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Quite A Habit....
Here comes the morning;
Blue sky, lush grass, dew drops
Yet thee not beholding my eyes;
Here comes the noon;
When the sun starts setting
When the clouds come flying
She would reach out to me
The life said
C K Rawat
I was alone with a chair on a plain
Which lost itself in an empty horizon.
The plain was flawlessly paved.
The Old Survey
Our money's all spent, to the deuce went it!
The landlord, he looks glum,
On the tap-room wall, in a very bad scrawl,
He has chalked to us a sum.
If the sun sets for me at dawn
So that the white in me turns black
Before I shed off a single milk teeth
If I vacate that soothsome seat
Life By Chance
Once, I was like no one else,
When I was a life with so much ease,
It was not just a little while;
Rather it was larger than 'life'.
A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
XII. On the same.
I did but prompt the age to quit their cloggs
By the known rules of antient libertie,
That was a curious dream; I thought the three
Great planets that are drawing near the sun
With such unerring certainty begun
To talk together in a mighty glee.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
No love is comparable to a mother's love
Inspiration when life becomes tough
Mother's love is unconditional and eternal
Sacrificial lamb for the child
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!
Stuck In Between
The fine shades colliding with green
Just stuck in time, serenity in between.
Chills in the morning sun, a smiling
Day laughing back to my screen
It all seems like yesterday,
When the sun made a pathway,
The waves soaked my feet,
The ocean played a song
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
I'm in sync with the sounds,
The water flowing by the river.
The leaves moving to the breeze,
The birds singing over and over.
Lonely Little Tree
Lonely little tree in the orchard flinging your branches wide in the face of the sun
till winter is done,
and your old leaf is
Night prawns on our hope and belongings,
And left us hopeless and stranded.
New dawn renews our hope,
And makes all new and beautiful.
"Blessed be the English and all their ways and works.
Cursed be the Infidels, Hereticks, and Turks!"
"Amen," quo' Jobson, "but where I used to lie
Was neither Candle, Bell nor Book to curse my brethren by,
"Hign bliss is only for a higher state,"
But, surely, if severe afflictions borne
With patience merit the reward of peace,
Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good,
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
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
There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing:-'Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover
And your English summer's done.'
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.
A Hand Axe
I know not a hand axe,
Cathartic is my poetry and rhyme.
I pen in the darkness,
when my sun sets in the east.
Oh, why do they hunt so hard, so hard, who have
no need of food?
Do they hunt for sport, do they hunt for hate, do
they hunt for the lust of blood?