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There are thus great swathes of the past where understanding is more important and reputable than judgement, because the principal actors performed in line with the ideas and values of that time, not of ours.

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There Are Only Eyes Appearing Above The Surface

There are only eyes appearing above the surface
in the brown water of the river's pool
before they again disappear without a trace.
There are only eyes appearing above the surface
when it notices a prey, are covered by the water-curtain
where the crocodile hides in the depths of the river,
there are only eyes appearing above the surface
in the brown water of the river's pool.

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There are times when I recall the sweet scents

There are times when I recall the sweet scents
Of our friendship in its prime youth
What vile winds, what whispering sands,
What foul thoughts poisoned the truth
Constancy thrives only in heavenly realms of above
Life is painful and thorny, and it wares us into vain
And to strive to be worth of the one we love
Does work like havoc madness in the brain

But never either of us found the other again
To free the hollow heart from gnawing pain
Stubbornly we stood aloof and far, the scars remaining
The soul wounded and ailing
With no end to suffering and painting
In the reign of wrath, doubts and never reaching
There will never be souls bridging
Like lofty cliffs which had been set asunder
The cold dreary sea now flows between
And neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder
Shall move this ocean away from within
Oh Dear me, Oh Dare me to wean
The marks of her who once had been

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Why There Are No Seeds Growing In The Garden Anymore?

because the trees
have grown so tall
and the fruits are many...

because the flowers
are blooming
and there are no more
spaces for the
seedlings....

because the beach
is so calm and the blueness
has become so inviting...

the seeds can wait
always
for the next planting season...

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The Past...now, It Is Just You And Me.

i speed away from the past,
it has no use
i tell myself the future has more to say
i scurry for the present items: a pen and paper
draw a leaf, imagine the sun, and a little space
for something that is yet to come,

last nigh the dreams take revenge
it is the past that i choke and bury and they are too many
a gun aims by the road towards the glass window
piles of books in the dormitory still unread
the lights do not turn off till morning
the food in the platter is light and i so think is deficient for my hunger
there are those who stay in the house laughing
about what i am doing....and the car is missing..

i am quick to this. i wake up, turn on the switch and face the
fluorescent light,
the magic has always been
a simple glass of cold water,

then i am back again: it is only between you and me and the rest?
mere peripheries.

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There Are Sounds of Mirth

There are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing,
And lamps from every casement shown;
While voices blithe within are singing,
That seem to say "Come," in every tone.
Ah! once how light, in Life's young season,
My heart had leap'd at that sweet lay;
Nor paused to ask of greybeard Reason
Should I the syren call obey.

And, see -- the lamps still livelier glitter,
The syren lips more fondly sound;
No, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter
To sink in your rosy bondage bound.
Shall a bard,whom not the world in arms,
Could bend to tyranny's rude countroul,
Thus quail, at sight of woman's charms,
And yield to a smile his freeborn soul?

Thus sung the sage, while, slyly stealing,
The nymphs their fetters around him cast,
And -- their laughing eyes, the while, concealing --
Led Freedom's Bard their slave at last.
For the Poet's heart, still prone to loving,
Was like that rock of the Druid race,
Which the gentlest touch at once set moving,
But all earth's power couldn't cast from its base.

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There Are Walls There Are Ceilings

there are wall here and there are ears who listen so well
and eyes who see too clearly
you,
there are ceilings too
there are limits to what you can do
there are floors
between
you
now the cup has overflowed the dams break out
a flood
will cover you, the floor meets the ceiling and you are sandwiched
like a witch,

see..how you crumple?

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There Is Something Great (Persian / Rubiyat Quatrains)

There is something great when in the dark
in the distance we hear the dogs bark,
while your hand creeps warm over my chest
and your voice sounds sweet as that of the lark

and comfortable we lie together and cuddling
while the dove to its mate does continually sing
and even when it's raining and thunder blasts down
being close to each other is a really great thing.

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There Are A Few Poets

THERE ARE A FEW POETS

There are a few poets
Beyond the poetry you and I know
And are capable of –

There are a few poets
Who seem to write a poetry
Which is Poetry itself,
A Poetry which is everything Poetry should be-

Those poets are somewhere else
On a level far beyond any we can hope to reach-
They are Poetry –

And we we are the little listeners and readers
Who can in awe and praise worship
What we ourselves will forever be incapable of.

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There are times when hope

There are times when hope,
when the belief in what can be
is the only thing staying with me
and however life slopes

up and down mountains and dales
there are far too much unsaid
and the painful goodbyes
at times leave tears,

are full of fears
and of misunderstandings
that people suffer silently
and when I am judged by other people

may my actions, my words,
my motives and intentions
lead others to true conviction,
to happiness and how things should be.

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There Are Those Who Wait Years To Write A Poem

THERE ARE THOSE WHO WAIT YEARS TO WRITE A POEM

There are those who wait years to write a poem
The fruit slowly ripens inside and then as with Rilke
It suddenly falls -

There are those who write a few lines
And come back time after time
And find the poem after many efforts-

There are those who cannot wait to write a poem
And once conscious of it must write it down as fast as possible
Before it is lost-

And there are those who only in the present writing
Find the poem -

The page suffers many methods and modes

But what truly makes a poem worthy
Is another question.

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George Santayana

There May Be Chaos Still Around the World

There may be chaos still around the world,
This little world that in my thinking lies;
For mine own bosom is the paradise
Where all my life's fair visions are unfurled.
Within my nature's shell I slumber curled,
Unmindful of the changing outer skies,
Where now, perchance, some new-born Eros flies,
Or some old Cronos from his throne is hurled.
I heed them not; or if the subtle night
Haunt me with deities I never saw,
I soon mine eyelid's drowsy curtain draw
To hide their myriad faces from my sight.
They threat in vain; the whirlwind cannot awe
A happy snow-flake dancing in the flaw.

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What happened to the lovely woman

What happened to the lovely woman
that every night
I wanted to hold against me
and where is she now

and is there still wind
blowing through her long autumn hair
on the porch
and are her fingers still busy

paging through poetry books
and do her soft sent still hang
on the evening wind
fresh like spring rain

at times it feels as if you fade away
and our love wants to take
another course
and maybe it was only a dream,
but from it
I never want to wake
and every moment it becomes more real

and I know that it’s not past
when you bring me a cup of coffee
and we look at doves
and other birds,
that prettily coos and sings
while they pick up seed
and I feel your hot hand
pressing mine full of love
and I know where you are
and how happy
this dreamer really is.

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There Are Moments

There are moments
In the reservoir of life
When the hours become twisted
And slowly drown in infinity.

There are moments
When traveling through
The unending highway of destiny,
One feels like wasted in a bin of time.

There are moments
When the mind is trapped
In the tunnel of forgetfulness
While words become muted
And the fragile body motionless.

there are moments
When you feel like in a vessel
Caught on fire and capsizing
In the middle of the sea
Sadly knowing
There is not help at all.

There are moments
When facts are unknown
Why or what has happened
In the urgency of self-preservation
And the only help is oneself alone
In the rescue of the senses-flammable
Until oppositely charged
By expulsion or exposition.

Knowing the vessel was capsizing
and that the only sailor was me,
I found the way to stay afloat
Along with an invisible friend named Hope
Who gave me strength to keep on going
Until reaching the solid ground
Thank you, my Lord!
For no abandoning me
In this tumultuous journey!

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When there are no great tigers in the deep mountains, even a monkey can become king.

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Writing In The Air

Why he is writing in the air
Why he is writing in the air
He writes but no billetdoux
There are limitless sanctions no fair
The love is all as it is not fair
The fickle-minded prima facie lost its pair
Life is not like husky flute player

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Luaghter that Was Not Mine

I heard and hear luaghter
That is not mine.
Luaghter dont bolong with me
Only shit and sadness
And uncried tears.
These are the things that lie with me.

I was only 5
You and your mates all gathered around
All the others watched.
While you told me its a new game.
You told me I'd like it
When I didnt
I cried
I got a smack.

I tryed to struggle free
but you were to strong for me.
I had to float above.

I hear the luaghter to this day
You and your mates
Thought it was funny
What a grate luagh.

I wasnt luaghing
I was crying
The pain was intense.

I jhate you
I allways hear you
Hear you luagh.

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The Games You Play

I'll let you play your games
Yes your games that show your lack of shame
You, who so many try to tame,
You are your very own claim to fame
I guess you will never change, always the same

She called your bluff
So you got revenge, a little bit rough
I'll let you play until I've had enough
You know you'll never end up in cuffs
Because I am there to clean up your ruined stuff

You're a dangerous dark horse
Never been one to show pity or remorse
So much pain to which you are its source
You take what you want, maybe resort to force
And you win every time, not one fail of course

But at the end of your day
When all the poisons have been put away
I am the only on which will ever make you say
How you feel and can make you feel that way
I am the only one with whom you don't play

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That's Not the Way I Groove

Fumbled up and down...
Tackled to the ground and pounded.
Blinded.
To unabled me to find my path.
Eventually I found.
Encouraged to get up,
And off my butt!

Stumbling to a crawling fall..
I again stalled.
With bloodied scraped knees.
But no one believed I knew...
It was more than a shallow ego,
I had inside with something greater to prove.

I'm not filing a complaint,
About how I have lived my life.
Troubles come and go!
This I have learned to know!

I am not looking for a better way,
To breeze through or make look easy.!
I don't pout...
When down and out!
'Cause that's not the way I groove.

I'm not looking for a better way,
To make this easy!
I've been down,
And have been knocked out.
Spotted silent in one place...
But I am laying with plans,
For a smoother move to cruise!

One that has a solid punch!
Updated and perfected to use!

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That's Not My Genre

The only ones that might be offended...
Are those who know I am Black.
Speak the truth.
And know they seek ways,
To renovate the plantations.

And I am not surprised,
By those who are working overtime,
To realize that effort.
I don't care how many calls for unity they make.

Or...
Those just barely able to read.
Have no comprehension.
Nor ambition or discipline.
And expect to get paid for doing nothing.
Hey...
No one has to be a detective,
To search for that evidence.

Other than that...
I can not understand 'why'
People may get upset by my poetry.
My writings depict their lives.
Much like what a landscape artist does...
When recreating what is seen to apply to canvas.

Some may not like the colors I use,
To brighten up what they believe...
Needs more enthusiastic touches of embellishment.
That's them!
However...
I am not into black face wearing and banjo playing!
That's not my genre,
Okay?

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Heavenly Bodies Celestial calms

Heavenly Bodies, Celestial calms
Each held firm by the pendulum man
In his turning, In his palm lies
The ghost of memories past fading fast.
Rise son of Semele to ascend your throne
Rise beyond the crown of thorns offered to
You in sacrifice. In libation we separate
Acts of faith from the knowledge of belief.
Five leaves left, Islands in the sky
Generations lost, to never question why
Why it is there are no longer stars in the sky?
Why is it that the tears of angelic statuettes
Hibernate within ones own boundaries
Moving on to different pastures
We find the grass no greener on the other side
Upon the other side of morning, Beyond the horizon a
New day has dawned out of time,
Calling on Heaven to rise from ashes,
We're falling charred as embers
Bearing the emblems, the tartans of families
Long since stripped of their dignity
Eloquence is influence so the suits grey in attire
Will have you believe. Forget. Forget to regret
Languish. Not too long in temptations. Lavished
Flash. In redemption

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