal until you die;
The Healer, GOD is with you nigh!
poem by John Celes
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Fears of a teenage mafioso
Fear of love,
Fear of pain,
Fear of the unforgiving cane,
Fear of lies,
Fear of sighs,
Fear of those distraught eyes,
Fear for the unknown,
Fear for the known,
Fear of everything combined,
Fear is what makes me blind,
Fear is what makes me think,
and act in blind accordance,
Hindering the world around me,
Hence, My Fear of myself
Fear is when you run away,
Fear is when you’re scared to love someone,
Fear is when the sky turns grey,
Fear of confusion,
Fear is like a dark blue ocean,
Fear won’t let me escape
Fear mocks me, watching
Fear taunts me, waiting
Fear of losing,
Fear you cannot see,
Fear dealt upon thee.
Fear of darkness and death,
Fear of a dead comrade,
Fear of a gun being cocked,
Fear of being endlessly stalked,
Fear of time,
Fear of all the crime,
Fear of the undesirable truth,
Fear for the good.
Fear for the sake of life,
Fear of the neighbors next door,
Fear of the secretive man in the subway,
Fear of the revolutionary uproar,
Fear is to not rejoice your living,
Fear for the sake of your life,
But to fear is to forsake it.
Fear is to have no hope in life,
Fear of the fear of fear,
We need no reason to fear,
For fear has no reason for itself.
I guess life is just like that,
To fear for no reason,
For to fear is not to reason,
But to reason is to fear.
To fear for the sake of fear,
Is fear for fear,
So let me think,
What else do I fear?
What else do I fear?
What else do I fear?
poem by David daveres
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Maa, I can't sleep
Maa, I can't sleep.
A pain crawls up my spine, the loneliness shouts aloud
And the abrupt commotions in my head
Keep me from closing my eyes,
Keep me from peace
Maa, I can't sleep,
The bulb on the wall flickers,
I turn it off and it's too dark around,
Fear rides my nerves
And I am awake all night,
Remembering my deeds and my sins.
Maa I can't sleep,
The dark lids of my eyes
Have imprinted her face; she smiles
And reminds me of the good old times.
But I broke her twice, all the way down;
And so I can't sleep.
Maa, for my lost love and her broken heart
I can't sleep.
poem by Shouvik Roy
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The Dead Child
Sleep on, dear, now
The last sleep and the best,
And on thy brow,
And on thy quiet breast
Violets I throw.
Thy scanty years
Were mine a little while;
Life had no fears
To trouble thy brief smile
With toil or tears.
Lie still, and be
For evermore a child!
Not grudgingly,
Whom life has not defiled,
I render thee.
Slumber so deep,
No man would rashly wake;
I hardly weep,
Fain only, for thy sake.
To share thy sleep.
Yes, to be dead,
Dead, here with thee to-day,--
When all is said
'Twere good by thee to lay
My weary head.
The very best!
Ah, child so tired of play,
I stand confessed:
I want to come thy way,
And share thy rest.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Reflections Of Christmas Past
'I can hear sounds of bells, of that Christmas Day'
Another poet wrote, in their poetic way.
Of 'Peace on Earth, Good will to men.'
And still our earth seeks, that peace again!
Like Him, I bow in great despair
And pray that peace, be everywhere!
'Tho hate is strong, and mocks peace songs
Of Peace on earth, to those seem wrong.
But as the poet wrote, in time of yore
'Hate and greed shall be no more.
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep!
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail!
with, ' peace on earth Good will to men.'
When men put away all their hate and greed
And return to love and faith, for another's need!
Then we shall truly have again
'Peace on earth, and Good will to men! '
poem by Linda Winchell
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In Woes
Surrounded by havens dreary dirges, I cry,
Yet, this time won't hide, ruined is my heart,
Evaporated all my sweet desires,
Cradling upon blooded wounds of mine, my loved ones,
Once, the time, with its feet is passing upon my wounds humbling by,
Once, the ones, those who were my dearest, with smiling faces shaking their hands and passing by,
Far away in pain my eyes are crying woes
Insatiable, haters revive from my pain,
Pale, feeble, ah shivery heart of mine,
Your pain has became, your lovers hearts happy companion,
At the extreme corner of loneliness I'm broken,
Solitude was my peaceful home, since long whiles,
But the peace has gone away of my life and mortality covered all around,
Yet, this time I don't want to hide my woes,
My tears are moaing alone misty are constancy roads
Inside my heart storms are howling by
Where can I go to whom I can tell my woes
No one can cease my pain now
No one is so dear when you're broken alone
People are selfish
Innoceny has deserted our world
People can see what is good for them to see
No one takes a bit while even for looking if the wounded one is dead or still alive
May she's in need of a smile
Alas, what is wrong with life?
Is it about life all people are changed?
Ah pities are dead
Around me people wearing colored masks
Fake are their smiles
The greed and selfishness have stolen their hearts
With their limited, minds they're happy for what they are?
Liars pray happily inside their temples
They thank their God for being deprived from having a heart!
But their God is their dead pities which is the slave of devil,
Oh poor ones, how can you create a God for your own sakes,
Just to serve your nasty purposes!
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Songs for the People
Let me make the songs for the people,
Songs for the old and young;
Songs to stir like a battle-cry
Wherever they are sung.
Not for the clashing of sabres,
For carnage nor for strife;
But songs to thrill the hearts of men
With more abundant life.
Let me make the songs for the weary,
Amid life's fever and fret,
Till hearts shall relax their tension,
And careworn brows forget.
Let me sing for little children,
Before their footsteps stray,
Sweet anthems of love and duty,
To float o'er life's highway.
I would sing for the poor and aged,
When shadows dim their sight;
Of the bright and restful mansions,
Where there shall be no night.
Our world, so worn and weary,
Needs music, pure and strong,
To hush the jangle and discords
Of sorrow, pain, and wrong.
Music to soothe all its sorrow,
Till war and crime shall cease;
And the hearts of men grown tender
Girdle the world with peace.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Unfortunate
Fold her hands upon her breast,
And let her sweetly sleep.
She has found a perfect rest,
Beneath her winding sheet.
Her weary limbs are now at rest,
And free from toil and pain;
Her weary soul from earth has left,
But in Heaven lives again.
Death has closed her mild blue eyes,
That once was full of mirth,
Her lovely form once full of life,
Will now return to earth.
Touch her gently, let her lie,
This forsaken girl forlorn;
Tears may fall from strangers' eyes,
O'er her silent form.
She was a poor erring girl,
A wanderer alone,
Friends she had none in this world,
Nor a place she could call home.
She's found a home bright and fair
In that world above,
Angels dwell together there,
In perfect peace and love,
Place her gently in her grave,
And let her sweetly sleep.
Judge her not; for he who gave
Her life, her soul will keep.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Sleep
Some people think that they live for something material
Some people think that they live for someone special
The are all wrong
In fact all they live for is some sleep
So sleep
Peoples work all day long to get some sleep
Peoples spend their life looking for the opportunity to sleep
So sleep
Sleep is a gift from god which is withdrawn from sinners
So sleep
But there will be one day when sleep will be granted forever
And the fight will be over
poem by Salmaan Sheriff
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