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Decay

O Poesy is on the wane,
For Fancy's visions all unfitting;
I hardly know her face again,
Nature herself seems on the flitting.
The fields grow old and common things,
The grass, the sky, the winds a-blowing;
And spots, where still a beauty clings,
Are sighing 'going! all a-going!'
O Poesy is on the wane,
I hardly know her face again.

The bank with brambles overspread,
And little molehills round about it,
Was more to me than laurel shades,
With paths of gravel finely clouted;
And streaking here and streaking there,
Through shaven grass and many a border,
With rutty lanes had no compare,
And heaths were in a richer order.
But Poesy is on the wane,

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poem by John Clare
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Autumn And Winter

Three months bade wane and wax the wintering moon
Between two dates of death, while men were fain
Yet of the living light that all too soon
Three months bade wane.

Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain,
Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune
That death smote silent when he smote again.

First went my friend, in life's mid light of noon,
Who loved the lord of music: then the strain
Whence earth was kindled like as heaven in June
Three months bade wane.

A herald soul before its master's flying
Touched by some few moons first the darkling goal
Where shades rose up to greet the shade, espying
A herald soul;

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poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Truth â€' The Will to Know

Hope dreams chromatic showers
to dissipate mind's mist,
endowering scope, truth's powers
help understand much missed
in studying Man’s hours,
to grave from cradle kissed.

Dreams net realities
from past and future frames,
life’s metamorphoses
invent eternal games
to gild tomorrow’s frieze, -
imagination’s tease.

Stars stringing far horizon,
translation could retain,
within truth's sphere - it lies on
heart purified from stain.
Soft soul rainbow relies on,
prismatic white won't wane.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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When an Interest Begins to Wane

When an interest begins to wane.
As if a weeding from a flowered crop...
Suddenly stops,
An attention given.

This is noticed as a harvest,
Drops its flourishing known.
And the one who daily nourished it...
Finds a more suitable taste to explore.
A task addressed and once adored.

When an interest begins to wane.
And a welcomed rain,
Now pours to go ignored...
To drown what fed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Love Will Wane

When your love begins to wane,
Spare me from the cruel pain
Of all speech that tells me so -
Spare me words, for I shall know,

By the half-averted eyes,
By the breast that no more sighs
By the rapture I shall miss
From your strangely-altered kiss;

By the arms that still enfold
But have lost their clinging hold,
And, too willing, let me go,
I shall know, love, I shall know.

Bitter will the knowledge be,
Bitterer than death to me.
Yet, 'twill come to me some day,
For it is sad world's way.

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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This Time It Is Their Turn to Show Concern

They had loved the fact,
They had the power...
To stop someone in their tracks.
Power to stop someone...
Standing right where they stood at!

And today that power seems to wane from them a bit.
It seems to take the smugness from their eyes.
As their materialistic lives,
Slips from their 'privileged' lips!
Although once lifted on loans and credit!

There is a seriousness about life lived today,
That has never confronted those deluded before.
Those secluded in exclusive lifestyles...
Now with foreclosure signs on their lawns,
And doors!
Those who had hired police...
To racially profile the ones less 'elite'!
To make sure they were not ignored and followed.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Vexation

S
Always the same with anger against us,
War for freedom sounds insane.
Torture ended
And began with a vengeance,
War and freedom became the same.
J
War and freedom is not the same girl
Where did you get that sill rot?
War is when cruel words are spoken
Love is when cruel words are not
S
But hate is always thrown against us,
With war and freedom cast the same
Hard to see
Where one war ended,
Clear when freedom began to wane.
J
Freedom didn’t wane my dear
Look around at the way we are

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poem by Sandra Osborne
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Through Difficult Times

As things in life begin to wane, life can fill with hurt and pain,
And one may even slip into fear, as dark times do draw near,
Whether health or just this life, times that wane bring us strife,
Call them trials or even a test; they sure can try the very best.

But, as Believers in The Lord, our hard times are not ignored,
While He remains in control, of our difficulties, big and small,
With this Truth, we bear in mind; The Lord God, is not unkind,
Knowing all that we will face, God grants us sustaining Grace.

Jesus Christ, being fully aware, knows just what we can bear,
And allows no more our way, than we can handle, day to day,
Knowing all, that is to come, and where our trials will be from,
So as The Lord does His part, as Believers we trust His heart.

All’s achieved for God’s Glory, with our trials part of the story,
And as for us, it’s understood, trials are allowed for our good,
Although we don’t understand, just how God moves His hand,
We completely trust all of our life, to God’s Son, Jesus Christ.

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poem by Bob Gotti
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In Autumn

The leaves are many under my feet,
And drift one way.
Their scent of death is weary and sweet.
A flight of them is in the grey
Where sky and forest meet.

The low winds moan for sad sweet years;
The birds sing all for pain,
Of a common thing, to weary ears,--
Only a summer's fate of rain,
And a woman's fate of tears.

I walk to love and life alone
Over these mournful places,
Across the summer overthrown,
The dead joys of these silent faces,
To claim my own.

I know his heart has beat to bright
Sweet loves gone by;

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poem by Alice Meynell
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Love Lies Sleeping

Earliest morning, switching all the tracks
that cross the sky from cinder star to star,
coupling the ends of streets
to trains of light.

now draw us into daylight in our beds;
and clear away what presses on the brain:
put out the neon shapes
that float and swell and glare

down the gray avenue between the eyes
in pinks and yellows, letters and twitching signs.
Hang-over moons, wane, wane!
From the window I see

an immense city, carefully revealed,
made delicate by over-workmanship,
detail upon detail,
cornice upon facade,

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poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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