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What Do I Care?
What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring,
That my songs do not show me at all?
For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a fire,
I am an answer, they are only a call.
It keeps me busy in my bookish cage
Gliding and sliding on the open page
It rest so quiet but not dumb
My new-cut ashlar takes the light
Where crimson-blank the windows flare;
By my own work, before the night,
Great Overseer, I make my prayer.
I also took grief and suffering in love.
Ask me, what types of streets that I have passed.
What type of fire on my chest
I see a dysfunctional future
Wailing in hunger. Many tongues scrabbling for a single bone
Living corpses pile the street.
I hear soothsayers boast in their ignorance and claim a stolen future
Wave Of Tears
The water that silently moves to the shore
reminds me of what I used to live for.
The sleepless nights
created the fire that burns, but never lights.
I saw the sunset-colored sands,
The Nile like flowing fire between,
Where Rameses stares forth serene,
And Ammon's heavy temple stands.
A Song In The Desert
Friend, thou beholdest the lightning? Who has the charge of it,
To decree which rock-ridge shall receive, shall be chosen for targe of it?
Which crown among palms shall go down, by the thunderbolt broken;
While the floods drown the sere wadis where no bud is token?
The shutter of my eyes
have crossed all thier lines
into endless peace
but have cost me my scars
Late October Woods
Clumped in the shadow of the beech,
In whose brown top the crows are loud,
Where, every side, great briers reach
And cling like hands, the beechdrops crowd
Madison Julius Cawein
A Little Prayer
Let us be thankful, Lord, for little things-
The song of birds, the rapture of the rose;
Cloud-dappled skies, the laugh of limpid springs,
Drowned sunbeams and the perfume April blows;
Beautiful Black Men
(With compliments and apologies to all not mentioned by name)
i wanta say just gotta say something
bout those beautiful beautiful beautiful outasight
Of late I have begun to feel a hunger
To take in with greed, like a forest fire that
Consumes and with each killing gains a wilder,
Brighter charm, all that comes my way. Bald child in
They brought the mighty chief to town;
They showed him strange, unwonted sights;
Yet as he wandered up and down,
He seemed to scorn their vain delights.
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
I'd be the sun in your moon,
A fire burning in your skies.
Layers of white and orange tune
In petals of flowers yet to bloom.
Song Of Myself
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
Almost Lost My Love.
Its a pretty day today, I love days like these because the cold soothing wind that blows is a reminder of you being by my side no matter what comes. The clouds that shelter me from the sun remind me of how the thought of you keeps all the dark memories away. The slight rain feels like your kisses filled with love and compassion making me sure of good and kindness in this world
But today isn't a pretty day although it's like the ones i look forward to the most, but just like most things i ruined it.
The clouds are darker than i remember and the thougts they bring darker still.
The slight rain mirrors my eyes and no matter how much the clouds and I cry we cant wash my guilt away.
It felt as if you shook me,
When you called out by my name.
Your voice brought me to my knee,
My walls burnt down to a beautiful flame.
It wasn't time that stuck still but myself
No tea, no nothing but the weather.
You take a different shape in hell,
A finer fire than you see in a preacher.
A Good Soldier
He writes to us most every day, and how his letters thrill us!
I can't describe the joys with which his quaint expressions fill us.
He says the military life is not of his selection,
He's only soldiering to-day to give the Flag protection.
Edgar Albert Guest
“Jessie, Jessie Cameron,
Hear me but this once,” quoth he.
“Good luck go with you, neighbor's son,
But I'm no mate for you,” quoth she.
I am the Empire in the last of its decline,
That sees the tall, fair-haired Barbarians pass,-the while
Composing indolent acrostics, in a style
Of gold, with languid sunshine dancing in each line.
Nectar Of Love
Give me to drink the nectar of love
My soul is blazing in flameless and smokeless fire
I am eager to see your billowing flames
The Old Huntsman
I've never ceased to curse the day I signed
A seven years' bargain for the Golden Fleece.
'Twas a bad deal all round; and dear enough
It cost me, what with my daft management,
WHAT does it all mean anyway,
Noise of cannon and boom of gun,
Deafening, colorful fire display
Starting in with the rising sun?
Edgar Albert Guest
Is it not strange? A year ago to-day,
With scarce a thought beyond the hum-drum round,
I did my decent job and earned my pay;
Was averagely happy, I'll be bound.
In the evening the sky was overcast.
And through the grove full of silence and grief
Time willingly caught in deja vu, Repeating this timeless moment
I slowly drown in your ocean blue eyes
In this heated atmosphere,we stuck, icily frozen
Before me lies a mass of shapeless days,
Unseparated atoms, and I must
Sort them apart and live them. Sifted dust
Covers the formless heap. Reprieves, delays,
Listen sweet Dove unto my song,
And spread thy golden wings in me;
Hatching my tender heart so long,
Till it get wing, and fly away with thee.