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The World Gets a New Pope! - (a prose poem)

Death spares no one!
Death spares no earthling!
Death spares no human being!
Death cuts the thread of life certainly;
And the Pope is no exception!

Pope John Paul II is no more!
The old shepherd had finally passed away;
He was eighty-four when he died;
He fell ill twice quite seriously;
He was Pope for nearly 26 years!
He was the ‘most traveled Pope’ and was a Poet too!
And he stood steadfast in all his spiritual endeavors;
He braved ‘the storms and calmed the seas that tried to capsize the Roman Catholic Ship’!
He led His flock to the Rock!
But some sheep did stray away;
Some had lost their faith;
Some went in search of ‘greener grass in newer meadows’;
But these were the souls which were dissatisfied, distraught and diseased!

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poem by John Celes
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Time Spares Nobody

Time spares nobody
Lying in the grave
Under mound of sand
He heard voices of people
Crying and sobbing
They had come to bury
One more body
Their expression of grief
Meant nothing to him
He sarcastically smiled
Remembered
Long back
In the same way
People known, unknown
Had brought him here
Crying and sobbing
Visited him regularly
Slowly they stopped coming
Now he lies all alone
Same will happen to the one

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poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Sonnet: Each One is Strong However Weak

The Lion thinks ‘tis meant for tougher tasks;
And spares the Lioness and cubs hard works;
The Lioness is tough too though it masks;
Appearing gentle while it lurks.

Man keeps all tougher jobs in his purview,
And spares women and children from much risk;
Yet, when ‘tis time, women too change their hue,
And children too don’t always like lambs frisk.

The weaker creatures have their tougher side,
That is brought out in times of dangers, need;
One’s toughness is something, we wish to hide,
Don’t underestimate even a weed.

Each creature has innate strengths well-concealed;
In times of need, this gets sometimes revealed.

poem by John Celes
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Death - The Greatest Leveler

Death gives no concession
Death spares none;
None can impress death
By being anything
To escape its embrace;

Whoever is born
is certain to die;
Death respects no merit;
Skills in writing poetry
Artistic talents or ideological commitments
Marxist, communist, capitalist, feminist, male chauvinist
Terrorist, scientist;
None can save oneself from death;

The winner in beauty contests
Or delighting participant in fashion pageants,
can not seduce death,
She has to shed the body enthralling
And beauty dissolves into five elements;

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poem by Varanasi Ramabrahmam
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Rurally God Created The Loveliest Rose

Rurally God created the loveliest rose
that blooms by itself in the veldt
where the hillocks in the distance touches the horizon.

In her kitchen there are trays full of rusks
where she is working from before sunrise,
that the visitors later claim as booty

and she is busy with her work
until the last tray comes out of the oven.
Rurally God created the loveliest rose

where se sprouts out in the veldt
and when you visit her
where she is working from before sunrise

she almost possessively guards her rusks
and her farm is her own property
where the hillocks in the distance touches the horizon.

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Monday Before Easter

"Father to me thou art and mother dear,
And brother too, kind husband of my heart -
So speaks Andromache in boding fear,
Ere from her last embrace her hero part -
So evermore, by Faith's undying glow,
We own the Crucified in weal or woe.

Strange to our ears the church-bells of our home,
This fragrance of our old paternal fields
May be forgotten; and the time may come
When the babe's kiss no sense of pleasure yields
E'en to the doting mother: but Thine own
Thou never canst forget, nor leave alone.

There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs,
None loves them best--O vain and selfish sigh!
Out of the bosom of His love He spares -
The Father spares the Son, for thee to die:
For thee He died--for thee He lives again:
O'er thee He watches in His boundless reign.

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poem by John Keble
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Sonnet LX - Variations In Imitation - after William Shakespeare

See below W S Sonnet LX for English and French variations

Sonnet LX

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow
Feeds on the rareities of Nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow;
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth despite his cruel hand.

William SHAKESPEARE shak1_0008_shak1_0000 PST_DZX

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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He that spares to speak, spares to speed.

Scotch proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Poem At The Centennial Anniversary Dinner Of The Massachusetts Medical Society

JUNE 8, 1881

THREE paths there be where Learning's favored sons,
Trained in the schools which hold her favored ones,
Follow their several stars with separate aim;
Each has its honors, each its special claim.
Bred in the fruitful cradle of the East,
First, as of oldest lineage, comes the Priest;
The Lawyer next, in wordy conflict strong,
Full armed to battle for the right,--or wrong;
Last, he whose calling finds its voice in deeds,
Frail Nature's helper in her sharpest needs.

Each has his gifts, his losses and his gains,
Each his own share of pleasures and of pains;
No life-long aim with steadfast eye pursued
Finds a smooth pathway all with roses strewed;
Trouble belongs to man of woman born,--
Tread where he may, his foot will find its thorn.

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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Apology

ADDRESSED TO THE CRITICAL REVIEWERS.

Tristitiam et Metus.--HORACE.

Laughs not the heart when giants, big with pride,
Assume the pompous port, the martial stride;
O'er arm Herculean heave the enormous shield,
Vast as a weaver's beam the javelin wield;
With the loud voice of thundering Jove defy,
And dare to single combat--what?--A fly!
And laugh we less when giant names, which shine
Establish'd, as it were, by right divine;
Critics, whom every captive art adores,
To whom glad Science pours forth all her stores;
Who high in letter'd reputation sit,
And hold, Astraea-like, the scales of wit,
With partial rage rush forth--oh! shame to tell!--
To crush a bard just bursting from the shell?
Great are his perils in this stormy time
Who rashly ventures on a sea of rhyme:

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poem by Charles Churchill
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