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In The Middle Of A Hot Sunny Day

the morning
is dizzy

the night has offered
it nothing

but that darkness that it feeds
whole and dreary

noon time is harsh
with an impending kill

the mind indeed is
unpredictable like

a rain that comes in the
middle of a hot

sunny day

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I Welcome The Rain That Comes In The Month Of August

equate the month of august with agony, it simply sounds like that
does not jibe well with sorrow or sadness, sounds too underestimating
and it goes well with the rain that comes surprisingly today
on this hot month, on this arid soil, on this acrid atmosphere

between us, this silence, inside us the rambling thoughts of
alienation, around us is the smell of spices of separation those that
when sliced like onions when peeled by our trembling fingers make us cry,

out there our eyes look at different directions and our hands are taking
the forms of mutual dislike like some roots spreading down the deep recesses
of this earth, preferring to be anonymous in this undescribable boredom

i like the rain, the sound of dripping, the slowness of life, dripping from my
hands like raindrops, like things gradually wasting themselves reaching my
toes, numb to my nails, wanting to be buried to the ground and simply

be forgotten

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The Night Has A Thousand Eyes

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

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The night has dawned

the night has dawned
for a star shining
shining more brightly
than either moon or sun
and you'll be called
in its smile that's miming
a path of a daughter and of a son
you'll step on a grain
invisible dust
silver spelled again
sucked in it fast

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Every-Night Has a Shadow

Everynight I look upon the sky'
I see the magic star of love
The bright star of faith and miracles
I see the magic star of hope
The symbol of holiness and eternity
I look out unto the night I see the star of memories
As I face the sky I trace back to the past
Where the was hardships of peace
I look upon the star of light I see a chance`
'Of having relish and a rare nutural comfort
I look carefully at the star of friendship
The one that has the spirit of life in it
As the sun arises the morning is being restored
Another day to glorify the Son of Man
As I glorify the Prince of peace, streams of water'
That has life comes into my presence
I see the doors of paradise being opened.

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The Night Has A Thousand Eyes

They say that youre a run around lover
Tho you say it isnt so
But if you put me down for another
Ill know, believe me
Ill know
cause the night has a thousand eyes
And a thousand eyes cant help but see
If you arent true to me
So remember when you tell those
Little white lies that the night
Has a thousand eyes
One of these days youre gonna be sorry
cause your game Im gonna play
And youll find out without really trying
Each time that my kisses stray
That the night has a thousand eyes
And a thousand eyes will see me through
And no matter what I do
I could never disguise
All those little white lies
cause the night has a thousand eyes
So remember when you tell those
Little white lies that the night
Has a thousand eyes

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The Night Has Fallen Asleep

The night has fallen asleep
And the city has fallen asleep also
The snowstorm started

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The Night Has Its Innocence

THE NIGHT HAS ITS INNOCENCE

The night has its innocence
The fields open to the sky’
The passerbys – each to their own destination.
No war.

And I walking
So quiet inside
As if nothing we love
Could ever die.

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The night has come early

The night has come early,
the thunder hits with power
at my house against the hillock,
as if it is coming from God himself,
when you knock I am surprised,
see the lights of your car shining,
it is very rough outside
with rain against the windows,
you embrace me, take my hand.

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In The Quiet Of The Long Dark Night

IN THE QUIET OF THE LONG DARK NIGHT


In the quiet of the long dark night,
After a fast day,
I feel myself coming alive again-
The words move in my mind
And on the page.
I am no longer stuck in where I am deeply afraid-
I know I can write
And know I am alive again-
As if all that time waiting and praying
Was only to return me to my better self-
God being with us when we have faith in what we must do.

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The Black of Night

The black of night
Gives most people fright
But me
I feel free
In the black of night

In the black of night
Most people loose their sight
Because they cannot see
With out their precious light
In the black of night

Most people think the black of night is not right
But to me the black of night
Is one of the most grandest sights! !

Every day I wait and wait
Waiting to see that beautiful sight
Every day I wait and wait
For the black of night

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Emily Dickinson

The Grass so little has to do

The Grass so little has to do –
A Sphere of simple Green –
With only Butterflies to brood
And Bees to entertain –
And stir all day to pretty Tunes
The Breezes fetch along –
And hold the Sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything –

And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls –
And make itself so fine
A Duchess were too common
For such a noticing –

And even when it dies – to pass
In Odors so divine –
Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep –
Or Spikenards, perishing –

And then, in Sovereign Barns to dwell –
And dream the Days away,
The Grass so little has to do
I wish I were a Hay –

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In The Time That It Takes To Park A Cream Coloured Car

On a autumn day in the time
that it takes to park a cream coloured car
a devastating ball of fire, of flame
detonates shattering
in Church Street, Pretoria
on the twentieth of May nineteen eighty three

causing shrapnel to fly down in the street
splintering, scattering
flying, piercing glass
from all the buildings facing the street
in a deadly shimmering rain

murdering, maiming blowing to bits
the innocent civilian men, women and children
passing by in the street

for a political cause
giving a loud hell of a bang
of a applause
as if the whole of humanity
has gone insane
leaving blood, guts, body parts
and the survivors in terrible pain.

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The Shadows & The Wind

Oh, theyre moving in again
Hidden by the shadows
And the wind
But well just wait awhile and then
Well show em all that
This time we aint giving in
Without a care they
Sweep aside our dreams
To try and make way for their own
No more should we surrender
To their schemes
Its time to stand and
Show em we are not alone
Time has changed us all
We have our minds
Life has taught us
We all have our love
And its time to use it, use it
Nature gave us colour
Day and night
So if you really got a reason
Then you better be right
The seasons of the year
Still are spring and fall
But theres nothing in the world
Thats says its right to fight
Time has changed us all
We have our minds
Life has taught us
We all have our love
Why dont we use it
Come on and use it
Why dont we use it
Come on and use it
La la la la la ...

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Walt Whitman

On The Beach At Night, Alone

ON the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining--I think a thought of the clef of
the universes, and of the future.

A VAST SIMILITUDE interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
comets, asteroids,
All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual upon the
same,
All distances of place, however wide,
All distances of time--all inanimate forms,
All Souls--all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in
different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes--the fishes, the
brutes, 10
All men and women--me also;
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages;
All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any
globe;
All lives and deaths--all of the past, present, future;
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd, and shall
forever span them, and compactly hold them, and enclose them.

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The Logic Of Poetry Has a Color And Shape Of Its Own

THE LOGIC OF POETRY HAS A COLOR AND SHAPE OF ITS OWN

The logic of poetry has a color and shape of its own
Its clear silences ring deeply as paradox confounded into meaning
How many others have made Beauty of words
And still are sung of only by the Silence?

How these days go by longing to remain alive
Because life itself bears within it the best of these most poignant dying moments?

Our doom is certain and our final word never to be clearly heard
But we as we are can be in this world for our time with all its beauty as us-
There is no more wonder than this God gives-

We look out and up each day as a child may still look for its first light above-

No one knows where the darkness ends and even if it is darkness at all
We say the word ‘God’ and all we know and mean is that our greatest meaning must be beyond us – if it is to be at all
‘God’ we say ‘God’
And who are we and what are we
if not a part too of this Beauty somehow greater than we can ourselves ever really hold on to?

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The Heart Is A Chapel

(the heart is a chapel, and the words, feelings
thoughts, ' are the people'
you don't know what will come in
or leave thru those doors.
but! you are the pastor of this chapel
and you see only the goodness
that the LORD has given you.)

so you open those doors wide
for no one will be denied.

you hear and see the hurt and pain
and you know that it's a shame
that people can not see the beauties
but! just the misery.

this chapel will overcome anything
that comes its way.
for it cannot be torn down, burned down
or layed to the ground.

for your LORD made it strong from the start
this is why he calls it the 'heart'.
there will be a light so strong
and so bright
that it will brighten even the darkess night.

this chapel is a chapel of dreams
of things seen and unseen.

for the more that you have
hopes and aspirations

this will strengten the foundation.

it will make it stronger than its ever been
and repel all the sins.
this is the chapel that the
LORD gave to us.
and in him, we put our trust.

a strong heart will always heal
for it is something that you cannot steal
or shape to your desire.

it is a growing fire, that will spread
to everything in its way
and get stronger day by day.

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Our time together has passed

I cannot under stand you
and love that’s vaporized and is suddenly gone.
It’s quarter to twelve at night
and you have broken my heart
and I can’t close an eye.

You say that I must leave you and go
and I do not know
where to go from here
and life squashes me
and my contract is finished
and I have no fixed job
and cannot find it at any place
and every thing ends
just like my work..

It’s a hell of a thing
to look at someone
and to see how it looks,
when love is totally gone.

Suddenly every thing that was right
is gone from you and I do not know why
and it cuts me in two,
but maybe I just tried to hard
to make a life with you.

I do not know when
I hurt you so much,
that the walls
are folding in on you
and how our relationship
can be destroying you
and you want me to go
to find yourself again.

On a day you write a wonderful love poem
and two days later,
there’s nothing of that love left
and I get no answer
and do not know why I have lost you
and still I pray about it,
but you laugh when I cry
and beg you to try one more time..

Later you are crying
and my heart breaks for you
and you say goodnight
and I do not know,
how to say anything back
while I go and lie in the lounge
and this is the most painful goodbye.

I remember your voice
of moon drops in the night
and wish
that I still could stay with you,
but darkness folds around me
and our time together has passed.

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Dinosaurs In The Suburbs

Go to Crystal Palace Park in the dead of night,
And you are sure to be given a very big fright.
The dinosaurs, which you see there in the Park,
Suddenly all spring to life when it grows dark.

They stand stock still as statues during the day,
But, at night, they all chorus ‘Hip-hip- hooray! '
Around the Palace Park, the dinosaurs roam:
Looking for food, every inch they will comb.

They have resided at the Park for many a year;
Faint hearted folk will not dare venture near.
Some of the local neighbours, who live nearby
Have reported hearing the odd frightened cry.

The statues seem to cause a slight feeling of unease;
On seeing them, some folk simply stop and freeze.
During the day, the dinosaurs will do you no harm;
Some people think they even behold a slight charm.

As soon as the daylight begins to fail,
Frightened little children begin to wail.
They know that the dinosaurs will come alive,
So, through the Park gates, they quickly dive.

When the Keeper locks up the gates at night,
He makes sure that they are locked really tight:
He doesn't want the dinosaurs running around,
Scaring the neighbours and terrorizing the town.

Of course, the dinosaurs could easily break out,
But, their cover would be blown, without a doubt.
So they stay well within the Park's perimeter fence,
Shrouded by the vegetation, which grows so dense.

To humans, hungry dinosaurs can be a big threat,
But, luckily, no one has ever been eaten as yet.
So, if you're ever nearby, and you hear a loud roar,
Chances are it will be one of the local dinosaurs!

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Walt Whitman

Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field one Night

Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return'd with a look I shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach'd up as you lay on the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,
Till late in the night reliev'd to the place at last again I made my way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest comrade -- not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket,
And buried him where he fell.

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Wallace Stevens

The Man On The Dump

Day creeps down. The moon is creeping up.
The sun is a corbeil of flowers the moon Blanche
Places there, a bouquet. Ho-ho…The dump is full
Of images. Days pass like papers from a press.
The bouquets come here in the papers. So the sun,
And so the moon, both come, and the janitor's poems
Of every day, the wrapper on the can of pears,
The cat in the paper-bag, the corset, the box
From Esthonia: the tiger chest, for tea.

The freshness of night has been fresh a long time.
The freshness of morning, the blowing of day, one says
That it puffs as Cornelius Nepos reads, it puffs
More than, less than or it puffs like this or that.
The green smacks in the eye, the dew in the green
Smacks like fresh water in a can, like the sea
On a cocoanut—how many men have copied dew
For buttons, how many women have covered themselves
With dew, dew dresses, stones and chains of dew, heads
Of the floweriest flowers dewed with the dewiest dew.
One grows to hate these things except on the dump.

Now in the time of spring (azaleas, trilliums,
Myrtle, viburnums, daffodils, blue phlox) ,
Between that disgust and this, between the things
That are on the dump (azaleas and so on)
And those that will be (azaleas and so on) ,
One feels the purifying change. One rejects
The trash.

That's the moment when the moon creeps up
To the bubbling of bassoons. That's the time
One looks at the elephant-colorings of tires.
Everything is shed; and the moon comes up as the moon
(All its images are in the dump) and you see
As a man (not like an image of a man) ,
You see the moon rise in the empty sky.

One sits and beats an old tin can, lard pail.
One beats and beats for that which one believes.
That's what one wants to get near. Could it after all
Be merely oneself, as superior as the ear
To a crow's voice? Did the nightingale torture the ear,
Pack the heart and scratch the mind? And does the ear
Solace itself in peevish birds? Is it peace,
Is it a philosopher's honeymoon, one finds
On the dump? Is it to sit among mattresses of the dead,
Bottles, pots, shoes, and grass and murmur aptest eve:
Is it to hear the blatter of grackles and say
Invisible priest; is it to eject, to pull
The day to pieces and cry stanza my stone?
Where was it one first heard of the truth? The the.

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