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The Super Hostess
It was as a little child
And one who was very shy
That I first looked at the sky.
Soon enough I started wondering and asking myself
C K Rawat
Forever Is My Destination
Marriage is a union of family a union of love
Different people become one to celebrate
To celebrate a new union of blessing
Love is such a gift to human kind
Green is crying
Trees are dying
Plants are begging human
To spear their family
A Servant To Servants
I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!
He came without an invitation
Lying under the stairs
As if waiting for my permission
Was scared and cold the first time I took him in hand.
Fall in love at first sight
We become attached to one another
Commit to stay together &
Mingle as a life partner.
Because of my cross, I find this life a misery
Like every cast in this dramatic adventure
I had my full strong heart
But now it was changed from hard
Heart to dazed and broken heart
I don't know how to express these harsh
Abubakar Mohammed Musa
Way To Go
She was born in the hills
Dotted with villages quiet and small,
Her village was breathtakingly beautiful
With a scenic landscape,
C K Rawat
The hulk of a man with a beer in his hand looked like a drunk old fool,
And I knew that if I hit him right, I could knock him off that stool.
But everybody said, 'Watch out, that's Tiger Man McCool.
He's had a whole lot of fights, and he always come out the winner.
Mr. Kessler, you know, was in the army,
And he drew six dollars a month as a pension,
And stood on the corner talking politics,
Or sat at home reading Grant's Memoirs;
Edgar Lee Masters
The Idea Of Ancestry
Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black
faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grand-
fathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts,
cousins (1st and 2nd), nieces, and nephews.They stare
A Hundred Collars
Lancaster bore him-such a little town,
Such a great man. It doesn't see him often
Of late years, though he keeps the old homestead
And sends the children down there with their mother
The three stood listening to a fresh access
Of wind that caught against the house a moment,
Gulped snow, and then blew free again-the Coles
Dressed, but dishevelled from some hours of sleep,
The Generations Of Men
A governor it was proclaimed this time,
When all who would come seeking in New Hampshire
Ancestral memories might come together.
And those of the name Stark gathered in Bow,
I let myself in at the kitchen door.
“It's you,” she said. “I can't get up. Forgive me
Not answering your knock. I can no more
Let people in than I can keep them out.
Hyperion: Book Ii
Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings
Hyperion slid into the rustled air,
And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad place
Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn'd.
Old Meg she was a Gipsy,
And liv'd upon the Moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
I weep for Adonais-he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
You ought to know Mr. Mistoffelees!
The Original Conjuring Cat-
(There can be no doubt about that).
Please listen to me and don't scoff. All his
T. S. Eliot
The Naming Of Cats
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
T. S. Eliot
The Old Gumbie Cat
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits-and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!
T. S. Eliot
by the dynastic temple
and into the cedar grove,
and then out by the lower river,
Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions.
Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future.
You are very idle, my songs,
I fear you will come to a bad end.
I am the family face;
Flesh perishes, I live on,
Projecting trait and trace
Through time to times anon,
-to my sister
Because the moon in late October made landmarks glow: the broken
gate, our yard
Their reward is
they become innocent again,
and when they reappear in memory
The Right To Grief
To Certain Poets About to Die
Take your fill of intimate remorse, perfumed sorrow,
Over the dead child of a millionaire,
To Dorothy Wellesley
Stretch towards the moonless midnight of the trees,
As though that hand could reach to where they stand,
And they but famous old upholsteries
Delightful to the touch; tighten that hand
William Butler Yeats
Woo-hoo Homer Simpson is thinking
designer polish makes shoes softly glow
especially a pair of Assassin cross trainers.
The day just feels better owning lots of things
S. K. Kelen
Cars breed like rats in Jakarta,
but here slave statues broke their chains…
Go east south through eternal green
round ancient sculpted mountains
S. K. Kelen
Apart from its voracious appetite for mammalian blood
little is known of the leech's ways. Does it know love or
family life? is there communication?
Leaf litter's monster weapon, what can you say
S. K. Kelen
We bore him to his boneyard lot
One afternoon at three;
The clergyman was on the spot
To earn his modest fee.
At dawn of day the white land lay all gruesome-like and grim,
When Bill Mc'Gee he says to me: “We've got to do it, Jim.
We've got to make Fort Liard quick. I know the river's bad,
But, oh! the little woman's sick . . . why! don't you savvy, lad?”
The meal was o'er, the lamp was lit,
The family sat in its glow;
The Mother never ceased to knit,
The Daughter never slacked to sew;
Oh darling Eric, why did you
For my fond affection sue,
And then with surgeons artful aid
Transform yourself into a maid?
I thought I would go daft when Joey died.
He was my first, and wise beyond his years.
For nigh a hundred nights I cried and cried,
Until my weary eyes burned up my tears.
Madam La Maquise
Said Hongray de la Glaciere unto his proud Papa:
“I want to take a wife mon Père,” The Marquis laughed: “Ha! Ha!
And whose, my son?” he slyly said; but Hongray with a frown
Cried, “Fi! Papa, I mean-to wed, I want to settle down.”
A pote is sure a goofy guy;
He ain't got guts like you or I
To tell the score;
He ain't goy gumption 'nuff to know
When young I was an Atheist,
Yea, pompous as a pigeon
No opportunity I missed
To satirize religion.
The Call Of The Wild
Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
The Parson’s Son
This is the song of the parson's son, as he squats in his shack alone,
On the wild, weird nights, when the Northern Lights shoot up from the frozen zone,
And it's sixty below, and couched in the snow the hungry huskies moan: