Here they are. The soft eyes open.
If they have lived in a wood
It is a wood.
If they have lived on plains
It is grass rolling
Under their feet forever.
Having no souls, they have come,
Anyway, beyond their knowing.
Their instincts wholly bloom
And they rise.
The soft eyes open.
To match them, the landscape flowers,
Outdoing, desperately
Outdoing what is required:
The richest wood,
The deepest field.
For some of these,
It could not be the place
It is, without blood.
These hunt, as they have done
But with claws and teeth grown perfect,
More deadly than they can believe.
They stalk more silently,
And crouch on limbs of trees,
And their descent
Upon the bright backs of their prey
May take years
In a sovereign floating of joy.
And those that are hunted
Know this as their life,
Their reward: to walk
Under such trees in full knowledge
Of what is in glory above them,
And to feel no fear,
But acceptance, compliance.
Fulfilling themselves without pain
At the cycle’s center,
They tremble, they walk
Under the tree,
They fall, they are torn,
They rise, they walk again.
There is nothing to be afraid of,
it is only the wind
changing to the east, it is only
your father the thunder
your mother the rain
In this country of water
with its beige moon damp as a mushroom,
its drowned stumps and long birds
that swim, where the moss grows
on all sides of the trees
and your shadow is not your shadow
but your reflection,
your true parents disappear
when the curtain covers your door.
We are the others,
the ones from under the lake
who stand silently beside your bed
with our heads of darkness.
We have come to cover you
with red wool,
with our tears and distant whispers.
You rock in the rain's arms,
the chilly ark of your sleep,
while we wait, your night
father and mother,
with our cold hands and dead flashlight,
knowing we are only
the wavering shadows thrown
by one candle, in this echo
you will hear twenty years later.
I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Immortal! William Shakespeare, there's none can you excel,
You have drawn out your characters remarkably well,
Which is delightful for to see enacted upon the stage
For instance, the love-sick Romeo, or Othello, in a rage;
His writings are a treasure, which the world cannot repay,
He was the greatest poet of the past or of the present day
Also the greatest dramatist, and is worthy of the name,
I'm afraid the world shall never look upon his like again.
His tragedy of Hamlet is moral and sublime,
And for purity of language, nothing can be more fine
For instance, to hear the fair Ophelia making her moan,
At her father's grave, sad and alone....
In his beautiful play, "As You Like It," one passage is very fine,
Just for instance in fhe forest of Arden, the language is sublime,
Where Orlando speaks of his Rosilind, most lovely and divine,
And no other poet I am sure has written anything more fine;
His language is spoken in the Church and by the Advocate at the bar,
Here and there and everywhere throughout the world afar;
His writings abound with gospel truths, moral and sublime,
And I'm sure in my opinion they are surpassing fine;
In his beautiful tragedy of Othello, one passage is very fine,
Just for instance where Cassio looses his lieutenancy
... By drinking too much wine;
And in grief he exclaims, "Oh! that men should put an
Enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains."
In his great tragedy of Richard the III, one passage is very fine
Where the Duchess of York invokes the aid of the Divine
For to protect her innocent babes from the murderer's uplifted hand,
And smite him powerless, and save her babes, I'm sure 'tis really grand.
Immortal! Bard of Avon, your writings are divine,
And will live in the memories of your admirers until the end of time;
Your plays are read in family circles with wonder and delight,
While seated around the fireside on a cold winter's night.
As a legislator in my state
I drew up my first law to say
that citizens could never vote again
after they had passed away.
My fellow members faced the troubling issue
bravely, locked in hard debate
on whether, after someone's death had come,
three years should be adequate
to let the family, recollecting him,
determine how a loved one may
have cast a vote if he had only lived
to see the later voting day.
My own neighbors warned me I had gone
too far in changing what we'd always done.
I lost the next campaign, and failed to carry
a single precinct with a cemetery.
Written for 60th anniversary of the Normandy Invasion
D-Day
Seasickness, fear
As the beach draws near
Overhead artillery booms
Illuminating Normandy’s morning
With the first flashes of battle.
The armada of a thousand ships
Create fear and resolution
in German defenders
Hope in French hearts ignite
Their resistance emerges into light,
Civilians pray these liberators prevail
In this the alllies
Greatest gamble
Soldiers in landing craft don their gear
Say final prayer,
Bullets all 'round them
Pierce the air
Announcing the enemy.
Landing craft door slaps turbulent surf
Men leap into too deep waters
Amid terrible fire
Many taken by heavy loads
Or enemy fire
To a watery death.
Survivors bravely wade to shore,
Amid bullets, shellfire,
the blood and bodies of comrades.
Luckier men achieve meagre shelter
Scrambling to the sea wall,
Compelled by an officer shouting
“Only the dead and the soon to be dead
will remain on these beaches under fire.â€
D-Day, June 6 1944.
Shall this spearhead
Initiate war’s end?
What future for the world
Shall this day portend?
Freedoms that we now enjoy
Born from D-Day’s terrible labour
Creating debt to soldiers living and dead
That can never be repaid.
Except that we are thankful,
And promise never to forget
As a legislator in my state
I drew up my first law to say
that citizens could never vote again
after they had passed away.
My fellow members faced the troubling issue
bravely, locked in hard debate
on whether, after someone's death had come,
three years should be adequate
to let the family, recollecting him,
determine how a loved one may
have cast a vote if he had only lived
to see the later voting day.
My own neighbors warned me I had gone
too far in changing what we'd always done.
I lost the next campaign, and failed to carry
a single precinct with a cemetery.
The Heaven of Animals by
)
The Heaven of Animals by James Dickey (1961)
Here they are. The soft eyes open.
If they have lived in a wood
It is a wood.
If they have lived on plains
It is grass rolling
Under their feet forever.
Having no souls, they have come,
Anyway, beyond their knowing.
Their instincts wholly bloom
And they rise.
The soft eyes open.
To match them, the landscape flowers,
Outdoing, desperately
Outdoing what is required:
The richest wood,
The deepest field.
For some of these,
It could not be the place
It is, without blood.
These hunt, as they have done
But with claws and teeth grown perfect,
More deadly than they can believe.
They stalk more silently,
And crouch on limbs of trees,
And their descent
Upon the bright backs of their prey
May take years
In a sovereign floating of joy.
And those that are hunted
Know this as their life,
Their reward: to walk
Under such trees in full knowledge
Of what is in glory above them,
And to feel no fear,
But acceptance, compliance.
Fulfilling themselves without pain
At the cycle’s center,
They tremble, they walk
Under the tree,
They fall, they are torn,
They rise, they walk again.
Thanks for posting
)
Thanks for posting erik..
I think[url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Corbett_(hunter)] Jim Corbett[/url] would appreciate it..
One of his many books The Temple Tiger is eye awaking
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold
Night Poem by Margaret
)
Night Poem
by Margaret Atwood
There is nothing to be afraid of,
it is only the wind
changing to the east, it is only
your father the thunder
your mother the rain
In this country of water
with its beige moon damp as a mushroom,
its drowned stumps and long birds
that swim, where the moss grows
on all sides of the trees
and your shadow is not your shadow
but your reflection,
your true parents disappear
when the curtain covers your door.
We are the others,
the ones from under the lake
who stand silently beside your bed
with our heads of darkness.
We have come to cover you
with red wool,
with our tears and distant whispers.
You rock in the rain's arms,
the chilly ark of your sleep,
while we wait, your night
father and mother,
with our cold hands and dead flashlight,
knowing we are only
the wavering shadows thrown
by one candle, in this echo
you will hear twenty years later.
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
Daffodils by William
)
Daffodils
by William Wordsworth
I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
An Address to
)
An Address to Shakespeare
William McGonagall
Immortal! William Shakespeare, there's none can you excel,
You have drawn out your characters remarkably well,
Which is delightful for to see enacted upon the stage
For instance, the love-sick Romeo, or Othello, in a rage;
His writings are a treasure, which the world cannot repay,
He was the greatest poet of the past or of the present day
Also the greatest dramatist, and is worthy of the name,
I'm afraid the world shall never look upon his like again.
His tragedy of Hamlet is moral and sublime,
And for purity of language, nothing can be more fine
For instance, to hear the fair Ophelia making her moan,
At her father's grave, sad and alone....
In his beautiful play, "As You Like It," one passage is very fine,
Just for instance in fhe forest of Arden, the language is sublime,
Where Orlando speaks of his Rosilind, most lovely and divine,
And no other poet I am sure has written anything more fine;
His language is spoken in the Church and by the Advocate at the bar,
Here and there and everywhere throughout the world afar;
His writings abound with gospel truths, moral and sublime,
And I'm sure in my opinion they are surpassing fine;
In his beautiful tragedy of Othello, one passage is very fine,
Just for instance where Cassio looses his lieutenancy
... By drinking too much wine;
And in grief he exclaims, "Oh! that men should put an
Enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains."
In his great tragedy of Richard the III, one passage is very fine
Where the Duchess of York invokes the aid of the Divine
For to protect her innocent babes from the murderer's uplifted hand,
And smite him powerless, and save her babes, I'm sure 'tis really grand.
Immortal! Bard of Avon, your writings are divine,
And will live in the memories of your admirers until the end of time;
Your plays are read in family circles with wonder and delight,
While seated around the fireside on a cold winter's night.
Progress Does Not Always Come
)
Progress Does Not Always Come Easy
by Jimmy Carter
As a legislator in my state
I drew up my first law to say
that citizens could never vote again
after they had passed away.
My fellow members faced the troubling issue
bravely, locked in hard debate
on whether, after someone's death had come,
three years should be adequate
to let the family, recollecting him,
determine how a loved one may
have cast a vote if he had only lived
to see the later voting day.
My own neighbors warned me I had gone
too far in changing what we'd always done.
I lost the next campaign, and failed to carry
a single precinct with a cemetery.
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
Emily
)
Emily Dickinson
XXXVIII
SLEEP is supposed to be,
By souls of sanity,
The shutting of the eye.
Sleep is the station grand
Down which on either hand
The hosts of witness stand!
Morn is supposed to be,
By people of degree,
The breaking of the day.
Morning has not occurred!
That shall aurora be
East of eternity;
One with the banner gay,
One in the red array,—
That is the break of day.
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
In honour of those who gave
)
In honour of those who gave the ultimate:
Written for 60th anniversary of the Normandy Invasion
D-Day
Seasickness, fear
As the beach draws near
Overhead artillery booms
Illuminating Normandy’s morning
With the first flashes of battle.
The armada of a thousand ships
Create fear and resolution
in German defenders
Hope in French hearts ignite
Their resistance emerges into light,
Civilians pray these liberators prevail
In this the alllies
Greatest gamble
Soldiers in landing craft don their gear
Say final prayer,
Bullets all 'round them
Pierce the air
Announcing the enemy.
Landing craft door slaps turbulent surf
Men leap into too deep waters
Amid terrible fire
Many taken by heavy loads
Or enemy fire
To a watery death.
Survivors bravely wade to shore,
Amid bullets, shellfire,
the blood and bodies of comrades.
Luckier men achieve meagre shelter
Scrambling to the sea wall,
Compelled by an officer shouting
“Only the dead and the soon to be dead
will remain on these beaches under fire.â€
D-Day, June 6 1944.
Shall this spearhead
Initiate war’s end?
What future for the world
Shall this day portend?
Freedoms that we now enjoy
Born from D-Day’s terrible labour
Creating debt to soldiers living and dead
That can never be repaid.
Except that we are thankful,
And promise never to forget
Malcolm Watts 2004
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
RE: Progress Does Not
)
That's actually quite witty, I like it.
I, TooLangston Hughes (1902 -
)
I, Too
Langston Hughes
(1902 - 1967)
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
I, too, am America.