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Real relief

So long as the low race feels stigmatized
No racial parity by law gives relief.
So long as housewives feel stigmatized
No woman empowerment gives relief.
So long as free women feel stigmatized
No sexual freedom would give any relief.
Only when their opponents feel stigmatized
For their attitudes, relief would be in reality.
18.07.2009

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Villanelle on a Proverb

The heart once broken is a heart no more.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay

The proverb says that time confers relief,
heals a crimson gash or knits whole a bone
and years unlock a knuckled fist of grief

that clenches emptiness in disbelief
to keep one's wits from being overthrown,
while time, the proverb says, confers relief

from cleaving wounds, paradoxical thief,
that also tears apart fused hearts grown
beyond the lock of knuckled-fisted grief

half-hearts collapsed empty in unbelief
at finalities beneath lids of stone,
while time, proverbially, confers relief

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poem by William F Dougherty
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Running Away Doesn't Free

Deciding to come out of hiding,
To run away...
From what's inside,
Kept still denied.
But then...
Why does one keep believing,
Running from something...
Frees.

Deciding to come out of hiding,
To run away...
From what's inside,
Kept still denied.
But then...
Why does one keep believing,
Running from something...
Frees.

So many do it thinking...
Running from something frees.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Something so ordinary can be poetic

Something like
NO PARKING
Is poetic to me
You are a soul
Lost to this
Town of indifference
And you have
Been roaming
Around in your
Old car of a
Soul and you
Want to rest
And think
And what they
Say is

NO PARKING

That is actually
Poetic

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Midnight Sun

They say you know your way around
They say you are a man of the world
You say she is a new kid in town
You think shes just another girl
You get suspicious that something is wrong
No explanation why it lasts so long
And by the look on your face, everybody knows
You cant deny that you feel exposed
You can feel the heat when the night is gone
You been burnt by the midnight sun
When you look for relief but you cant find none
You been burnt by the midnight sun
Like a train running down the track
Its too late, things are out of control
Theres no way she can take you back
Theres no release for the brand on your soul
You never noticed the touch of her hand
You messed around with things
You dont understand
Now you sit in darkness while a new day dies

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song performed by Todd Rundgren
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Borough. Letter XVIII: The Poor And Their

Dwellings
YES! we've our Borough-vices, and I know
How far they spread, how rapidly they grow;
Yet think not virtue quits the busy place,
Nor charity, the virtues crown and grace.
'Our Poor, how feed we?'--To the most we give
A weekly dole, and at their homes they live; -
Others together dwell,--but when they come
To the low roof, they see a kind of home,
A social people whom they've ever known,
With their own thoughts, and manners like their

own.
At her old house, her dress, her air the same,
I see mine ancient Letter-loving dame:
'Learning, my child,' said she 'shall fame command;
Learning is better worth than house or land -
For houses perish, lands are gone and spent;
In learning then excel, for that's most excellent.'
'And what her learning?' 'Tis with awe to look

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poem by George Crabbe
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Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter III

Who has not seen the falls of Tivoli,
The rocks, the foam--white water, and the three
Fair ruined temples which adorn the hill?
Who has not sat and listened to the shrill
Sweet melody of blackbirds, and the roar
Of Anio's voice rebounding from the shore,
Nor would have given his very soul to greet
Some passing vision of a white nymph's feet,
And waving arms, as the wild chasm's spray
Beat on his face, for ever answering ``Nay''?
Who has not turned away with sadder face,
Abashed before the genius of the place,
A wiser man, and owned upon his knees,
The dull transmontane Goth and boor he is?
Who that was born to feel? What sons of clay
Are these that stand among your shrines to--day,
Gods of the ancient rivers! and who set
The heavy impress of barbarian feet
Upon your classic shores, and dare to love
Your ruined homes in temple, rock, and grove!

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poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Threnodia Augustalis: A Funeral Pindaric Poem, Sacred To The Happy Memory Of King Charles II.

I.
Thus long my grief has kept me dumb:
Sure there's a lethargy in mighty woe,
Tears stand congealed, and cannot flow;
And the sad soul retires into her inmost room:
Tears, for a stroke foreseen, afford relief;
But, unprovided for a sudden blow,
Like Niobe, we marble grow,
And petrify with grief.
Our British heaven was all serene,
No threatening cloud was nigh,
Not the least wrinkle to deform the sky;
We lived as unconcerned and happily
As the first age in nature's golden scene;
Supine amidst our flowing store,
We slept securely, and we dreamt of more;
When suddenly the thunder-clap was heard,
It took us, unprepared, and out of guard,
Already lost before we feared.
The amazing news of Charles at once were spread,

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poem by John Dryden
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Resignation Pt 1

The days how few, how short the years
Of man's too rapid race!
Each leaving, as it swiftly flies,
A shorter in its place.

They who the longest lease enjoy,
Have told us with a sigh,
That to be born seems little more
Than to begin to die.

Numbers there are who feel this truth
With fears alarm'd; and yet,
In life's delusions lull'd asleep,
This weighty truth forget:

And am not I to these akin?
Age slumbers o'er the quill;
Its honour blots, whate'er it writes,
And am I writing still?

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poem by Edward Young
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The relief

Food entering mouth is a relish;
Its exit from anus is a relief.
Mating is relish; orgasm is relief.
Relief is the peak of the pleasure.
26.06.2005

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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