By Nikhil Parekh (Gilbert Noel)
Clouds give birth to tantalizing droplets of rain;
pacifying the murderous agony of scorching desert
sands,
Rose gives birth to stupendously ravishing fragrance;
casting a spell of unconquerable happiness in those
lives; deluged with horrendous despair,
Sun gives birth to magnificently flamboyant rays;
filtering a path of profuse optimism in every space;
tottering towards helpless extinction,
Soil gives birth to rhapsodic fountains of fruit and
water; ensuring that none remained disastrously
famished; for centuries immemorial,
Ocean gives birth to tantalizingly tangy globules of
salt; inundating drab existence with cloudbursts of
spice and insurmountable poignancy,
Stars give birth to an incredulously serene calm;
miraculously metamorphosing the complexion of the
ghastly night; into one shimmering with milky pearls,
Leaves give birth to exuberantly fluttering breeze;
enveloping dreary souls in its ebulliently vociferous
swirl; as it merrily whipped by,
Benevolence gives birth to invincible humanity;
incessantly reigning as the supreme leader; even as
the planet entangled in webs of lechery and salacious
malice,
Freedom gives birth to the innermost expression; the
mesmerizing fulmination of a persons senses; which
propels him to blissfully lead an infinite more lives,
Mother gives birth to the perpetually divine; the
immaculately wailing offspring for which; God’s
specially descended down from fathomless cosmos to
bless,
Truth gives birth to harmonious unity; organisms from
all across the unfathomable planet; embracing each
other irrespective of prejudice; caste or creed,
Honesty gives birth to intransigent conviction; an
astronomical within the most feeble of entities; to
catapult to the pinnacle of ultimate success,
Fantasy gives birth to turbulently seductive desire;
relentlessly exploring and absorbing the unsurpassable
beauty lingering on this planet,
Perseverance gives birth to glorious rays of newness;
evolving and achieving even the most inconspicuous of
your philanthropic dream; as golden perspiration
trickled under the sweltering Sun,
Faith gives birth to the incomprehensibly
unbelievable; with man successfully shooting to the
summit of the impossible; uttering the name of the
entity he adored,
Conscience gives birth to irrefutable righteousness;
which the even the entire wealth on this spuriously
bombastic world; miserably failed to purchase,
Eyes give birth to profoundly caressing empathy;
wholeheartedly commiserating and bonding; with even
the most remotest of alien in devastating pain,
Love gives birth to indispensably precious survival;
the everlasting spirit to celestially exist; beyond
ones ordinary time,
And life gives birth to perennial happiness; an
unconquerably sacred joy and bliss that makes each
birth; exist in symbiotic synergy with the bountifully
divine…
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thanatopsis
By William Cullen Bryant (Gilbert Noel)
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that hourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolv'd to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrend'ring up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to th' insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thy eternal resting place
Shalt thou retire alone--nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
, With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre.--The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The vernal woods--rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and pour'd round all,
Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning--and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lost thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings--yet--the dead are there,
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.--
So shalt thou rest--and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living--and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh,
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
The bow'd with age, the infant in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustain'd and sooth'd
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that hourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolv'd to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrend'ring up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to th' insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thy eternal resting place
Shalt thou retire alone--nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
, With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre.--The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The vernal woods--rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and pour'd round all,
Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning--and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lost thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings--yet--the dead are there,
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.--
So shalt thou rest--and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living--and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh,
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
The bow'd with age, the infant in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustain'd and sooth'd
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Poems (chevar cummings)
An Original
by Janet Martin
You melt like amber liquid
O'er this misty slumbering void
And stir with trembling heart-beat
As the darkness is destroyed
While fields that lie like charcoal stones
Beneath the silver cloud
Shimmer 'neath your dewy tones
And don your glistening shroud
Your gentle breath dissolves the gloom
With soft golden caresses
And hope fills nature's living-room
Beneath your glowing tresses
While many countless dawns have passed
Into times great abyss
Never has there ever been
Another such as this
I stand amazed as I behold
Your love and great compassion
Before my wondering eyes unfold
In perfect, heavenly fashion
A brand new day, a brand new dawn
Original creation
As these unwritten hours yawn
In breathless expectation
Lord, you never duplicate
The dawning's glorious splendor
Help me then to not repeat
My failures, but surrender
Beneath the mighty Hand that paints
With matchless shade and tinting
Upon a canvas that awaits
My humble finger-printing
DEATH IS A FISHERMAN
Benjamin Franklin
Death is a fisherman, the world we see
His fish-pond is, and we the fishes be;
His net some general sickness; howe'er he
Is not so kind as other fishers be;
For if they take one of the smaller fry,
They throw him in again, he shall not die:
But death is sure to kill all he can get,
And all is fish with him that comes to net.
by Janet Martin
You melt like amber liquid
O'er this misty slumbering void
And stir with trembling heart-beat
As the darkness is destroyed
While fields that lie like charcoal stones
Beneath the silver cloud
Shimmer 'neath your dewy tones
And don your glistening shroud
Your gentle breath dissolves the gloom
With soft golden caresses
And hope fills nature's living-room
Beneath your glowing tresses
While many countless dawns have passed
Into times great abyss
Never has there ever been
Another such as this
I stand amazed as I behold
Your love and great compassion
Before my wondering eyes unfold
In perfect, heavenly fashion
A brand new day, a brand new dawn
Original creation
As these unwritten hours yawn
In breathless expectation
Lord, you never duplicate
The dawning's glorious splendor
Help me then to not repeat
My failures, but surrender
Beneath the mighty Hand that paints
With matchless shade and tinting
Upon a canvas that awaits
My humble finger-printing
DEATH IS A FISHERMAN
Benjamin Franklin
Death is a fisherman, the world we see
His fish-pond is, and we the fishes be;
His net some general sickness; howe'er he
Is not so kind as other fishers be;
For if they take one of the smaller fry,
They throw him in again, he shall not die:
But death is sure to kill all he can get,
And all is fish with him that comes to net.
poems (Andrea Guerra)
THE CREATION
And God stepped out on space,
And he looked around and said:
I'm lonely--
I'll make me a world.
And far as the eye of God could see
Darkness covered everything,
Blacker than a hundred midnights
Down in a cypress swamp.
Then God smiled,
And the light broke,
And the darkness rolled up on one side,
And the light stood shining on the other,
And God said: That's good!
Then God reached out and took the light in his hands,
And God rolled the light around in his hands
Until he made the sun;
And he set that sun a-blazing in the heavens.
And the light that was left from making the sun
God gathered it up in a shining ball
And flung it against the darkness,
Spangling the night with the moon and stars.
Then down between
The darkness and the light
He hurled the world;
And God said: That's good!
Then God himself stepped down--
And the sun was on his right hand,
And the moon was on his left;
The stars were clustered about his head,
And the earth was under his feet.
And God walked, and where he trod
His footsteps hollowed the valleys out
And bulged the mountains up.
Then he stopped and looked and saw
That the earth was hot and barren.
So God stepped over to the edge of the world
And he spat out the seven seas--
He batted his eyes, and the lightnings flashed--
He clapped his hands, and the thunders rolled--
And the waters above the earth came down,
The cooling waters came down.
Then the green grass sprouted,
And the little red flowers blossomed,
The pine tree pointed his finger to the sky,
And the oak spread out his arms,
The lakes cuddled down in the hollows of the ground,
And the rivers ran down to the sea;
And God smiled again,
And the rainbow appeared,
And curled itself around his shoulder.
Then God raised his arm and he waved his hand
Over the sea and over the land,
And he said: Bring forth! Bring forth!
And quicker than God could drop his hand,
Fishes and fowls
And beasts and birds
Swam the rivers and the seas,
Roamed the forests and the woods,
And split the air with their wings.
And God said: That's good!
Then God walked around,
And God looked around
On all that he had made.
He looked at his sun,
And he looked at his moon,
And he looked at his little stars;
He looked on his world
With all its living things,
And God said: I'm lonely still.
Then God sat down--
On the side of a hill where he could think;
By a deep, wide river he sat down;
With his head in his hands,
God thought and thought,
Till he thought: I'll make me a man!
Up from the bed of the river
God scooped the clay;
And by the bank of the river
He kneeled him down;
And there the great God Almighty
Who lit the sun and fixed it in the sky,
Who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night,
Who rounded the earth in the middle of his hand;
This great God,
Like a mammy bending over her baby,
Kneeled down in the dust
Toiling over a lump of clay
Till he shaped it in is his own image;
Then into it he blew the breath of life,
And man became a living soul.
Amen.Amen.
James Weldon Johnson
The light reaches in
Spreading through the room
Sending the dark
Fleeing for cover
The dark cowers there
Before the light's brightness
But the light can't win
The night will come
The light will retreat
And the dark recover
This battle
Of night and day
Of dark and light
Will not end - ever
By This Girl
http://www.buzzle.com/articles/lightand-dark-poem.html
And God stepped out on space,
And he looked around and said:
I'm lonely--
I'll make me a world.
And far as the eye of God could see
Darkness covered everything,
Blacker than a hundred midnights
Down in a cypress swamp.
Then God smiled,
And the light broke,
And the darkness rolled up on one side,
And the light stood shining on the other,
And God said: That's good!
Then God reached out and took the light in his hands,
And God rolled the light around in his hands
Until he made the sun;
And he set that sun a-blazing in the heavens.
And the light that was left from making the sun
God gathered it up in a shining ball
And flung it against the darkness,
Spangling the night with the moon and stars.
Then down between
The darkness and the light
He hurled the world;
And God said: That's good!
Then God himself stepped down--
And the sun was on his right hand,
And the moon was on his left;
The stars were clustered about his head,
And the earth was under his feet.
And God walked, and where he trod
His footsteps hollowed the valleys out
And bulged the mountains up.
Then he stopped and looked and saw
That the earth was hot and barren.
So God stepped over to the edge of the world
And he spat out the seven seas--
He batted his eyes, and the lightnings flashed--
He clapped his hands, and the thunders rolled--
And the waters above the earth came down,
The cooling waters came down.
Then the green grass sprouted,
And the little red flowers blossomed,
The pine tree pointed his finger to the sky,
And the oak spread out his arms,
The lakes cuddled down in the hollows of the ground,
And the rivers ran down to the sea;
And God smiled again,
And the rainbow appeared,
And curled itself around his shoulder.
Then God raised his arm and he waved his hand
Over the sea and over the land,
And he said: Bring forth! Bring forth!
And quicker than God could drop his hand,
Fishes and fowls
And beasts and birds
Swam the rivers and the seas,
Roamed the forests and the woods,
And split the air with their wings.
And God said: That's good!
Then God walked around,
And God looked around
On all that he had made.
He looked at his sun,
And he looked at his moon,
And he looked at his little stars;
He looked on his world
With all its living things,
And God said: I'm lonely still.
Then God sat down--
On the side of a hill where he could think;
By a deep, wide river he sat down;
With his head in his hands,
God thought and thought,
Till he thought: I'll make me a man!
Up from the bed of the river
God scooped the clay;
And by the bank of the river
He kneeled him down;
And there the great God Almighty
Who lit the sun and fixed it in the sky,
Who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night,
Who rounded the earth in the middle of his hand;
This great God,
Like a mammy bending over her baby,
Kneeled down in the dust
Toiling over a lump of clay
Till he shaped it in is his own image;
Then into it he blew the breath of life,
And man became a living soul.
Amen.Amen.
James Weldon Johnson
The light reaches in
Spreading through the room
Sending the dark
Fleeing for cover
The dark cowers there
Before the light's brightness
But the light can't win
The night will come
The light will retreat
And the dark recover
This battle
Of night and day
Of dark and light
Will not end - ever
By This Girl
http://www.buzzle.com/articles/lightand-dark-poem.html
by Crystal Elizabeth Warner New Beginnings (Gaston Gros)
Our new house is so beautiful;
small, but very quaint.
The rooms are warm;
Far from the farm
where we froze -
all those long,
cold winters.
We needed a
new beginning;
and finally,
we are beginning
to face our fears...
After all these years;
we are finally
free from the
Fantasy and
Fairytales.
Yes, Baby,
I love it here ~
in our new home.
Our land,
is our land;
and its just as
we had planned ~
a place with character
and space to grow.
I can see our whole
backyard - from the
kitchen window -
and I know that it will be
a spectacular, sunny,
view in the Spring!
Yes, it means everything;
I love our new home.
Cozy charm;
sheltered from
the storm...
Safe from harm,
in our new home.
This where we
belong.
Where, we'll find
our happily ever after...
We are the
heartbeat of this
house...
We are electricity
in the air;
Our presence brings
it to life...
Comfy and bright -
Quiet at night...
A new home brings about
a fresh perspective of life;
Life is very beautiful.
I can't wait to share ~
this new beginning with you.
small, but very quaint.
The rooms are warm;
Far from the farm
where we froze -
all those long,
cold winters.
We needed a
new beginning;
and finally,
we are beginning
to face our fears...
After all these years;
we are finally
free from the
Fantasy and
Fairytales.
Yes, Baby,
I love it here ~
in our new home.
Our land,
is our land;
and its just as
we had planned ~
a place with character
and space to grow.
I can see our whole
backyard - from the
kitchen window -
and I know that it will be
a spectacular, sunny,
view in the Spring!
Yes, it means everything;
I love our new home.
Cozy charm;
sheltered from
the storm...
Safe from harm,
in our new home.
This where we
belong.
Where, we'll find
our happily ever after...
We are the
heartbeat of this
house...
We are electricity
in the air;
Our presence brings
it to life...
Comfy and bright -
Quiet at night...
A new home brings about
a fresh perspective of life;
Life is very beautiful.
I can't wait to share ~
this new beginning with you.
Never Alone by Rodney Belcher (Gaston Gros)
I feel you in the morning
When at first I awake
Your thought is with me
With each decision I make
You'd been around forever
Since the first breath I took
Now I have to go on alone
But for love, I need not look
Cause by what you bestowed
In our short time together
Will last in my heart
Forever and ever
Although you've left
And now walk above
I'm never alone
I'm wrapped in your love
Enjoy now your long waited reward
Feel peace that your love continues on
What was taught to me, will be taught to mine
Cause you live on in me even after you've gone
When at first I awake
Your thought is with me
With each decision I make
You'd been around forever
Since the first breath I took
Now I have to go on alone
But for love, I need not look
Cause by what you bestowed
In our short time together
Will last in my heart
Forever and ever
Although you've left
And now walk above
I'm never alone
I'm wrapped in your love
Enjoy now your long waited reward
Feel peace that your love continues on
What was taught to me, will be taught to mine
Cause you live on in me even after you've gone
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Death and Birth by Algernon Charles Swinburne (Fareez Mamood)
Death and Birth by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Death and birth should dwell not near together:
Wealth keeps house not, even for shame, with dearth:
Fate doth ill to link in one brief tether
Death and birth.
Harsh the yoke that binds them, strange the girth
Seems that girds them each with each: yet whether
Death be best, who knows, or life on earth?
Ill the rose-red and the sable feather
Blend in one crown's plume, as grief with mirth:
Ill met still are warm and wintry weather,
Death and birth.
Death and birth should dwell not near together:
Wealth keeps house not, even for shame, with dearth:
Fate doth ill to link in one brief tether
Death and birth.
Harsh the yoke that binds them, strange the girth
Seems that girds them each with each: yet whether
Death be best, who knows, or life on earth?
Ill the rose-red and the sable feather
Blend in one crown's plume, as grief with mirth:
Ill met still are warm and wintry weather,
Death and birth.
An Ode, On the Death of Mr. Henry Purcell by John Dryden (Fareez Mamood)
An Ode, On the Death of Mr. Henry Purcell
( Late Servant to his Majesty, Organist of the Chapel Royal )
I
Mark how the Lark and Linnet Sing,
With rival Notes
They strain their warbling Throats,
To welcome in the Spring.
But in the close of Night,
When Philomel begins her Heav'nly lay,
They cease their mutual spite,
Drink in her Music with delight,
And list'ning and silent, and silent and list'ning,
And list'ning and silent obey.
II
So ceas'd the rival Crew when Purcell came,
They Sung no more, or only Sung his Fame.
Struck dumb they all admir'd the God-like Man,
The God-like Man,
Alas, too soon retir'd,
As He too late began.
We beg not Hell, our Orpheus to restore,
Had He been there,
Their Sovereign's fear
Had sent Him back before.
The pow'r of Harmony too well they know,
He long e'er this had Tun'd their jarring Sphere,
And left no Hell below.
III
The Heav'nly Choir, who heard his Notes from high,
Let down the Scale of Music from the Sky:
They handed him along,
And all the way He taught, and all the way they Sung.
Ye Brethren of the Lyre, and tuneful Voice,
Lament his Lot: but at your own rejoice.
Now live secure and linger out your days,
The Gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's Lays,
Nor know to mend their Choice.
John Dryden
( Late Servant to his Majesty, Organist of the Chapel Royal )
I
Mark how the Lark and Linnet Sing,
With rival Notes
They strain their warbling Throats,
To welcome in the Spring.
But in the close of Night,
When Philomel begins her Heav'nly lay,
They cease their mutual spite,
Drink in her Music with delight,
And list'ning and silent, and silent and list'ning,
And list'ning and silent obey.
II
So ceas'd the rival Crew when Purcell came,
They Sung no more, or only Sung his Fame.
Struck dumb they all admir'd the God-like Man,
The God-like Man,
Alas, too soon retir'd,
As He too late began.
We beg not Hell, our Orpheus to restore,
Had He been there,
Their Sovereign's fear
Had sent Him back before.
The pow'r of Harmony too well they know,
He long e'er this had Tun'd their jarring Sphere,
And left no Hell below.
III
The Heav'nly Choir, who heard his Notes from high,
Let down the Scale of Music from the Sky:
They handed him along,
And all the way He taught, and all the way they Sung.
Ye Brethren of the Lyre, and tuneful Voice,
Lament his Lot: but at your own rejoice.
Now live secure and linger out your days,
The Gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's Lays,
Nor know to mend their Choice.
John Dryden
No Complaints by Nikki Giovanni (Raven Barnes)
maybe there is something about the seventh of June: Gwen, Prince, and me...or maybe people just have to be born at some time...and there are only three hundred sixty-five days or three sixty-six every four years or so...meaning that some things happen at the same time in the same rising sign...and the same houses in Gemini...but some of us might also consider the reincarnating evolving restructuring that spirit...reshaping that spirit...releasing that spirit...tucking the useless inside and when the useless pushes out again we restructure again and poetry and song and praisesong go on... because it is the right thing to do
we will always cry when a great heart... a good soul... one of the premier poets of her age restructures... reincarnates... revolves into a resolve the we now carry in our hearts... as all great women and men are alive... not by biology but remembrance... and that's alright... as the old folks say... because as long as they stay on the lips... the nestle our hearts and those souls which are planted... continue growing... until generations not knowing their touch... their voice... or even the fact that some Chicago poets are terrible cooks... but always fun to eat with... will tell tales of having met someone who knew someone who once watched a basketball game... in which some Chicago poet cheered for Seattle at the request of some Virginia poet who wanted more games... while Mr. Blakely was amazed that a Chicago poet was even watching the game... and didn't we miss him as he slipped away watching baseball... and what a way to go... though we then did sort of know... that once gone... he would call the woman he loved
and so we come to no more phone calls at six a.m. to chat... and no more Benihana when we are all in New York... and no more gossiping and questioning and trying to make sense of a senseless world... no more face-to-face... only the poetry which is a great monument from this Topeka daughter to the world...
and yet... there can be no complaints in this passing... no sorrow songs... no if onlys... it is all here: the work the love: the woman who gave and gave and gave... no complaints of too long and too hard... no injustice of accident or misunderstanding of disease... just one great woman moving into the next phase... and us on the ground... giving Alleluias
Posted by Raven Barnes
we will always cry when a great heart... a good soul... one of the premier poets of her age restructures... reincarnates... revolves into a resolve the we now carry in our hearts... as all great women and men are alive... not by biology but remembrance... and that's alright... as the old folks say... because as long as they stay on the lips... the nestle our hearts and those souls which are planted... continue growing... until generations not knowing their touch... their voice... or even the fact that some Chicago poets are terrible cooks... but always fun to eat with... will tell tales of having met someone who knew someone who once watched a basketball game... in which some Chicago poet cheered for Seattle at the request of some Virginia poet who wanted more games... while Mr. Blakely was amazed that a Chicago poet was even watching the game... and didn't we miss him as he slipped away watching baseball... and what a way to go... though we then did sort of know... that once gone... he would call the woman he loved
and so we come to no more phone calls at six a.m. to chat... and no more Benihana when we are all in New York... and no more gossiping and questioning and trying to make sense of a senseless world... no more face-to-face... only the poetry which is a great monument from this Topeka daughter to the world...
and yet... there can be no complaints in this passing... no sorrow songs... no if onlys... it is all here: the work the love: the woman who gave and gave and gave... no complaints of too long and too hard... no injustice of accident or misunderstanding of disease... just one great woman moving into the next phase... and us on the ground... giving Alleluias
Posted by Raven Barnes
Just Beyond the Sunset - by David Harris Jonathan Ceballos
Just Beyond the Sunset
Just beyond the sunset
Someone waits for me
Just beyond the sunset
Lies my destiny
Where the purple mountains
Lie in deep tranquillity
There I’ll find the treasure
Of love eternally
Just beyond the sunset
Waits someone so fair
Just beyond the sunset
All alone they wait there
Their hair is golden
The colour of the sand
Their eyes sparkle in the night
Like diamonds in your hand
Just beyond the sunset
Lies a home for me
Where the world is peaceful
Like a paradise should be
Just beyond the sunset
Someday is where you’ll find me
"Saturn's Rivers" - Saul Williams (Raven Barnes)
Her newborn cyclops had my eye
but i knew i'd never claim it
i was taught not to claim
when the wind
wrote my name in the water:
waved blueness over blackness and i
at that moment i saw
that blackness would die
but not me
not we
in the deep blue abyss
we kissed on a current
and drowned eternities in loves' lost lagoons
she had hidden rooms in her womb
where i had seen screeenings of her future
wrapped in swaddling clothes
and God knows i wanted to kiss it
but my lips were sealed by time
...Saturn's Rivers overflow
with schools of frankincense
and myrrh-maids: swimming scents of self to the soul
and sphinxes, they swim, in Saturn's rivers.
drenching the waters with ancient magic
and the secrets of the Saturn Sutra.
secrets that could name the future and
saturate the soul with stardust nd samba of the seasons untold
the future in Saturn's rivers
so i sailed my soul through the fore-thought of the forgotten
and waded through windows of time...
i'm certain of
Saturn's Rivers
and all else is fact
so baptize me in the stars
and wrap me in the night-time moon blue
pupil my sight with orange balls of light
and echo my plight through the corridors of metaphor
what else are we living for
if not to create fiction and rhyme
my purpose:
to make my soul
rhyme with my mind
over
matter
minds create matter
minds create fiction
as a matter of fact
as if matter is fact
matter is fact
so spirit must be fiction
science-fiction
art-fiction
meta-fiction
Posted by Raven Barnes
The Birth of a Butterfly - by Helena Sheridan Jonathan Ceballos
The Birth of a Butterfly - by Helena Sheridan
What mysteries surround the loom
That spun so intricate a tomb?
Or shroud, perhaps, one could suppose,
Made not for death, but sweet repose,
For Winter's bitter child has passed,
To bring the bee and bud at last,
And rouse you from your silken bed,
To watch your sluggish image shed.
Frail creature slip your shriveled skin,
Where soundly you have slept within,
And writhe and twist to struggle free,
While Nature waits expectantly,
For time has kept her solemn vow,
Unfastening your prison now,
To lift you gently to the sky,
An iridescent butterfly.
Lady Lazarus- by Sylvia Plath
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it-----
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?-------
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand in foot ------
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
(Beginnings) Posted by Cristina V.
One year in every ten
I manage it-----
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?-------
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand in foot ------
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
(Beginnings) Posted by Cristina V.
Forgotten Language - by Shel Silverstein
Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?
(Endings) Posted by Cristina V.
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?
(Endings) Posted by Cristina V.
Seven Mountains - Saul Williams
time is money
money is time
so i keep seven o'clock in the bank
and gain interest on the hour of God
i'm saving to buy myfreedom
God grant me wings
i'm too fly not to fly
eye sore
to look at humans without wings
so, i soar
and find tickle in the feathers
of my wings
flying hysterically
over land
numerically i am
seven mountains higher
than the valley of death
seven dimensions deeper
than the dimensions of breath
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