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Poetry - Life | ||||||||||||
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WEEP NO MORE And the children cried, “Tell us a story, tell us a story, A ghost story.” Look at those faces, Those innocent faces sweetened With cake and jam. History is a tale Told by others and too often Making a pawnshop of the land. The houses are crumbling; The houses are crumbling, Soon, all shall fall For the terrible beauty Is now the dead And we are the hollow men,
And this is the day of the young. O brave new world! This is the day of the young.
Thoughts are the fruit of thoughts And tranquil are the souls That live therein.
Weep no more my woeful pens Weep no more The True Pen is come. Go then, go, and leave mind’s darkness, Be not reluctant, Step into the Light
THE PIGEON The pigeon edged closer Picked the food and quickly moved back. I could have touched him but he doesn’t trust. Close, close And then distance. What can be said of trust is: It is silent, A silence that is flawless. When allowed it moves steadily. I have seen it move swiftly And there’s an awesome beauty In its mystery. Its shrill waves touched my heart, How sad we must destroy. The pigeon walks beneath kissing trees As sunlight plays in their midst…
THE TABLE WAS SET The table was set Ready for tea The boy sat His sister poured For her self and her husband But left the boy’s cup empty The room was silent and cold “What has this to do with me?” The boy wondered As he poured his own tea
THE LADY She sat beside me: “Do you have a poem In this book?” I asked. “O no!” She answered, “I work in the Art Office: I’m here to support…” Then she gently lifted her hand, Brushed back her hair, Smiled, and let it drop Like a golden waterfall, And I listened, To her soft eloquent word.
THE JOB HUNTER
He is just an atom in the vortex of men. And who respects an atom? There was a time when everything Was weighed by the scales And then settled by agreement. Men are restless, sarcastic, Short tempered and two faced. How many scales are balanced, How many agreements go unbroken, Is respect irrelevant? Strange glances are cast his way And he wonders who believes his words. At the interview, There is no time for the trembling. Smile, and change the figures. Conceal and sell, and remain An atom in the vortex of men.
“WHAT ARE WE,
She cried,
Drunks spilling out of a disorderly house?
Covering a distance double quick, A wild goose chase, what a mix, Drops gliding down rushing thighs: Roses drawing back, Stale garlic. Worm pickers, bird watchers. Cool hands writing on walls, Restless feet walking on water, Snakes rattling in the devil’s den. Man’s touch, sad music. We gobble gluttonously, Then dribble. It’s a laugh, say we. What are we? Bluebottles? Vermin? Creepy things?
Hush. Hush. Can you feel it; can you hear it? It’s Noah calling from the Ark. Ancient habits stick: If our world could vanish in a breath, Without death, Oh, what a lucky trick. Man must love, but insist to love what vanishes. Thoughts have we but dare not admit We love what vanishes. As winter gales blow, with laborious love We must work to mend what vanishes. For those who never saw seasons run Let them gape and mock, For we have no need for monuments.”
LONGING FOR A GLANCE
I am a poor wretched creature O Lord: I stand at the edge of Thine Ocean Longing for a wave to come ashore. One glance, just one side-glance Would fulfil all my needs And more.
A DOUBLE EDGED-SWORD No! O no Don’t say it: Let her be in bliss. The tongue Is made For sweet utterance Not to be A blade Like this.
INSIDE He travelled the world In search of you, But nowhere were you to be found. He returned home disillusioned, And found you Were inside of him all the time.
ECHOING BACKNora Her parents turned their back To a sudden onslaught of wind, A wind carried with it a scent Of unknown adventures… She, unlike the generations before her Did not fear change; on she went With the courage to acknowledge She was not what she thought was Or, what she’d like to be But slowly and painfully becoming What God desired her to become. Now, the hollow of her soul is rosy full With sweet memories, memories, Like the sliding sensations of the sea Echoing back through mountain streams Enriching the landscape of her heart With the harmony and beauty Of a spiritual relationship…
THE PHOTOGRAPH The boy That sat on the window: Where did he go? The boy That you wanted to stay- Placid and safe: Where did he go? The boy That hands and words Misshaped- That boy, That precious image of innocence: Where did he go?
SOMETIMES WE MEET Sometimes we meet As if purely by chance A chance we cannot simply pass With quivering hearts We share some pleasantry Something humorous A laugh It covers perfectly All that should have been And all that is not
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