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When hope is not pinned wriggling onto a shiny image or expectation, it sometimes floats forth and opens.

quote by Anne Lamott
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Were There Hope

I was never in a league of noble gentlemen
To whom she'd cast polite and flitting smiles,
Only distant hope and dying dreams for me!
Or perhaps descent into a game of wiles

To give a chance of sipping wine on heady nights
With her angelic presence to declare;
Above, an aura playing out hypnotic hues,
And I in awe of blonde cascades of hair.

But no! my tiring soul is sinking in a mire
To haunt me for an age and evermore, for
How could I expect to hold her silken hand
When I am but a soulless ghost of yore?

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

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Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
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Hope, hope?
Hope?

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Dejection: An Ode

Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms ;
And I fear, I fear, My Master dear !
We shall have a deadly storm.

Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence
--------------------------------------- ------------------------------------

I

Well ! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go hence
Unroused by winds, that ply a busier trade
Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy flakes,
Or the dull sobbing draft, that moans and rakes
Upon the strings of this Æolian lute,
[Image]Which better far were mute.
For lo ! the New-moon winter-bright !
And overspread with phantom light,
(With swimming phantom light o'erspread
But rimmed and circled by a silver thread)
I see the old Moon in her lap, foretelling
The coming-on of rain and squally blast.
And oh ! that even now the gust were swelling,
And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast !
Those sounds which oft have raised me, whilst they awed,
[Image]And sent my soul abroad,
Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give,
Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live !

II

A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear,
A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief,
Which finds no natural outlet, no relief,
[Image]In word, or sigh, or tear--
O Lady ! in this wan and heartless mood,
To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd,
All this long eve, so balmy and serene,
Have I been gazing on the western sky,
And its peculiar tint of yellow green :
And still I gaze--and with how blank an eye !
And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars,
That give away their motion to the stars ;
Those stars, that glide behind them or between,
Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen :
Yon crescent Moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue ;
I see them all so excellently fair,

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poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Shiny Toys

Shiny toys--right on time
Shiny toys--right on time
Shiny toys
Im reading people rags in the checkout lane
Look, heres a hunk--heres a honey
Celebrated people and their claims to fame
Heres a boy and his money
And pictures of the winners in the latest
Ratepoll games
Whatever makes you yahoo
Whatever makes your time feel satisfyin
Whatever makes you
Oh Im so excited
Whatever makes you feel like youre right on time
Party night
Good bands all over town
(good, good, good)
Mega lights and supersonic sounds
(good, good, good)
Flashy boys and girls that really play
(good, good, good)
Shiny toys, when its over dont you
Hate to have to put your toys away
Shiny toys--i love my porsche
Shiny toys
Shiny toys--i love my porsche
Shiny toys
Simple joys
Walking on the beach at the end of the day
Between the sand and the seagulls
Watching the glorious sun setting on the bay
Here comes a boy and his beagle
Walking with a man in a toupee
And a man with his head shaved
Whatever makes you mmmm, mmmm
Whatever makes your time feel satisfyin
Whatever makes you mmmmm, mmmm
Whatever makes you feel like youre right on time
Party night
Super bands all over town
(good, good, good)
Super lights and supersonic sounds
(good, good, good)
Flashy boys and girls that really play
(good, good, good)
Shiny toys, when its over
Dont you hate to have to put your toys away
Shiny toys--right on time
Shiny toys--right on time
Shiny toys--right on time

song performed by Joni Mitchell
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fears In Solitude

A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell ! O'er stiller place
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself.
The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope,
Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on,
All golden with the never-bloomless furze,
Which now blooms most profusely : but the dell,
Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate
As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax,
When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve,
The level sunshine glimmers with green light.
Oh ! 'tis a quiet spirit-healing nook !
Which all, methinks, would love ; but chiefly he,
The humble man, who, in his youthful years,
Knew just so much of folly, as had made
His early manhood more securely wise !
Here he might lie on fern or withered heath,
While from the singing lark (that sings unseen
The minstrelsy that solitude loves best),
And from the sun, and from the breezy air,
Sweet influences trembled o'er his frame ;
And he, with many feelings, many thoughts,
Made up a meditative joy, and found
Religious meanings in the forms of Nature !
And so, his senses gradually wrapt
In a half sleep, he dreams of better worlds,
And dreaming hears thee still, O singing lark,
That singest like an angel in the clouds !

My God ! it is a melancholy thing
For such a man, who would full fain preserve
His soul in calmness, yet perforce must feel
For all his human brethren--O my God !
It weighs upon the heart, that he must think
What uproar and what strife may now be stirring
This way or that way o'er these silent hills--
Invasion, and the thunder and the shout,
And all the crash of onset ; fear and rage,
And undetermined conflict--even now,
Even now, perchance, and in his native isle :
Carnage and groans beneath this blessed sun !
We have offended, Oh ! my countrymen !
We have offended very grievously,
And been most tyrannous. From east to west
A groan of accusation pierces Heaven !
The wretched plead against us ; multitudes
Countless and vehement, the sons of God,
Our brethren ! Like a cloud that travels on,
Steamed up from Cairo's swamps of pestilence,
Even so, my countrymen ! have we gone forth

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poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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She Floats

[intro: whale sounds]
Watching puddles gather rain
Theres no better place to lay
Shes as fine as dandelions blowing in the wind
Shes not thinkin' about anything...
She floats
Floats...
Wearing black patent mary janes
She steps out in to the rain
She's as dry as clear blue skies
Swallowing you whole
Got not secrets though I'm told
She floats
Ahhh... ahhh...
She's as fine as dandelions blowing in the wind
Shes not thinkin she's listening
She floats... She floats... Floats...
Floats...
She floats... She floats... Floats...
Floats...

song performed by Vanessa Carlton
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The Dream

'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!

So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.

Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,

To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Shattered Image

I used to sit for hours as a kid
And dangle my feet from an old flat bridge
Seeing myself in the water below
Shatter my image with the rocks Id throw
Shatter my image with the rocks Id throw
Long time gone and a long time ago
When I shattered my image with the rocks Id throw
The world is cruel and people are cold
Now they shatter my image with the rocks they throw
Shatter my image with the rocks they throw
Im far from perfect but I aint all bad
And it hurts me more than it makes me mad
We all do things that we dont want told
And we all throw stones that we shouldnt throw
You shatter my image with the rocks you throw
Long time gone and a long time ago
When I shattered my image with the rocks Id throw
The world is cruel and people are cold
Now they shatter my image with the rocks they throw
Shatter my image with the rocks they throw
If you live in a glass house dont throw stones
Dont shatter my image til you look at your own
Look at your reflection in your house of glass
Dont open my closet if your owns full of trash
Stay out of my closet if your owns full of trash
Long time gone and a long time ago
When I shattered my image with the rocks Id throw
The world is cruel and people are cold
Now they shatter my image with the rocks they throw
Shatter my image with the rocks they throw
Shatter my image with the rocks you throw
Dont shatter my image with the rocks you throw

song performed by Dolly Parton
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Book IV - Part 03 - The Senses And Mental Pictures

Bodies that strike the eyes, awaking sight.
From certain things flow odours evermore,
As cold from rivers, heat from sun, and spray
From waves of ocean, eater-out of walls
Around the coasts. Nor ever cease to flit
The varied voices, sounds athrough the air.
Then too there comes into the mouth at times
The wet of a salt taste, when by the sea
We roam about; and so, whene'er we watch
The wormword being mixed, its bitter stings.
To such degree from all things is each thing
Borne streamingly along, and sent about
To every region round; and Nature grants
Nor rest nor respite of the onward flow,
Since 'tis incessantly we feeling have,
And all the time are suffered to descry
And smell all things at hand, and hear them sound.
Besides, since shape examined by our hands
Within the dark is known to be the same
As that by eyes perceived within the light
And lustrous day, both touch and sight must be
By one like cause aroused. So, if we test
A square and get its stimulus on us
Within the dark, within the light what square
Can fall upon our sight, except a square
That images the things? Wherefore it seems
The source of seeing is in images,
Nor without these can anything be viewed.

Now these same films I name are borne about
And tossed and scattered into regions all.
But since we do perceive alone through eyes,
It follows hence that whitherso we turn
Our sight, all things do strike against it there
With form and hue. And just how far from us
Each thing may be away, the image yields
To us the power to see and chance to tell:
For when 'tis sent, at once it shoves ahead
And drives along the air that's in the space
Betwixt it and our eyes. And thus this air
All glides athrough our eyeballs, and, as 'twere,
Brushes athrough our pupils and thuswise
Passes across. Therefore it comes we see
How far from us each thing may be away,
And the more air there be that's driven before,
And too the longer be the brushing breeze
Against our eyes, the farther off removed
Each thing is seen to be: forsooth, this work
With mightily swift order all goes on,
So that upon one instant we may see

[...] Read more

poem by Lucretius
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Venus In Furs

(reed)
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Clubs and bells, your servant, dont forsake him
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart
Downy sins of streetlight fancies
Chase the costumes she shall wear
Ermine furs adorn the imperious
Severin, severin awaits you there
I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears
Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather
Shiny leather in the dark
Tongue of thongs, the belt that does await you
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart
Severin, severin, speak so slightly
Severin, down on your bended knee
Taste the whip, in love not given lightly
Taste the whip, now plead for me
I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Severin, your servant comes in bells, please dont forsake him
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart

song performed by Velvet Underground
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Zenana

WHAT is there that the world hath not
Gathered in yon enchanted spot?
Where, pale, and with a languid eye,
The fair Sultana listlessly
Leans on her silken couch, and dreams
Of mountain airs, and mountain streams.
Sweet though the music float around,
It wants the old familiar sound;

And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.—

She's very young, and childhood's days
With all their old remembered ways,
The empire of her heart contest
With love, that is so new a guest;
When blushing with her Murad near,
Half timid bliss, half sweetest fear,
E'en the beloved past is dim,
Past, present, future, merge in him.
But he, the warrior and the chief,
His hours of happiness are brief;
And he must leave Nadira's side
To woo and win a ruder bride;

Sought, sword in hand and spur on heel,
The fame, that weds with blood and steel.
And while from Delhi far away,
His youthful bride pines through the day,
Weary and sad: thus when again
He seeks to bind love's loosen'd chain;
He finds the tears are scarcely dry
Upon a cheek whose bloom is faded,
The very flush of victory
Is, like the brow he watches, shaded.
A thousand thoughts are at her heart,
His image paramount o'er all,
Yet not all his, the tears that start,
As mournful memories recall
Scenes of another home, which yet
That fond young heart can not forget.
She thinks upon that place of pride,
Which frowned upon the mountain's side;

While round it spread the ancient plain,
Her steps will never cross again.
And near those mighty temples stand,
The miracles of mortal hand,

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poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Rosalind and Helen: a Modern Eclogue

ROSALIND, HELEN, and her Child.

SCENE. The Shore of the Lake of Como.

HELEN
Come hither, my sweet Rosalind.
'T is long since thou and I have met;
And yet methinks it were unkind
Those moments to forget.
Come, sit by me. I see thee stand
By this lone lake, in this far land,
Thy loose hair in the light wind flying,
Thy sweet voice to each tone of even
United, and thine eyes replying
To the hues of yon fair heaven.
Come, gentle friend! wilt sit by me?
And be as thou wert wont to be
Ere we were disunited?
None doth behold us now; the power
That led us forth at this lone hour
Will be but ill requited
If thou depart in scorn. Oh, come,
And talk of our abandoned home!
Remember, this is Italy,
And we are exiles. Talk with me
Of that our land, whose wilds and floods,
Barren and dark although they be,
Were dearer than these chestnut woods;
Those heathy paths, that inland stream,
And the blue mountains, shapes which seem
Like wrecks of childhood's sunny dream;
Which that we have abandoned now,
Weighs on the heart like that remorse
Which altered friendship leaves. I seek
No more our youthful intercourse.
That cannot be! Rosalind, speak,
Speak to me! Leave me not! When morn did come,
When evening fell upon our common home,
When for one hour we parted,--do not frown;
I would not chide thee, though thy faith is broken;
But turn to me. Oh! by this cherished token
Of woven hair, which thou wilt not disown,
Turn, as 't were but the memory of me,
And not my scornèd self who prayed to thee!

ROSALIND
Is it a dream, or do I see
And hear frail Helen? I would flee
Thy tainting touch; but former years
Arise, and bring forbidden tears;

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Victories Of Love. Book I

I
From Frederick Graham

Mother, I smile at your alarms!
I own, indeed, my Cousin's charms,
But, like all nursery maladies,
Love is not badly taken twice.
Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes,
My playmate in the pleasant days
At Knatchley, and her sister, Anne,
The twins, so made on the same plan,
That one wore blue, the other white,
To mark them to their father's sight;
And how, at Knatchley harvesting,
You bade me kiss her in the ring,
Like Anne and all the others? You,
That never of my sickness knew,
Will laugh, yet had I the disease,
And gravely, if the signs are these:

As, ere the Spring has any power,
The almond branch all turns to flower,
Though not a leaf is out, so she
The bloom of life provoked in me;
And, hard till then and selfish, I
Was thenceforth nought but sanctity
And service: life was mere delight
In being wholly good and right,
As she was; just, without a slur;
Honouring myself no less than her;
Obeying, in the loneliest place,
Ev'n to the slightest gesture, grace
Assured that one so fair, so true,
He only served that was so too.
For me, hence weak towards the weak,
No more the unnested blackbird's shriek
Startled the light-leaved wood; on high
Wander'd the gadding butterfly,
Unscared by my flung cap; the bee,
Rifling the hollyhock in glee,
Was no more trapp'd with his own flower,
And for his honey slain. Her power,
From great things even to the grass
Through which the unfenced footways pass,
Was law, and that which keeps the law,
Cherubic gaiety and awe;
Day was her doing, and the lark
Had reason for his song; the dark
In anagram innumerous spelt
Her name with stars that throbb'd and felt;

[...] Read more

poem by Coventry Patmore
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Who Do You Love, I Hope

I've got the question
I've had it for days
You've got the answer, dear
I'll put the question
In one little phrase
Say what I want to hear
Who do you love I hope
Who would you kiss I hope
Who is it going to be
I hope, I hope, I hope it's me
Who do you want I hope
Who do you need I hope
Who is it going to be
I hope, I hope, I hope it's me
Is it the baker who gave you a cake
I saw that look in his eye
Is it the butcher who brought you a steak
Say that it is and I'll die
Who do you love I hope
Who would you kiss I hope
Who is it going to be
I hope, I hope, I hope it's me
[2]
I heard your question
The answer you know
Love is my middle name
You asked a question
That worried you so
Mind if I do the same
Who do you love I hope
Who would you kiss I hope
Who is it going to be
I hope, I hope, I hope it's me
Who do you want I hope
Who do you need I hope
Who is it going to be
I hope, I hope, I hope it's me
Is it the blondie who acted so shy
I heard the things that she said
Is it the redhead who gave you the eye
Say that it is and your dead
Who do you love I hope
Who would you kiss I hope
Who is it going to be
I hope, I hope, I hope it's me

song performed by Irving Berlin
Added by Lucian Velea
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If Hope Were...?

Hope...Do you know what is?

Hope, anything that one wants, and at
the moment of 'hope' they do not have.

If hope were a feeling, I would hope,
it be one of honesty and integrity.
I would hope it would be love and empathy.

If hope were a food, I would hope it
would be filled with nourishment.

If hope were music, I would hope, it
was the kind of music, that you loved.

If hope were a sound, I would hope it
would by a symphony of love.

If hope were a religion, I would hope it
was your religion. For as we all know,
the 'right religion' is one that you
believe in. For to think ones religion
is 'the right and only religion'
that would make billions of others,
who did not believe in your religion...wrong.
All religions, if one truly believes in
them, are the right ones...for you.

If hope were belief, then I would hope,
that belief would be, that there is one
Supreme Being; who is by-lingual and
of all faiths, and all creeds and colors.

If hope were knowledge, I would hope,
it had patience, understanding, the
ability of comprehending the other
persons point of view. I would also hope,
that it had an unquenchable thirst,
to continue to learn by experience and
research.

If hope could be seen, I would hope, all
would see, the good in their fellow man.

If hope were a wish, I would hope
that all your dreams, and ambitions
came true.

If hope were you...if hope were me, I
would hope, we never lost sight of

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poem by Joe Fazio
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A Good Thing Called...Hope

Hope, anything that one wants, and at
the moment of 'hope' they do not have.

If hope were a feeling, I would hope,
it be one of honesty and integrity.
I would hope it would be love and empathy.

If hope were a food, I would hope it
would be filled with nourishment.

If hope were music, I would hope, it
was the kind of music, that you loved.

If hope were a sound, I would hope it
would by a symphony of love.

If hope were a religion, I would hope it
was your religion.

If hope were belief, then I would hope,
that belief would be, that there is one
Supreme Being; who is by-lingual and
of all faiths, and all creeds and colors.

If hope were knowledge, I would hope,
it had patience, understanding, the
ability of comprehending the other
persons point of view. I would also hope,
that it had an unquenchable thirst,
to continue to learn by experience and
research.

If hope could be seen, I would hope, all
would see, the good in their fellow man.

If hope were a wish, I would hope
that all your dreams, and ambitions
came true.

If hope were you...if hope were me, I
would hope, we never lost sight of
those less fortunate. I would hope
we would never be so self-centered
or busy, that we neglected to extend
a helping hand, to those in need.

Finally if you hope this ends, let me
conclude by saying....

If hope were a human, I would hope, that it

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poem by Joe Fazio
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If Hope Were A Human

Hope, anything that one wants, and at
the moment of 'hope' they do not have.

If hope were a feeling, I would hope,
it be one of honesty and integrity.
I would hope it would be love and empathy.

If hope were a food, I would hope it
would be filled with nourishment.

If hope were music, I would hope, it
was the kind of music, that you loved.

If hope were a sound, I would hope it
would by a symphony of love.

If hope were a religion, I would hope it
was your religion.

If hope were belief, then I would hope,
that belief would be, that there is one
Supreme Being; who is by-lingual and
of all faiths, and all creeds and colors.

If hope were knowledge, I would hope,
it had patience, understanding, the
ability of comprehending the other
persons point of view. I would also hope,
that it had an unquenchable thirst,
to continue to learn by experience and
research.

If hope could be seen, I would hope, all
would see, the good in their fellow man.

If hope were a wish, I would hope
that all your dreams, and ambitions
came true.

If hope were you...if hope were me, I
would hope, we never lost sight of
those less fortunate. I would hope
we would never be so self-centered
or busy, that we neglected to extend
a helping hand, to those in need.

Finally if you hope this ends, let me
conclude by saying....

If hope were a human, I would hope, that it

[...] Read more

poem by Joe Fazio
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Keep Dreaming...

Hope, anything that one wants, and at
the moment of 'hope' they do not have.

If hope were a feeling, I would hope,
it be one of honesty and integrity.
I would hope it would be love and empathy.

If hope were a food, I would hope it
would be filled with nourishment.

If hope were music, I would hope, it
was the kind of music, that you loved.

If hope were a sound, I would hope it
would by a symphony of love.

If hope were a religion, I would hope it
was your religion. For as we all know,
the 'right religion' is one that you
believe in. For to think ones religion
is 'the right and only religion'
that would make billions of others,
who did not believe in your religion...wrong.
All religions, if one truly believes in
them, are the right ones.

If hope were belief, then I would hope,
that belief would be, that there is one
Supreme Being; who is by-lingual and
of all faiths, and all creeds and colors.

If hope were knowledge, I would hope,
it had patience, understanding, the
ability of comprehending the other
persons point of view. I would also hope,
that it had an unquenchable thirst,
to continue to learn by experience and
research.

If hope could be seen, I would hope, all
would see, the good in their fellow man.

If hope were a wish, I would hope
that all your dreams, and ambitions
came true.

If hope were you...if hope were me, I
would hope, we never lost sight of
those less fortunate. I would hope
we would never be so self-centered

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poem by Joe Fazio
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We All Need It

Hope, anything that one wants, and at
the moment of 'hope' they do not have.

If hope were a feeling, I would hope,
it be one of honesty and integrity.
I would hope it would be love and empathy.

If hope were a food, I would hope it
would be filled with nourishment.

If hope were music, I would hope, it
was the kind of music, that you loved.

If hope were a sound, I would hope it
would by a symphony of love.

If hope were a religion, I would hope it
was your religion.

If hope were belief, then I would hope,
that belief would be, that there is one
Supreme Being; who is by-lingual and
of all faiths, and all creeds and colors.

If hope were knowledge, I would hope,
it had patience, understanding, the
ability of comprehending the other
persons point of view. I would also hope,
that it had an unquenchable thirst,
to continue to learn by experience and
research.

If hope could be seen, I would hope, all
would see, the good in their fellow man.

If hope were a wish, I would hope
that all your dreams, and ambitions
came true.

If hope were you...if hope were me, I
would hope, we never lost sight of
those less fortunate. I would hope
we would never be so self-centered
or busy, that we neglected to extend
a helping hand, to those in need.

Finally if you hope this ends, let me
conclude by saying....

If hope were a human, I would hope, that it

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poem by Joe Fazio
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Hope?

Hope, anything that one wants, and at
the moment of 'hope' they do not have.

If hope were a feeling, I would hope,
it be one of honesty and integrity.
I would hope it would be love and empathy.

If hope were a food, I would hope it
would be filled with nourishment.

If hope were music, I would hope, it
was the kind of music, that you loved.

If hope were a sound, I would hope it
would by a symphony of love.

If hope were a religion, I would hope it
was your religion.

If hope were belief, then I would hope,
that belief would be, that there is one
Supreme Being; who is by-lingual and
of all faiths, and all creeds and colors.

If hope were knowledge, I would hope,
it had patience, understanding, the
ability of comprehending the other
persons point of view. I would also hope,
that it had an unquenchable thirst,
to continue to learn by experience and
research.

If hope could be seen, I would hope, all
would see, the good in their fellow man.

If hope were a wish, I would hope
that all your dreams, and ambitions
came true.

If hope were you...if hope were me, I
would hope, we never lost sight of
those less fortunate. I would hope
we would never be so self-centered
or busy, that we neglected to extend
a helping hand, to those in need.

Finally if you hope this ends, let me
conclude by saying....

If hope were a human, I would hope, that it

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poem by Joe Fazio
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Canto the Fourth

I.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!

II.

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.

III.

In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!

IV.

But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.

V.

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poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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