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On Queen Anne's Peace, Anno 1713

Mother of plenty, daughter of the skies,
Sweet Peace, the troubl'd world's desire, arise;
Around thy poet weave thy summer shades,
Within my fancy spread thy flow'ry meads,
Amongst thy train soft ease and pleasure bring,
And thus indulgent sooth me whilst I sing.

Great Anna claims the song; no brighter name
Adorns the list of never-dying fame,
No fairer soul was ever form'd above,
None e'er was more the grateful nation's love
Nor lov'd the nation more. I fly with speed
To sing such lines as Bolingbroke may read,
On war dispers'd, on faction trampled down,
On all the peaceful glories of the crown.
And if I fail in too confin'd a flight,
May the kind world upon my labours write;
'So fell the lines which strove for endless fame,
'Yet fell attempting on the noblest theme.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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A poem on divine revelation

This is a day of happiness, sweet peace,
And heavenly sunshine; upon which conven'd
In full assembly fair, once more we view,
And hail with voice expressive of the heart,
Patrons and sons of this illustrious hall.
This hall more worthy of its rising fame
Than hall on mountain or romantic hill,
Where Druid bards sang to the hero's praise,
While round their woods and barren heaths was heard
The shrill calm echo of th' enchanting shell.
Than all those halls and lordly palaces
Where in the days of chivalry, each knight,
And baron brave in military pride
Shone in the brass and burning steel of war;
For in this hall more worthy of a strain
No envious sound forbidding peace is heard,
Fierce song of battle kindling martial rage
And desp'rate purpose in heroic minds:
But sacred truth fair science and each grace
Of virtue born; health, elegance and ease

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poem by Hugh Henry Brackenridge
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“But for films, ” said the upstart actor,
“I’d have, surely, become a doctor.”
Watching the interview
“Your marks hardly a few
For the boast” gibed her truthful proctor.

[Sep 30,2009: : Greenfield, WI]

limerick by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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[Based on a real experience]

Baby waiting at ER in a long line
On Labor Day’s night for her lifeline
At a US clinic
To a deal ironic -
They’ve their lays and delays to align!

[Sep 10,2009: : Greenfield, Wisconsin]

limerick by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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Evening In

she
wearing the moon
of night’s melodies

they
sipping wine
tasting its whisperings

together
in Eden’s labyrinth
searching refrains in the dark

- January 16,2007

Published by Words Words Words in Sep. of 2007

Go to: http: //wwwezine.blogspot.com/2006/12/poetry.html

poem by Ben Gieske
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You, Sea and I

The smell of sea
trespassed into your hair
Drawing a deep breath
I stood transfixed

The silver sands
Blew themselves
On to your cheeks
I tried to rub my cheek...

Did the sea wear a deserted look?
I heard the waves complain to the shore
Even the sky looked lost
And went searching...

15 Sep 2011
22.55hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Cupid's Statue

He's but a child, tho
Unscathed he'd not be
Who despiseth him.
Gods so pompous
Were made to cavort
Where they wanted not;
When he wished it,
A king, his own
Estate fast forgot;
A lord of lords, he!
Foul, beasts and fishes
Ever do serve him;
'Tis each man tho,
His ruin can cause,
If idle he lays not.

poem by Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
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You, Tears and I

For some indiscernible reason
A flash of tears gets
Halted in their flow
At the throat
I look this side and that side
And in all possible directions
Awkwardly to hide them
From you and myself

And I appear gawky

For a wink you look at me
As if I were a stranger
And go about your affairs
Leaving me alone to negotiate
The choking tears…

16 Sep 2011
07.50hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Love in Rubber Balls

From a seashore wedding
all that’s left at ebb’s tide are
discarded hot air balloons.

Once inflated egos
now in flaccid condoms
are the only ephemeral remnants

of flushed adulation
feeding foreign shores.
Lovers gone,

paramours in search of passion,
only barren lovers’ wishes
fill imaginary baby carriages.

~~~
Alex Nodopaka Sep©2009
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poem by Alex Nodopaka
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Wine can only be drunk once

Fine wine, unlike fine poetry.
Must be given time to mature,
selected for its quality.
You must be absolutely sure.
To store it very carefully
undisturbed perhaps for years.
I much prefer fine poetry
which rings like music in my ears.
Dependent on your taste of course.
My ears drink in well spoken verse.
My taste in wine is rather coarse
but it is easy on my purse.
I read fine poetry for free
from books stored in my library.

5-Sep-07

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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