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In The Rain
In the rain,
Where laughter and frown smeared our faces
As the pomegranate failed to bud.
And with shuddering kneels we carried the basket of uncertainty home
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
So I try to assemble my thoughts on a piece of paper
There are so many and so much
One can be discussed, and the rest maybe later .
Struggling in life to have job
I have had dreams, I have set goals
Ive achieved some, had some dislodged and yet to achieve many.
I believe in myself, I believe in others
I know I’m not perfect, I don’t expect others to be either
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
Cover under the tree of white blood
Matching in pain and fear's
Sounds of Tear's on the black face of young and old, sold to sorrowful days
Who will go next? the question, but answer not given
Afe Tosin Shola
A desert life, lonely it may seem
A long journey awaits
But aimless you feel
With no clear path to take
Upon A Snail
She goes but softly, but she goeth sure,
She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do.
Her journey's shorter, so she may endure
Better than they which do much farther go.
" Enslaved "
The lashes stained deep beneath his melanin, tears incubates, but pours without. Led by chains for he was manly built, intimidating appearance, on his face there weren't a grin.
The ships came in minutes they were filled, off to the North with gracious wind, many die of hunger, some from lashes, thrown overboard big creatures feasted.
The Trail Of Ninety-eight
Gold! We leapt from our benches. Gold! We sprang from our stools.
Gold! We wheeled in the furrow, fired with the faith of fools.
Fearless, unfound, unfitted, far from the night and the cold,
Heard we the clarion summons, followed the master-lure-Gold!
Lorsque, par un dÃ©cret des puissances suprÃªmes,
Le PoÃ¨te apparaÃ®t en ce monde ennuyÃ©,
Sa mÃ¨re Ã©pouvantÃ©e et pleine de blasphÃ¨mes
Crispe ses poings vers Dieu, qui la prend en pitiÃ©:
Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,
And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,
And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;
The Secret People
Smile at us, pay us, pass us; but do not quite forget.
For we are the people of England, that never have spoken yet.
There is many a fat farmer that drinks less cheerfully,
There is many a free French peasant who is richer and sadder than we.
G. K. Chesterton
Who is she, the poor Maniac, whose wildly-fix'd eyes
Seem a heart overcharged to express?
I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.
Ego Dominus Tuus
Hic. On the grey sand beside the shallow stream
Under your old wind-beaten tower, where still
A lamp burns on beside the open book
That Michael Robartes left, you walk in the moon,
William Butler Yeats
Fast by his wild resounding River
The listless Coran lingers ever;
Still drives his heifers forth to feed,
Soothed by the gorrah's humming reed;
The Great Hunger
Clay is the word and clay is the flesh
Where the potato-gatherers like mechanised scarecrows move
Along the side-fall of the hill - Maguire and his men.
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
Vast and brown
Jobson Of The Star
Within a pub that's off the Strand and handy to the bar,
With pipe in mouth and mug in hand sat Jobson of the Star.
“Come, sit ye down, ye wond'ring wight, and have a yarn,” says he.
“I can't,” says I, “because to-night I'm off to Tripoli;
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
The Italian In England
That second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding far and wide
Her blood-hounds through the countryside,
Well; I may now receive, and die. My sin
Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
A purgatory, such as fear'd hell is
A recreation and scant map of this.
There is inadequacy within me
There is hunger that keeps haunting
A thirst that lacks fill
For I have experienced such a gap.
The boy is hungry,and what does it do,he set for food
how does it get food because he is not working and the
option is going to the parents and the parents have no option
than to give food to the boy who is just a student and his work is
Endymion: Book Iv
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
I walk the streets and though not meanly drest,
Yet none so poor as can with me compare;
For none though weary call me into rest,
And though I hunger, none their substance share;
Call me traitor to my country and a rebel to my God.
And the foe of â??law and orderâ?, well deserving of the rod,
But I scorn the biassed sentence from the temples of the creed
That was fouled and mutilated by the ministers of greed,
The Two Kings
King Eochaid came at sundown to a wood
Westward of Tara. Hurrying to his queen
He had outridden his war-wasted men
That with empounded cattle trod the mire,
William Butler Yeats
I was not sorrowful, I could not weep,
And all my memories were put to sleep.
I watched the river grow more white and strange,
THE SUN had clos'd the winter day,
The curless quat their roarin play,
And hunger'd maukin taen her way,
To kail-yards green,
The Song Of The Camp-fire
Heed me, feed me, I am hungry, I am red-tongued with desire;
Boughs of balsam, slabs of cedar, gummy fagots of the pine,
Heap them on me, let me hug them to my eager heart of fire,
Roaring, soaring up to heaven as a symbol and a sign.
The Wild Knight
A dark manor-house shuttered and unlighted, outlined against a pale
sunset: in front a large, but neglected, garden. To the right, in the
foreground, the porch of a chapel, with coloured windows lighted. Hymns
G. K. Chesterton