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Here, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change, no change I see,
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walkt by me.

Yes; I forgot; a change there is;
Was it of that you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
The sight, the tone, I know so well.

Only two months since you stood here!
Two shortest months! then tell me why
Voices are harsher than they were,
And tears are longer ere they dry.

poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Mourning Tide

Too many years spent upon this pier of life...
My naked feet dangling
Barely touching the sea's water;
Way too much salted air in my lungs to breathe
And Neptune just keeps on calling;
Fathomless feeling's are growing dim
As the absence of your sunlight obscures;
Far too many storms fought upon harsher waters...
Loosing hope in all that matters;
Davy Jones locker is somber this day
As time cries on
And destiny follows;

poem by Theodora Onken
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Absence

HERE, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change no change I see:
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walk'd by me.

Yes; I forgot; a change there is-
Was it of that you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
The sight, the tone, I know so well.

Only two months since you stood here?
Two shortest months? Then tell me why
Voices are harsher than they were,
And tears are longer ere they dry.

poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Acclimatised.

Softly, softly rain is falling.
The thirsty earth accepts with grace.
Harsher memories recalling.
Another time another place.
Just praying for the monsoon rains.
To dispel the cloying heat
So we can breathe cool air again.
A prayer we endlessly repeat.
But this is now and that was then.
Long, long ago and far away
Now we have returned home again
We have no further need to pray.
For blessed rain to cool the air.
It rains most days but I don't care.

Wednesday,07 March 2012.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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SAD PEOPLE...by Talile Ali

SAD PEOPLE
STAYIN IN THE HOMES
SAD PEOPLE
EVER SO ALONE
SAD PEOPLE
NEVER KNOWIN LOVE
SAD PEOPLE
LUSTIN FROM ABOVE

USE TO BE LOVERS
USE TO BE FRIENDS
PLEDGE TO EACH OTHER
TO THE VERY END

WORDS BECOME HARSHER
TOUCH BECOMES CRUEL
OUT GOES THE LOVIN
IN COMES THE FOOL

DEMEANING EACH OTHER

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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Watch Your Move

You seem to like my moves,
In the rare instant lies my very moves.
To lie is harsh, harsher still,
For they wonder far on the other side,
Reaching into the gladness, as fine as sand.
You seem to know my face very well,
Yet I do not know your custom, your dignified approach.
The hazards of existence number too many
Yesterday was a brighter day,
And my moves be saved, all in hope of something new.
I can not dare it, nor speak it,
In this fashion is the gladness I have found.
My moves are expected to affect the sighted people
And you too.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Absence

HERE, ever since you went abroad,
   If there be change no change I see:
I only walk our wonted road,
   The road is only walk'd by me.

Yes; I forgot; a change there is--
   Was it of that you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
   The sight, the tone, I know so well.

Only two months since you stood here?
   Two shortest months? Then tell me why
Voices are harsher than they were,
   And tears are longer ere they dry.

poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Holding

Holding like a rod in thieves’ blood,
In step you heat those blood vessels
I call him to they who walk the eastern times
And reflect over virtual waters sold forever to God.

Against anguish my beneficent being is surprisingly harsher,
For perhaps the worst ill-treatment of human accomplishment is in the pen of writers.
They specially live a lie to entertain others, and so they help one another from wrong doing.

Lift the pen or pencil you are in,
Traverse a logical thought pattern,
Forever in my sleep I reside.
I wrote the line of my sleep.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Rime 43

Harsh is my fortune, but harsher still is the fate
dealt me by my count: he flees from me,
I follow him; others long for me,
I cannot look at another man's face.

I hate him who loves me,love him who scorns me;
against the humble lover, my heart rebels,
but I am humble to him who kill my hope;
my soul longs for such harmful food.

He constantly gives me cause for anger,
while others seek to give me comfort and peace;
these I ignore, and I cling instead to him.

Thus in your school, Love, we receive
always the opposite of what we deserve:
the humble are despised, the heartless rewarded.

poem by Gaspara Stampa
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The Equipage

Since the Road of Life's so ill;
I, to pass it, use this Skill,
My frail Carriage driving home
To its latest Stage, the Tomb.
Justice first, in Harness strong,
Marches stedfastly along:
Charity, to smooth the Pace,
Fills the next adjoining Trace:
Independance leads the Way,
Whom no heavy Curb do's sway;
Truth an equal Part sustains,
All indulg'd the loosen'd Reins:
In the Box fits vig'rous Health,
Shunning miry Paths of Wealth:
Gaiety with easy Smiles,
Ev'ry harsher Step beguiles;
Whilst of Nature, or of Fate
Only This I wou'd intreat:
The Equipage might not decay,
Till the worn Carriage drops away.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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