March, 2014
who were so dark at heart
POSTED IN classic poetry March 30, 2014
who were so dark at heartwho were so dark of heart they might not speak,
a little innocence will make them sing;
teach them to see who could not learn to look
–from the reality of all nothingwill actually lift a luminous whole;
turn sheer despairing to most perfect gay,
nowhere to here, never too beautiful:
a little innocence creates a day.And something thought or done or wished without
a little innocence, although it were
as red as terror and as green as fate,
greyly shall fall and dully disappear–but the proud power of himself death immense
is not so as a little innocence
e e cummings
City Rhythm
POSTED IN contemporary poetry March 28, 2014
City RhythmWhere is the rhythm in this city,
The heartbeat rule in every step
Where individuality fades
Into our common identity,
The single beat that binds us, yet
Is for us an empowering aide
Saving us in its security,
Releasing us from that fisher’s net
That tightens with each coin paid?This rhythmless meandering roar,
This awkward cadence, disturbs my peace
Like unpredictable arguments
That rise in an apartment next door
Jolting you each time you fall asleep
Reminding you that life is torment
And that recourse to the civil court
Only adds to the discordant heap
Of rising civil defoliant.I want rhythm like a prisoned man
Yearns an end to his imprisonment,
To carry his claim to dignity,
Who simply longs to take a noble stand
And live a life of calm contentment,
Shake his neighbour’s hand in amity,
Walk in open space on a safe land
Where there are no horns or whistles sent
Lauding his inferiority.
Garnet Shaw Robbie
Hail Poetry Slave
POSTED IN contemporary poetry March 12, 2014
Hail Poetry Slave
Hail thou poetry slave, rose from dust and ash.
Armageddon's passed, rush now from the Cave
In phoenix flight; fly; flee this mortal caste.
Lift your wings of light, o'er this shadowed grave -
Parched, bleached of colour, hues that once held fast
Over man and age, over kingdoms brave,
Even til their breath left them at long last,
Turning back to sand. In their dying gave
Reason to rejoice, birth from that life past;
Yesterdays illusions finally frayed.
Sincere is the blood of the now outcast.
Love tends its tender saplings in this day
Atop mountain heights laved in Sunlight vast.
Verses do recount and sages do say:
Each of us receive; each is called to task.
Garnet Shaw Robbie
Dot the i
POSTED IN reading poetry, Stories March 11, 2014
Oneness
POSTED IN contemporary poetry March 10, 2014
Constellations
POSTED IN contemporary poetry March 10, 2014
Constellations
I
Heavenly constellations
written ‘cross the sky
speaking a language of light
II
This, who I am that you see
is as old as you
beginning as time began
III
Be patient, sincere and wise
befitting a man
in possessing your proper share
Garnet Shaw Robbie
Prisoners
POSTED IN contemporary poetry March 10, 2014
I Am the Only Being Whose Doom
POSTED IN classic poetry March 9, 2014
I Am the Only Being Whose DoomI am the only being whose doom
No tongue would ask, no eye would mourn;
I never caused a thought of gloom,
A smile of joy, since I was born.In secret pleasure, secret tears,
This changeful life has slipped away,
As friendless after eighteen years,
As lone as on my natal day.There have been times I cannot hide,
There have been times when this was drear,
When my sad soul forgot its pride
And longed for one to love me here.But those were in the early glow
Of feelings since subdued by care;
And they have died so long ago,
I hardly now believe they were.First melted off the hope of youth,
Then fancy’s rainbow fast withdrew;
And then experience told me truth
In mortal bosoms never grew.’Twas grief enough to think mankind
All hollow, servile, insincere;
But worse to trust to my own mind
And find the same corruption there.
Emily Brontë
An Echo
POSTED IN classic poetry March 9, 2014
An Echo
Never sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.
Now I am a dog, or cow,
I can bark, or I can low;
I can bleat, or I can sing,
Like the warblers of the spring.
Let the lovesick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy swain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice:
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out:
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,
When I’m vext, can’t keep me under;
Yet so tender is my ear,
That the lowest voice I fear;
Much I dread the courtier’s fate,
When his merit’s out of date,
For I hate a silent breath,
And a whisper is my death.
Jonathan Swift
The Haidamaks
POSTED IN classic poetry March 7, 2014
The HaidamaksEverything moves, everything passes, and there is no end.
Where did it all disappear? From where did it all come?
Both the fool and the wise man know nothing.
One lives, one dies, one thing blooms,
But another has withered, withered away forever
And winds have carried off yellowed leaves,
And the sun will rise, as it used to rise,
And crimson stars will float off as they used to,
They will float afterwards, and you, white-faced one,
Will saunter along the blue sky.
Taras Shevchenko
