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I never failed to convince an audience that the best thing they could do was to go away.

classic quote by Thomas Love Peacock
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Coltrane

Wakin' up at nine
Looks at his paper
Can't deal with what he sees
All the troubled lives
The talk of the ages
He's crawling back to bed
Don't take a walk outside
Don't make any new friends
He's crawling back to bed
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know what I'm doing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know who I'm screwing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know what I'm doing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know who I'm screwing
Callin' all his friends
He's known 'em for ages
Can't deal with what they say
Connective alibis
Cold and contagious
He's crawling back to bed
So cut off the phone lines
Stock up on water
He's crawling back to bed
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know what I'm doing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know who I'm screwing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know what I'm doing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know who I'm screwing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know what I'm doing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know who I'm screwing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know what I'm doing
You'd better convince me man
'Cause I, I don't know who I'm screwing
You'd better convince me man
Yessir
You'd better convince me man
Yessir
You'd better convince me man
Yessir
You'd better convince me man
Yessir

song performed by Gomez
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Jeane

Jeane
The low-life has lost its appeal
And i'm tired of walking these streets
To a room with its cupboards bare
Jeane
I'm not sure what happiness means
But i look in your eyes
And i know
Oh ...
That it isn't there
Oh, we tried, and we failed
Oh, we tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried
Oh, jeane
There's ice on the sink where we bathe
So how can you call this a home
When you know it's a grave ?
Yet you still have that greedy grace
As you tidy the place
But it will never be clean
Jeane
We tried and we failed
We tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed
We tried and we failed
And we tried
Oh ...
Cash on the nail
It's just a fairytale
Oh ...
And i don't believe in magic anymore
Jeane
But i think you know
I really think you know
Oh ...
Oh yes, i think you know the truth
Jeane
Oh ...
No heavenly choirs
Not for me and not for you
Because i think you know
I really think you know
Oh ...
I think you know the truth
Oh, jeane
We tried, and we failed
We tried, and we failed
We tried and we failed

[...] Read more

song performed by Smiths
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Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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I Am The Audience

I am the audience
Theres no doubt, no consequence
I could make the morning papers
If I use my capers
Lets be the audience
I might lose my patience
Polite applause excepted
To the ones selected, as the audience...
Oh I ... am the audience
No doubt, no consequence
Cause Im the audience
Lets be the audience
I might lose my patience
Polite applause excepted
To the ones selected
I am the audience
Breakdown the pretence
No longer be silent
Lets turn to violence
I am the audience

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Am The Audience

I am the audience
Theres no doubt, no consequence
I could make the morning papers
If I use my capers
Lets be the audience
I might lose my patience
Polite applause excepted
To the ones selected, as the audience...
Oh I ... am the audience
No doubt, no consequence
Cause Im the audience
Lets be the audience
I might lose my patience
Polite applause excepted
To the ones selected
I am the audience
Breakdown the pretence
No longer be silent
Lets turn to violence
I am the audience

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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The ten commandments of communication

The ten commandments of communication

Verify your ideas before clarification, as to whether the contents of your
communication will really serve the purpose of your communication. Consult others, where appropriate, the communication plan. This will help you decide the audience-based right content, flow, duration and location.

Make clear to the audience the true purpose of communication. Make it known to the audience as to what you want them to do after receiving the inputs from you. It can be just an act, can be an attitudinal change, can be drawing a strategy or plan of action.

Ensure you are in the right set of environment for the communication.
Communication is not effected just by words and gestures, but also by the quality of place where you communicate.

Take into confidence your audience. Encourage them to come out with their experience in the subject of communication. Accordingly polish your ways.

Be sure where to emphasize and where to dilute. Check yourself the
overtones and emphasis on messages conveyed, as audience may not notice.

Avoid being theoretical all through. Give practical examples. Enthuse
audience to come out with problems, connected with the subject and offer, if possible, practical solutions.

Follow up with what you communicate. Ensure audience is with you through the entire communication. Give no impression that you are evaluating their ability to absorb.

Demonstrate that you practice what you preach. Your past experiences may come handy.

Communicate for tomorrow, based on previous learning, enabling the audience visualize new horizons on the subject of communication.

Last, but not the least, seek not to be understood, but to understand. Be a good listener too.

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Sacrilegious Fury

Blasphemy has failed. Failed to shock.
In the twilight of the twentieth century.
Religious fervour, which empowered insatiable
blasphemy. Has faded rendering shockingly,
provocative words, mere caricatures; shadows;
degraded farts; winding past damning exclamations.

Blasphemy has failed. Failed to shock.
Blasphemous remarks. Uttered against Almighty God.
Evil thoughts spoken hurled. Against anything esteemed sacred.
Have failed. To death threatened shock. Modern immune society.
Rendezvous. With hackneyed profanity. Fails to ignite chill fear.
Fearful is lobotomy preformed. Upon supposed clinically insane.

Anger spat. Hot furious. Death accompanying curse. Sworn
in stormy, less atheistic, abandoned past, violent darker ages.
Is feared now, only when tormented, demon possessed curser.
Is rabidly dangerous, with obvious, threatening derangement.
Such awesome obscenities, hold frightening immense power.
Threaten promise, immediate painful physical, impact punishment.

Ever the real; modern power; behind shocking blasphemy.

Yet ancient evil, still blasphemes, against true holy powers.
With all the bile, spat forth possessed vehemence; boiling
vile disinherited faith; awaiting revelation damned judgement.
Promised execution; awaiting accursed; dispossessed angel
become demons; still inflicting this earth; like an accursed plague.

Evil is more cunning, when less obviously evident. And
unbelievable in an age, intoning aspiritual excused, scientific
ignorance. Yet Satan ranges, howling banished, cast from heaven.
For evil words, are like hideous snakes, slithering into corrupted
unguarded orifices. Claiming souls bound for personalized hell.

Blasphemy has failed. Failed to death. Threateningly shock.
In twilight bombed out. Friday the thirteenth. Twentieth century.
For religious fear; fervour; persecution; is empowered indifferently.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Mask Of Future

Dreams weren’t farfetched for me
Life wasn’t bad for me
I got everything I wanted,
Power and ability, and even opportunity
But I ignored something unknown.

I got an opportunity,
But I did not complete my wish.
I did not misuse my opportunity,
But this world has a sequence.
A flow which we all follow
Something I failed to do.
I used my powers at the wrong time.
I stepped into higher steps ignoring the lower ones.

But I failed to realize something,
I failed to realize that everything required a basement.
A basement on which it can stand.
A power on which it can function.

I ignored the lower aspects of my life,
I went for the larger ones and accomplished them with ease
But there were two things in the lower steps.
Two things that I ignored.
Time and patience.
I ignored the aspect of time, and looked into the future.
I lacked patience and was eager to reach the future.
But I failed to realize that the future did not exist.
We can never reach our future.
For, when we reach it, it becomes the present.
I failed to realize that the future is yet another present,
A present which I always ignored.
I failed to realize that we can control only our present.
Use the present wisely, and the future will follow up.

I failed to see the hidden mask of future.
A mask, if opened, showed that the future is just another present.

poem by Vivek Kartha
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IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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The Golden Age

Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
To notes of wail and accents warm with fire;
Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
And him who sobbed in pentametric pain;
To which the World, waxed desolate and old,
Fondly reverts, and calls the Age of Gold.

Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side,
Men found their few and simple wants supplied;
Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air,
And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer.
Love, with no charms except its own to lure,
Was swiftly answered by a love as pure.
No need for wealth; each glittering fruit and flower,
Each star, each streamlet, made the maiden's dower.
Far in the future lurked maternal throes,
And children blossomed painless as the rose.
No harrowing question `why,' no torturing `how,'
Bent the lithe frame or knit the youthful brow.
The growing mind had naught to seek or shun;
Like the plump fig it ripened in the sun.
From dawn to dark Man's life was steeped in joy,
And the gray sire was happy as the boy.
Nature with Man yet waged no troublous strife,
And Death was almost easier than Life.
Safe on its native mountains throve the oak,
Nor ever groaned 'neath greed's relentless stroke.
No fear of loss, no restlessness for more,
Drove the poor mariner from shore to shore.
No distant mines, by penury divined,
Made him the sport of fickle wave or wind.
Rich for secure, he checked each wish to roam,
And hugged the safe felicity of home.

Those days are long gone by; but who shall say
Why, like a dream, passed Saturn's Reign away?
Over its rise, its ruin, hangs a veil,
And naught remains except a Golden Tale.
Whether 'twas sin or hazard that dissolved
That happy scheme by kindly Gods evolved;
Whether Man fell by lucklessness or pride,-
Let jarring sects, and not the Muse, decide.
But when that cruel Fiat smote the earth,
Primeval Joy was poisoned at its birth.
In sorrow stole the infant from the womb,
The agëd crept in sorrow to the tomb.
The ground, so bounteous once, refused to bear
More than was wrung by sower, seed, and share.

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Austin
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Natural miracles

I have never looked around for natural miracles
They are day and night in orbit or circles
Then rise and set without fail
I did not notice so far and miserably failed

How can and in which way I adore sun?
The sky is lit by him without stoppage of any run
Time and again I failed to bow my head
Never had I seen generosity on its part and failed to read

My existence is very much dependent
Still I failed to act as an obedient
How easily I forgot all warm days?
When sun had for many days failed on its way

I enjoyed greenery on earth
Yet failed to see joy beneath
After how much long wait, the shower had pleased
But where had I time to look at when not chased?

I had the life full of glooms
There was no direction and darkness in rooms
Where had I time to look for those shines outside?
When it was given to me hopefully to reside

If I was offered hurdles
There was chance to remove obstacles
Only I had to act and wait for his blessings
Otherwise where was chance anything to go missing?

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Thurso’s Landing

I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.

II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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5 Attemps

5 suicide attempts
Each one failed
5 times to try and love you
Each one failed
1- Slit my wrists
Failed horribly
1- Kiss you again
Failed horribly
2- Hang myself
Over the edge
2- Hug you again
Over the edge
3- Gun to my head
I couldn't pull through
3- Look in your eyes again
I couldn't pull through
4- Yell to God to end my life
I couldn't talk
4- Try to talk to you again
I couldn't talk
5- Slit my throat
I didn't have the strength
5- Touch you again
I didn't have the strength
5 suicide attempts
Each one failed
5 times to try and love you
Each one failed

poem by Emily Wimetal
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Tessa's Song

I'm sorry I failed
I'm sorry I fell
Straight from grace
I'm sorry I failed
I'm sorry I lied
Straight to your face

The world you know
Keeps getting bigger
And badder
And all that's true
And all that's good
Doesn't seem to matter

What's good and what's bad
What's right and what's wrong
Is getting harder to comprehend
And just when you think
You've figured it out
The rules are changed again

I'm sorry I failed
I'm sorry you see
All that I lack
I'm sorry I failed
And if I could
I would take it all back

It's hard to believe
This war has gone on
Since before you were born
And I worry
That it will still be raging
When you are grown

The things you see
The drugs and the sex
And you're still so young
I lie awake at night
Hoping I've shown you
Which road is the right one

I'm sorry I failed
I pray that you know
I'm doing the best I can
I'm sorry I failed
I know you will become
So much more than I am

So much time that I've wasted

[...] Read more

poem by Sarah Deen
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Virus

Her words almost killed me
First time she used the word “you” instead of we
So much hatred and no love words
I almost sank praying the lords

How one can send the disease and virus
How, all of sudden, love can have minus status
I failed to understand her tears and outburst
It had simple appeal and powerful thrust

Virus had caused tremendous loss
She had nothing left in the name of cross
All her life time work was just vanished
Peaceful aim and meaningful life perished

She blamed all it to me in person
I was no where responsible for the reason
I too lost all my precious creation
Blame game for me was out of question

Everybody may be victim of this virus
No need to cry or create the fuss
It is how we protect and go further
Nothing should deter us or bother

I failed to convince her of my part
I had no way but to say bye and depart
What left behind was only distrust?
One should not bank upon simply trust

It may deceive you any moment
You should keep watch on every movement
Who knows when one may change mind?
Blind faith may lead you to new kind

Life is all about to love and to be loved
It depends on how one has behaved?
It looses charm if lacks integrity
One should have real sense and ability

She begged to know the real truth
I had no answer to speak from mouth
What do I know about virus as layman?
May be answer lying with honest and God’s man

I wished I could cry for her loss
I had every reason to feel remorse
I could feel only sorry for her state
I failed to convince her cruel fate

[...] Read more

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Be Audience Rare

do not write
to fickle audience
be audience rare

write what
themes
flow choose

most
rarely read
rhymes

no time to waste
on audience present
will eternity wait?

do not write
to audience
be audience rare

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Edinburgh Military Tattoo

An August evening, and people make their way to
Edinburgh Castle for the world famous Military Tattoo.
Once everyone has arrived and taken their seats,
From the battlements, sounds a steady drum beat.

Soon, a large corps of drummers appears,
To the audience’s applause and rousing cheers.
Each of the soldiers, dressed in their smart uniforms,
Has been up, rehearsing, since the first break of dawn.

The drummer’s skills are most highly rated:
They perform all kinds of rhythms, including syncopated.
The sound of the big bass drum, through my body, resonates;
Its booming beat similar to that of my own pulsing heart rate.

The drummers are replaced by another military band;
No drums this time, but they have bagpipes in hand.
The whole event is a real feast for ears and eyes.
Some of the tunes played, I instantly recognise.

During the show, the arena is constantly filled,
With military personnel demonstrating their skills.
Soldiers stand to attention in a long regimented, straight line,
Then, as one, move their feet, as they stand there marking time.

The spectacle of the Massed Band of The Royal Air Force,
Makes the blood in my veins race and excitedly course.
You can’t help but be moved by the sights and the sounds,
Of one of the world’s most famous military displays around.

The audience of some seven thousand people strong,
Sit enraptured, taping their feet and clapping along.
The Esplanade, where the action all takes place, sits
In front of the impressive stone castle which is floodlit.

This stunning pageant has a truly international flavour.
Talents from around the world, the audience can savour.
To a Scottish fiddle, traditional dancers swirl.
Regimental flags are ceremoniously unfurled.

And, just as all this action has made the audience rather hyper,
They are calmed down again by the lament of the lone piper.
To the ramparts, where the piper is stood, all eyes are drawn,
As the pipes play a haunting melody, traditionally, used to mourn.

Near the end, my neighbours link their arms with mine,
As, together, we sing a rousing chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne.’
The audience make their way home, and soon, a hush falls.
I stroll back to my hotel, feeling glad to have been a part of it all.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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You've Got Magic!

'America - You've Got Magic! '
Ran the sign on the Glitzy Floor,
For this was the latest Reality Show
To consume consumers with awe;
Some Boffin, deep in a Think-Tank
Had been racking his brain for weeks,
And this was the format he gave them;
Home Magicians! - with tricks and treats!

The Show was into the knockout stage,
The Advertisers were rapt,
None of your Song and Dancing here,
Nobody shedding Fat,
No-one stuck in a boring House
With brains the size of a pea,
But plenty of age-old magic tricks
For the rest of the world to see.

The Judges sat in their glory
Each equipped with a magic wand,
The first of them, Benjamin Glowery
Played his part, in a deep despond,
He hated the Hatted Rabbits
And the Doves that flew over the stage,
While contestants that showed him a Card Trick
Bore the brunt of his fearful rage.

He'd wave his wand in rejection
Like thumbs down, as they did in Rome,
And depending on Betty Abullbull
He would send them all packing, home,
While Betty paraded her implants
And her elegant, coiffured hair,
She was there for the sex attraction
As there wasn't much intellect there.

The third was a known Magician
Who had fallen on harder times,
He'd taken the job for the money
He was known as 'Impeccable' Grimes,
He spent more time on his fingernails
Than watching the acts begin,
He said that he knew all the magic tricks,
That nothing was new to him!

He waited to see how Glowery went
Then voted the other way,
So often it was up to Abullbull
Whether the act would go, or stay,
The audience cheered and hooted,

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Ninth Book

EVEN thus. I pause to write it out at length,
The letter of the Lady Waldemar.–

'I prayed your cousin Leigh to take you this,
He says he'll do it. After years of love,
Or what is called so,–when a woman frets
And fools upon one string of a man's name,
And fingers it for ever till it breaks,–
He may perhaps do for her such thing,
And she accept it without detriment
Although she should not love him any more
And I, who do not love him, nor love you,
Nor you, Aurora,–choose you shall repent
Your most ungracious letter, and confess,
Constrained by his convictions, (he's convinced)
You've wronged me foully. Are you made so ill,
You woman–to impute such ill to me?
We both had mothers,–lay in their bosom once.
Why, after all, I thank you, Aurora Leigh,
For proving to myself that there are things
I would not do, . . not for my life . . nor him . .
Though something I have somewhat overdone,–
For instance, when I went to see the gods
One morning, on Olympus, with a step
That shook the thunder in a certain cloud,
Committing myself vilely. Could I think,
The Muse I pulled my heart out from my breast
To soften, had herself a sort of heart,
And loved my mortal? He, at least, loved her;
I heard him say so; 'twas my recompence,
When, watching at his bedside fourteen days,
He broke out ever like a flame at whiles
Between the heats of fever . . . 'Is it thou?
'Breathe closer, sweetest mouth!' and when at last
The fever gone, the wasted face extinct
As if it irked him much to know me there,
He said, Twas kind, 'twas good, 'twas womanly,'
(And fifty praises to excuse one love)
'But was the picture safe he had ventured for?'
And then, half wandering . . 'I have loved her well,
Although she could not love me.'–'Say instead,'
I answered, 'that she loves you.'–'Twas my turn
To rave: (I would have married him so changed,
Although the world had jeered me properly
For taking up with Cupid at his worst,
The silver quiver worn off on his hair.)
'No, no,' he murmured, 'no, she loves me not;
'Aurora Leigh does better: bring her book
'And read it softly, Lady Waldemar,
'Until I thank your friendship more for that,

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Short Shrift

‘I’ve failed! ’ How many times have sons
And fathers’ fathers echoed me?
‘I’ve failed! My life was spent in dreams, ’
We said, ‘in shallow misery.
In dreams and steel and soot and grime,
In screams, and what would seem some crime
Of trying to live beyond our need...
Our lives were spent in some black creed! ’

‘Too short, too short, the days we spent
In trying to right the days before,
Too long, too long, the years we struggled
Knowing not what struggled for.
What goal, what aim, what discontent,
What loves we lost, what life we spent
In wondering what such life could be?
Short shrift for you - harsh words for me! ’

‘I’ve failed, my sons, I’ve failed you all
And so my failure tortures me,
As in that innocence divine
Your love loves all the failed in me.
If I could strip this flesh, or tear
These eyes that cried hot fire for you
To save you from the same despair
My father’s father brought me to...’

20 July 1976

poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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