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The only pain in pleasure is the pleasure of the pain.

quote by Anne Rice
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pleassure - The Pin Cushion

'PLEASSURE - THE PIN CUSHION'
esspeecee …08.12.04.

# Compound of -
Pleasure is labile,
But of
Pain is stable
In mind lab. [1]

# Pleasure poses
Neutrino heaviness
Pain up-pulls
Tachyonic buoyancy. [2]

# Pleasure is
Entry to eventuality
Pain is
Exit from eventuality. [3]

# Pleasure is -
Snow ball
Ache-fully swells,
Pain is -
Metal ball
Anesthetically dwindles,
With the friction of life. [4]

# Pleasure is,
The pin cushion -
For de-phonetization,
Pain is pen cushion –
For vocabularization. [5]

# Pleasure is -
Compulsion,
Pleasure is -
Impulsion. [6]

# Pleasure is -
Gourmand ‘give-in’-izer,
Pain is-
Valorous valedictori-zer. [7]

# Pleasure is -
Fate maker,
Pain is -
Fate eraser. [8]

# Pleasure rewrites
Rupture,

[...] Read more

poem by Dr. Sakti P. Chakravorty
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Quatrains Of Life

What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?

What did it bring me that I loved it, even
With joy before it and that dream of Heaven,
Boyhood's first rapture of requited bliss,
What did it give? What ever has it given?

'Let me recount the value of my days,
Call up each witness, mete out blame and praise,
Set life itself before me as it was,
And--for I love it--list to what it says.

Oh, I will judge it fairly. Each old pleasure
Shared with dead lips shall stand a separate treasure.
Each untold grief, which now seems lesser pain,
Shall here be weighed and argued of at leisure.

I will not mark mere follies. These would make
The count too large and in the telling take
More tears than I can spare from seemlier themes
To cure its laughter when my heart should ache.

Only the griefs which are essential things,
The bitter fruit which all experience brings;
Nor only of crossed pleasures, but the creed
Men learn who deal with nations and with kings.

All shall be counted fairly, griefs and joys,
Solely distinguishing 'twixt mirth and noise,
The thing which was and that which falsely seemed,
Pleasure and vanity, man's bliss and boy's.

So I shall learn the reason of my trust
In this poor life, these particles of dust
Made sentient for a little while with tears,
Till the great ``may--be'' ends for me in ``must.''

My childhood? Ah, my childhood! What of it
Stripped of all fancy, bare of all conceit?
Where is the infancy the poets sang?
Which was the true and which the counterfeit?

I see it now, alas, with eyes unsealed,
That age of innocence too well revealed.
The flowers I gathered--for I gathered flowers--
Were not more vain than I in that far field.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Ordinary Pain

When by the phone
In vain you sit
You very soon in your mind realize that its not just
An ordinary pain in your heart
When you by chance
Go knock on her door
Walkin away youre convinced that its much more
Than just an ordinary pain in your heart
Its more than just
An ordinary pain in your heart
When you catch up
But she says goodbye
Hold back your tears and before you start to cry
Say you feel unnecessary pain in your heart
Tell her youre glad
Its over in fact
Can she take with her the pain she brought you back
Takin that ordinary pain from your heart
Its more than just
An ordinary pain from your heart
Dont fool yourself
But tell no one else
That its more than just
An ordinary pain
In your heart
In your heart
In your heart
Part ii
Youre just a masachistic fool
Because you knew my love was cruel
You never listened when they said
Dont let that girl go to your head
But like a play boy you said no
Or*di*nary pain
This little girl mind you will blow
Or*di*nary pain
But then I blew you out the box
Or*di*nary pain
When I put my stuff on key and lock
Or*di*nary pain
It makes me feel kind of sick
Or*di*nary pain
To know love put you in a trick
Or*di*nary pain
I knew our love would have to end
Or*di*nary pain
The day I made it with your friend
Or*di*nary pain
Giving your love to one unreal
Or*di*nary pain

[...] Read more

song performed by Stevie Wonder
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Three Women

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.

Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.

Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.

Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.

1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.

Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Pain Pain by cedrick dennis

Pain Pain over here pain over there Pain in my heart pain in my soul Pain in my mind Pain in my skin pain in my bones Pain being caused left and right Pain being caused till the heart bleeds red Pain being caused till the skin and bone rip Pain being caused till you break into tears Pain at school Pain at home Pain in my head, pain in my heart Pain in my mind, pain in my soul Pain happening in my sleep Pain happening in my thoughts Pain happening when I’m alone Pain happening in the shower, in my room, in my bed, in my house where I’m all alone Pain happening every hour, every minute, every second of my life Pain caused by anger and hate Pain caused by hurt Pain caused by greed Pain caused by sorrow and depression Pain caused by grief and confusion Pain caused by your family and friends Pain caused by the world Pain caused by people you love Pain driving me crazy Causing me to take pills till it fills up my veins I go to sleep never to wake up and see that light The light that will end my pain for good

poem by Cedrick Dennis
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Pain Is So Close To Pleasure

Words and music by freddie mercury and john deacon
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure oh yeah
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all
Your life
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure everybody knows
One day we love each other then were fighting one another
All the time
When I was young and just getting started
And people talked to me they sounded broken hearted
Then I grew up and got my imagination
And all I wanted was to start a new relation
So in love but love had a bad reaction
I was looking for some good old satisfaction
But pain is all I got when all I needed was some love and
Affection
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure yeah yeah
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all
Your life
Pain and pleasure
Ooh ooh pain and pleasure
When your plans go wrong and you turn out the light
But inside of your mind you have to put up a fight
Where are the answers that were all searching for
Theres nothing in this world to be sure of anymore
Some days youre feeling good some days youre feeling bad
But if youre feeling happy someone else is always sad
Let the sweetness of love wipe the tears from your face
For better for worse so lets make the best of the rest of our
Years
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure I told you so
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all
Your life
Pain and pleasure
Ooh ooh pain is so close to pleasure yeah yeah
Sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together all
Your life
All your life
Pain - pleasure ....

song performed by Queen
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Wisdom Of Merlyn

These are the time--words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,
All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his manhood hoarded,
All the wit of his years unsealed, to the witless alms awarded.

These are his time--gifts of song, his help to the heavy--laden,
Words of an expert of life, who has gathered its sins in his sack, its virtues to grieve and gladden,
Speaking aloud as one who is strong to the heart of man, wife and maiden.

For he is Merlyn of old, the once young, the still robed in glory,
Ancient of days though he be, with wisdom only for wealth and the crown of his locks grown hoary,
Yet with the rage of his soul untamed, the skill of his lips in story.

He dares not unhouselled die, who has seen, who has known, who has tasted
What of the splendours of Time, of the wise wild joys of the Earth, of the newness of pleasures quested,
All that is neither of then nor now, Truth's naked self clean--breasted,

Things of youth and of strength, the Earth with its infinite pity,
Glories of mountain and plain, of streams that wind from the hills to the insolent human city,
Dark with its traders of human woe enthroned in the seats of the mighty.

Fair things nobler than Man before the day of his ruling,
Free in their ancient peace, ere he came to change, to destroy, to hinder with his schooling,
Asking naught that was his to give save freedom from his fooling.

Beautiful, wonderful, wise, a consonant law--ruled heaven,
Garden ungardened yet, in need yet hardly of God to walk there noon or even,
Beast and bird and flower in its place, Earth's wonders more than seven.

Of these he would speak and confess, to the young who regard not their heirship,
Of beauty to boys who are blind, of might to the impotent strong, to the women who crowd Time's fair ship,
Of pearls deep hid in Love's Indian seas, the name of the God they worship.

Thus let it be with Merlyn before his daylight is ended,
One last psalm of his life, the light of it lipped with laughter, the might of it mixed and blended
Still with the subtle sweet need of tears than Pleasure's self more splendid,

Psalm and hymn of the Earth expounding what Time teaches,
Creed no longer of wrath, of silent issueless hopes, of a thing which beyond Man's reach is,
Hope deferred till the heart grows sick, while the preacher vainly preaches.

Nay but a logic of life, which needeth no deferring,
Life with its birthright love, the sun the wind and the rain in multiple pleasure stirring
Under the summer leaves at noon, with no sad doubt of erring,

No sad legend of sin, since his an innocent Eden
Is, and a garden of grace, its gateway clear of the sword, its alleys not angel--ridden,
Its tree of life at the lips of all and never a fruit forbidden.

Merlyn is no vain singer to vex men's ears in the street,
Nay, nor a maid's unbidden. He importuneth none with his song, be it never so wild and sweet.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Love For Sale

If you walk in the red light at night
In the black velvet hour
If you look you will see their delight
Theyre the purest of flowers
Theyve got love for sale
The money they earn when everybody wants them
Money for pleasure, pleasure and pain
Theyve got love for sale
Money and sex, addicted to drugs
Pleasure and pain c together they walk
Money and sex, addicted to drugs
Pleasure and pain c together they walk
What they get is addicted to drugs
To ease all their sorrows
What they get is addicted to drugs
To ease all their sorrows
Theyve got love for sale
The money they earn when everybody wants them
Money for pleasure, pleasure and pain
Theyve got love for sale
Illusions for your mind
They are just illusions for your mind...
Theyve got love for sale
The money they earn when everybody wants them
Money for pleasure, pleasure and pain
Theyve got love for sale
Money and sex, addicted to drugs
Pleasure and pain c together they walk
Money and sex, addicted to drugs
Pleasure and pain c together they walk

song performed by Ace Of Base
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Pleasure & Pain

[u-god]
Once again...
Through the storms... I gotta stay strong
Take deep breaths, hold on long, bring the harm
With no regrets, on my chest, let me knowledge be born
On levels, wild, devil copters mark my every step
When the riots form, my woman keeps me warm
>from fort green I sing the song mean
Bring the calm overseas, glide high in the skies
Sky dive... far... far as the eye could see
In the midst of acapell, I ball my fist up
Unravel, travellin to the cells of gotti
I shot up a shell, will he drop? will he flop?
Will he go pop a cell? is his mind frail?
The worst is groove frantic, he expand the planet
Plan harder, your godfathers plans failed
I air mail the senseless scar, two snub noses
Niggas love those expensive cars
Is it him and those twenty inch rims, splittin the tar?
An amazon woman from the stripbar
God, it varies, halley berry, stars eatin hard cherries
This world is bizarre, not bein far from mars
Galaxy hoppin, non-stoppin the sun rays
Stay and paid for real, til Im old and grey
Pretty legs, of course, soft as clay
Degrees, hot breeze in your hair all day, all day
Engaged a lot, rockin hot and cold chains
Is my brain vain? flames, still dock the missles
Let off one, stay in your lane
Everybody got issues, Im drunk off the rum
Numb, one case got thrown out in dismissal
Everybody got pistols, but will the referee blow the whistle
Before I lock on your ass, bone gristle?
These streets is crystal, crystal, crystal
[hell razah]
Pleasure and pain, some took lead to the brain
Got rich and couldnt live for the end of the game
Government chain, breakin off the slavery chain
>from a weddin to a funeral, its pleasure and pain
Guns, gangs cock back, ready to aim
Call in fergusons, ridin on the back of the train
Televisions and this cocaine, got us insane
We got to war, if we all got a burner, then flame
Baby showers, same day as nuclear showers
Prophecys harsh, world will be destroyed in an hour
Shots fired in the night, from the heart of the coward
Stop the crow from the young flowers, goin to howard
Brooklyn babe ruth, raised in fatigues and boots
Blue-printin who we hittin, and we need to shoot
No description, all though it was dark, an egyptain

[...] Read more

song performed by U-god
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The Castle Of Indolence

The castle hight of Indolence,
And its false luxury;
Where for a little time, alas!
We lived right jollily.

O mortal man, who livest here by toil,
Do not complain of this thy hard estate;
That like an emmet thou must ever moil,
Is a sad sentence of an ancient date:
And, certes, there is for it reason great;
For, though sometimes it makes thee weep and wail,
And curse thy star, and early drudge and late;
Withouten that would come a heavier bale,
Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.
In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,
With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,
Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;
And there a season atween June and May,
Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrown'd,
A listless climate made, where, sooth to say,
No living wight could work, ne cared even for play.
Was nought around but images of rest:
Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between;
And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kest,
From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant green,
Where never yet was creeping creature seen.
Meantime, unnumber'd glittering streamlets play'd,
And hurled every where their waters sheen;
That, as they bicker'd through the sunny glade,
Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made.
Join'd to the prattle of the purling rills
Were heard the lowing herds along the vale,
And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills,
And vacant shepherds piping in the dale:
And, now and then, sweet Philomel would wail,
Or stock-doves plain amid the forest deep,
That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale;
And still a coil the grasshopper did keep;
Yet all these sounds yblent inclined all to sleep.
Full in the passage of the vale, above,
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood;
Where nought but shadowy forms was seen to move,
As Idless fancied in her dreaming mood:
And up the hills, on either side, a wood
Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro,
Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood;
And where this valley winded out, below,
The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Pleasure. Book II.

The Argument

Solomon, again seeking happiness, inquires if wealth and greatness can produce it: begins with the magnificence of gardens and buildings; the luxury of music and feasting; and proceeds to the hopes and desires of love. In two episodes are shown the follies and troubles of that passion. Solomon, still disappointed, falls under the temptations of libertinism and idolatry; recovers his thought; reasons aright; and concludes that, as to the pursuit of pleasure and sensual delight, All Is Vanity and Vexation of Spirit.

Try then, O man, the moments to deceive
That from the womb attend thee to the grave:
For wearied Nature find some apter scheme;
Health be thy hope, and pleasure be thy theme;
From the perplexing and unequal ways
Where Study brings thee from the endless maze
Which Doubt persuades o run, forewarn'd, recede
To the gay field, and flowery path, that lead
To jocund mirth, soft joy, and careless ease:
Forsake what my instruct for what may please:
Essay amusing art and proud expense,
And make thy reason subject to thy sense.

I communed thus: the power of wealth I tried,
And all the various luxe of costly pride;
Artists and plans relieved my solemn hours:
I founded palaces and planted bowers,
Birds, fishes, beasts, of exotic kind
I to the limits of my court confined,
To trees transferr'd I gave a second birth,
And bade a foreign shade grace Judah's earth.
Fish-ponds were made where former forests grew
And hills were levell'd to extend the view.
Rivers, diverted from their native course,
And bound with chains of artificial force,
From large cascades in pleasing tumult roll'd,
Or rose through figured stone or breathing gold.
From furthest Africa's tormented womb
The marble brought, erects the spacious dome,
Or forms the pillars' long-extended rows,
On which the planted grove and pensile garden grows.

The workmen here obey the master's call,
To gild the turret and to paint the wall;
To mark the pavement there with various stone,
And on the jasper steps to rear the throne:
The spreading cedar, that an age had stood,
Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood,
Cut down and carved, my shining roof adorns,
And Lebanon his ruin'd honour mourns.

A thousand artists show their cunning powers
To raise the wonders of the ivory towers:
A thousand maidens ply the purple loom

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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Pleasure XXIV

Then a hermit, who visited the city once a year, came forth and said, "Speak to us of Pleasure."

And he answered, saying:

Pleasure is a freedom song,

But it is not freedom.

It is the blossoming of your desires,

But it is not their fruit.

It is a depth calling unto a height,

But it is not the deep nor the high.

It is the caged taking wing,

But it is not space encompassed.

Ay, in very truth, pleasure is a freedom-song.

And I fain would have you sing it with fullness of heart; yet I would not have you lose your hearts in the singing.

Some of your youth seek pleasure as if it were all, and they are judged and rebuked.

I would not judge nor rebuke them. I would have them seek.

For they shall find pleasure, but not her alone:

Seven are her sisters, and the least of them is more beautiful than pleasure.

Have you not heard of the man who was digging in the earth for roots and found a treasure?

And some of your elders remember pleasures with regret like wrongs committed in drunkenness.

But regret is the beclouding of the mind and not its chastisement.

They should remember their pleasures with gratitude, as they would the harvest of a summer.

Yet if it comforts them to regret, let them be comforted.

And there are among you those who are neither young to seek nor old to remember;

And in their fear of seeking and remembering they shun all pleasures, lest they neglect the spirit or offend against it.

But even in their foregoing is their pleasure.

And thus they too find a treasure though they dig for roots with quivering hands.

[...] Read more

poem by Khalil Gibran
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Purple Pain-A Parody

Inspired by Barny the purple dinosaur

Parody of Prince's song Purple Rain

Purple pain
You were always meant I know
To cause me sorrow
You were always meant I know
To make me wanna bleed my own blood and gouge out my eyes
You were always meant I know
To cause me pain
Now all I ever want
Since I saw you on my tv screen is for you
You damm purple pain to drown
In the purple rain

Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain

I only want to see you drowning in the purple rain
Oh you damm purple pain

I never wanted my kids to love you
I only thought of you as some kind of fiend
Barney, I could never stand you for another minute
So my television now I must turn off
Even through I know it would make my babies cry
It's such a shame that your lifetime has't come to a end
Oh, oh yes it is

Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain

I only wanted to see you drown
You damm purple pain
In the purple rain

[...] Read more

poem by Ramona Thompson
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Pain for you

This pain is for you
Many things I believe for you is pain
I dont want any pain from you but I accepted your pain
I'll take the pain from you forever

Pain can be your own mistake
pain can lead to your own troubles
pain can lead to anything inside of you
you just need to get some help
you need some assistances to get you out of the pain

Many pains cannot be removed
many can stay forever and ever
many think pain isnt nothing for them
pain is everything you learn from outside world

you may get it someday
someday you will see what I learn from pain
you can see me with cuts on my arms
that was pain, everything I want is pain

Love is pain too you know
you left me alone in the outside world
pain is getting inside of me, not letting me go
I'm alone in the darkness of shadows

This pain is for you
Many things I believe for you is pain
I dont want any pain from you but I accepted your pain
I'll take the pain from you forever

This pain is everything painful has it is
ready for everything is to be done for you
I'll be ready for everyone's pain
Every shadows of darkness is there inside of me
tearing me apart to learn from you and the people

So I'll take everyone's pain away
so you can tell me about your pain and
forever pure

poem by Hunter Kejick
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Pain - The Inside Story

Have you seen pain?
No you cannot see.
No you cannot feel.
Only the one who is suffering!
He can see pain.

All you can see is the tears from his eyes.
All you listen, his shivering scream and cries.

You just becomes witness and pray to God.
Still nothing happens and you become sad.

Pain comes to your near or dear.
Brings us more closer to your dear.
Pain comes to any neighbor or stranger.
You close your eyes and then who care.

Transform your pain into creativity.
Transform your pain into spirituality.
Then pain becomes your emotions.
This will cure all your tensions.

Let it flow from heart, instead of body.
Let it flow from soul as your creativity.
- Like words flowing as poetry.
- Like colors flowing as painting.
Then whole world seems changing.
You can see the change in geometry.

The last secret of pain is yet to tell.
Pain is heaven and also pain is hell.
Pain is north pole, pain is south pole.
In our life pain plays an important role.

Pain are two opposite shores of happiness.
One is the beginning other is the end.
One is the Sunset other is the sunrise.
One brings light other brings darkness.

Pain is reaction of our actions.
Pain is results of our 'Karmas.'
What wrong we do, pain is the byproduct.
What right we do still pain is the byproduct.
In first case pain is stored.
In final case pain is released.

Eat chilly for first time, see the pain of belly.
When chilly is released again see the pain of belly.
See the pain when you get cramp.
See the pain when you release the cramp.

[...] Read more

poem by Ramesh Kavdia
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Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter IV

How shall I take up this vain parable
And ravel out its issue? Heaven and Hell,
The principles of good and evil thought,
Embodied in our lives, have blindly fought
Too long for empire in my soul to leave
Much for its utterance, much that it can grieve.
A soldier on the battlefield of life,
I have grown callous to the signs of strife,
And feel the wounds of others and my own
With scarce a tremor and without a groan.
I have seen many perish in their sins,
Known much of frailty and inconsequence,
And if I laughed once, now I dare not be
Other than sad at man's insanity.
Therefore, in all humility of years,
Colder and wiser for hopes drowned in tears,
And seeking no more quarries for my mirth,
Who most need pity of the sons of earth,
I dip in kindlier ink my chastened pen,
And fill of my lost tale what leaves remain.

Years passed. Griselda from my wandering sight
Had waned and vanished, like a meteor bright,
Leaving no pathway in my manhood's heaven
Save only memories vaguely unforgiven
Of something fair and sad, which for a day
Had lit its zenith and had gone its way.
Rome and the Prince, the tale that I had heard,
Griselda's beauty--all that once had stirred
My curious thought to wonder and regret,
In the vexed problem of her woman's fate,
Had yielded place to the world's work--day cares,
The wealth it covets and the toil it dares.
I was no more a boy, when idle chance
And that light favour which attends romance
Brought me once more within the transient spell
Of other days, and dreams of Lady L.

'Twas in September--(I have always found
That month in my life's record dangerous ground,
Whether it be due to some unreasoned stress
Of the mad stars which dog our happiness,
Or whether, since in truth most things are due
To natural causes, if our blindness knew,
To the strong law of Nature's first decay,
Warning betimes of time that cannot stay,
And summer perishing, and hours to come,
Lit by less hope in the year's martyrdom;
And so we needs must seize at any cost
Fleet pleasure's hem lest all our day be lost)--

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poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Growth of Love

1
They that in play can do the thing they would,
Having an instinct throned in reason's place,
--And every perfect action hath the grace
Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood--
These are the best: yet be there workmen good
Who lose in earnestness control of face,
Or reckon means, and rapt in effort base
Reach to their end by steps well understood.
Me whom thou sawest of late strive with the pains
Of one who spends his strength to rule his nerve,
--Even as a painter breathlessly who stains
His scarcely moving hand lest it should swerve--
Behold me, now that I have cast my chains,
Master of the art which for thy sake I serve.

2
For thou art mine: and now I am ashamed
To have uséd means to win so pure acquist,
And of my trembling fear that might have misst
Thro' very care the gold at which I aim'd;
And am as happy but to hear thee named,
As are those gentle souls by angels kisst
In pictures seen leaving their marble cist
To go before the throne of grace unblamed.
Nor surer am I water hath the skill
To quench my thirst, or that my strength is freed
In delicate ordination as I will,
Than that to be myself is all I need
For thee to be most mine: so I stand still,
And save to taste my joy no more take heed.

3
The whole world now is but the minister
Of thee to me: I see no other scheme
But universal love, from timeless dream
Waking to thee his joy's interpreter.
I walk around and in the fields confer
Of love at large with tree and flower and stream,
And list the lark descant upon my theme,
Heaven's musical accepted worshipper.
Thy smile outfaceth ill: and that old feud
'Twixt things and me is quash'd in our new truce;
And nature now dearly with thee endued
No more in shame ponders her old excuse,
But quite forgets her frowns and antics rude,
So kindly hath she grown to her new use.

4

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poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Pain is a plenty harried thing

Pain is a plenty harried thing,
It too is in plentiful pain.
Pain too prays for reprieve from the Lord,
It too wishes for a merciful end;
Pain has pained itself with the painful realization,
That it is the root of the cause of the source of all pain;
That is why pain is a plenty harried thing,
For it too is in plentiful pain.

Pain is a plenty harried thing,
It too hopes that the morrow starts at leisure
And that maybe it could rise (one day) from within itself
And become its prodigal brother: Pleasure.
We blame pain, we hate pain but we all go seeking it,
Pain doesn’t stalk us, we stalk pain;
If it wasn’t for us, Pain would yet be an unknown hermit,
For it too is in plentiful pain.

Pain is a plenty harried thing,
It too gazes into the stars and watches the days go by without reform;
Pain grieves for the pain it feels deep inside,
Pain too struggles against exploit and harm.
Pain is the seedling of the plant of the tree,
Of Life, which is nothing without this pain;
And I do not crave Pain and it does not crave me,
For it too is in plentiful pain.

poem by Samah Khan
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Gone To Forget To Leave

There are those who may choose to die.
For whatever reason...
Eyes are wanting to feel,
A realness and not a friction to absorb.
When platters of gold filled deceit,
Offer nothing else to be fed....
With a side order of sincerity seen,
Or felt to mention.

'Gone to forget to leave'

And the feasting of this is encouraged.

Until dishonesty is all that one dreads.
With a wish to numb the head,
From the stirrings that occur from truths.
And although the eating of deceit weakens,
On a daily basis when that addiction eats...
A cry goes unheard.
A sickening overwhelms...
And,
A wish to be released from it increases.

'Gone to forget to leave'

An encouraged emotionally abandoned mind...
Feeds until the peace of eternal rest has come,
Of what is wished.
And with a consciousness,
Desperately wanting transistion now a mission...
But never accepted to come from one so...
Talented and gifted!

But hurting from a place...
No one took the time to touch to get to know,
And so much pain was inside hiding.

And what was known to God,
Has joined the stars awaiting.
Pain was inside hiding.
Pain was inside hiding.

And what was known to God,
Has joined...
With the others worthy.

Pain was inside hiding.
Pain was inside hiding.

And what was known,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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