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Krishna's Lure

Sweetest song of Krishna
I hear your magic flute
With song and joy
You do lure
With lightest mirth
and heart so pure.

The slightest smile
upon your lips
it doth bespeak of bliss.
And in your splendid image
is the blessing of God's kiss.

Your joy you spread like
perfumed breeze,
to sweeten life for all.
For like the blessing
of the trees,
we see in our divinity,
An answer to

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poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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Behold the Glory of God's Creation

Behold the rocks atop the mountain stand,
And only fall when they should, when God wants!
Behold the waterfall, a beauteous sight,
That ne'er runs dry, despite the sun, failed rains!

Behold the melting glaciers, snow-clad peaks,
Bespeak the glory of the Creator;
Behold the rivulets merge into sea
To keep the salinity constantly!

Behold the school of fish that swim afree,
And dart and turn and glide within the sea;
Behold the birds that fly, both young and old,
At heights their wings are meant to carry them!

Behold the glory of God's creation -
A perfect spectacle for human eyes!
The proof of divine love for all mankind,
Unfathomable, everlasting lies!

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poem by John Celes
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Ethereal And Unseen

Ethereal and unseen, it may not be touched-
Yet so precious, e'er guarded and clutched
Must it be! Sikerly, its affect, most-puissant-
If this be peccable, count me a confessant!

I have found this omniscient, omnipotent treasure,
Yet, I possess no way, nor means, to measure
Its import-no words may properly explicate
How it enthrals me, though of same, I oft ruminate!

For its guard, there is nothing I would not do;
With its might, there is nothing I could not do;
For its lasting, there is nothing I should not do-
All the same for all men, if not-surely, they ought to
Make it so, as love is the wonder of which I do bespeak-
The only force causative to mine heart be made lain weak!

Maurice Harris,8 November 2009

poem by Maurice Harris
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The Sounds Of Birds

It's in the chirps-the sounds of birds,
As though repeating your oft uttered words:
Seen everywhere I could gather thought-
To truly love, without bound, you have taught!

The words come to me in dream and whilst awake,
Each time I do hear, away again my breath it does take-
My purpose in my life, defined by feelings mutual-
Ne'er has there been more need for sentiment perpetual! !

Words still are only just that, meaning naught without more,
Actions in keeping with pathos do bespeak amity's core!
Alas, not able are we to belie-
Nor, to fully answer the query-why? !

Every bird's song you shall hear, from now, uttered,
Be sure can you that my heart again has fluttered!

Maurice Harris,29 October 2008

poem by Maurice Harris
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Mate Of Mine Own Heart

Where for art thou, mate of mine own heart?
My life's solitary vocation is but to seeketh thee-
Wanton am I of the felicity our consort would impart!
I unfeignedly knoweth this- you too do bespeak me!

If but mine own life, exhausted in this fruitful search,
Shall come to pass without thee, I do implore-
Do not take as cause then to besmirch,
For, as the one-surely, you share my amorous rapport!

Alas, as I, you seek your heart's beguile!
Wherestsoever you may be, whatsoever you may do-
No matter the tribulation, no matter the trial,
Knowest do I this: in thine own heart you shall remain true!

Nearer to meeting still shall we be tomorrow,
That we have not yet- my heart's only sorrow!

Maurice Harris,19 July 2009

poem by Maurice Harris
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Be My Sweetheart

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When birds are on the wing,
When bee and bud and babbling flood
Bespeak the birth of spring,
Come, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
And wear this posy-ring!

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
In the mellow golden glow
Of earth aflush with the gracious blush
Which the ripening fields foreshow;
Dear sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
As into the noon we go!

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When falls the bounteous year,
When fruit and wine of tree and vine
Give us their harvest cheer;
Oh, sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
For winter it draweth near.

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poem by Eugene Field
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By my sweetheart

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When birds are on the wing,
When bee and bud and babbling flood
Bespeak the birth of spring,
Come, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
And wear this posy-ring!

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
In the mellow golden glow
Of earth aflush with the gracious blush
Which the ripening fields foreshow;
Dear sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
As into the noon we go!

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
When falls the bounteous year,
When fruit and wine of tree and vine
Give us their harvest cheer;
Oh, sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
For winter it draweth near.

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poem by Eugene Field
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I Know You (elegy for that which we knew)

Memory splinters and cracks in soft traces,
Through multihued truths; forward suddenly.
Together, perchance, a seasonal grace,
We may both do by each other kindly

Cradles for You in the snowfields of Mind,
Sway in quivers of dark but light laughter.
Warm words through to a cold caress, sublime:
Honor that which I've asked of the Dreamer.

Serpentine eyes amid daisy head smiles,
Bespeak of desire, digress from nature.
Character crack-ups expand on a while;
While manifest circumstances mature.

Human conditions, initial; as such,
Bifurcate in the texture of chaos
Amid a noisome and frightening rush,
A crackling memory of futures, lost.

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poem by Jonathan Colby
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Wirkung in der Ferne

When the dews are earliest falling,
When the evening glen is grey,
Ere thou lookest, ere thou speakest,
My beloved,
I depart, and I return to thee;
Return, return, return.

Dost thou watch me while I traverse
Haunts of men, beneath the sun,
Dost thou list while I bespeak them
With a voice whose cheer is thine?
O my brothers! men, my brothers,
You are mine, and I am yours;
I am yours to cheer and succour,
I am yours for hope and aid
Lo, my hand to raise and stay you,
Lo, my arm to guard and keep,
My voice to rouse and warn you,
And my heart to warm and calm:
My heart to lend the life it owes

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poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
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Why He Loves Her

YOU ask me why I love her,
As I love nought on earth?
Why I'll put none above her
For sorrow or for mirth?
Though there be others fairer;
In spirit, richer, rarer;
With none will I compare her,
Who is to me all worth!
I love her for her beauty,
Her force, her fire, her youth,
For kisses cold as duty
Bespeak not love, but ruth.
I love her for the treasure
Of all the rapturous pleasure
Her love gives without measure
Of passion and of truth!
I love her firm possession
Of instincts fair and true;
Her hatred of oppression
And all the wrong men do;

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poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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