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cure for corruption comes
from a cleansing spark that grows aflame
in hearts and minds of all citizens

senryu by John Celes
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Corruption

From the drip drip drip of the teardrops
To the chink chink chink of the cash
To the end end end of the friendships
To the wack wack wack of the bash
Corruption corruption corruption
Rules my soul
Corruption corruption corruption
Rules my soul
From the tick tick tick of your times up
To the yes yes yes of Ill sell
From the fact fact fact of the souless
To the pact pact pact with hell
Corruption corruption corruption
Rules my soul
Corruption corruption corruption
Chills my bones
Corruption corruption corruption
Rules my soul
Corruption corruption corruption
Chills my bones
From the scream scream scream of the babies
To the retch retch retch of the youth
From the lie lie lie of the righteous
To the lost lost lost way I feel
Corruption corruption corruption
Rules my bones
Corruption corruption corruption
Chills my bones
Corruption corruption corruption
Rules my soul
Corruption corruption corruption
Rules my soul
Corruption
Corruption
Order in the court
Decision to abort
The monkey wants to speak
So speak, monkey speak
Speak monkey, speak
Speak monkey, speak
Speak monkey, speak
Everything leads to corruption
Everything leads to corruption
Corruption

song performed by Iggy Pop
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Ain't No Cure For Love (Crush Demo)

Aint no cure for love
Aint no cure for love
There aint no cure for love
Aint no cure
Cupid was a blind man
He must have missed his mark
Shot an arrow in the air and hit me in the heart
I went to see Saint Valentine
Said Whats come over me?
Daddy must have missed the chapter about the birds and bees
You can be the King of diamonds
You can cash in all your gold
You could hire Johnnie Cochran
Its too late to save your soul
Dont need no shot, no ambulance
Dont need prescription drugs
There aint no cure for love
They can find the cure for the common cold
When the pushing comes to shove
There aint no cure for love
Now someone call my lawyer
Im going to see my shrink
I found myself in the jewelry store buying a diamond ring
I went to see my doctor
Said Wont you help me please?
He said Son Im sorry, its a terminal disease
Cant get no love insurance
Cupid draws his bow
I aint waving boys, Im drowning
Its a damn good way to go
Dont need no shot, no ambulance
Dont need prescription drugs
There aint no cure for love
They can find the cure for the common cold
When the pushing comes to shove
There aint no cure for love
You can be the King of Diamonds
You can cash in all your gold
You can hire Johnnie Cochran
Its too late to save your soul
Dont need no shot, no ambulance
Dont need prescription drugs
There aint no cure for love
They can find the cure for the common cold
When the pushing comes to shove
There aint no cure for love
No aspirin
No ambulance
Or Voodoo you can think up
Aint no cure for love

[...] Read more

song performed by Bon Jovi
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Aint No Cure For Love

I loved you for a long, long time
I know this love is real
It dont matter how it all went wrong
That dont change the way I feel
And I cant believe that times
Gonna heal this wound Im speaking of
There aint no cure,
There aint no cure,
There aint no cure for love.
Im aching for you baby
I cant pretend Im not
I need to see you naked
In your body and your thought
Ive got you like a habit
And Ill never get enough
There aint no cure,
There aint no cure,
There aint no cure for love
There aint no cure for love
There aint no cure for love
All the rocket ships are climbing through the sky
The holy books are open wide
The doctors working day and night
But theyll never ever find that cure for love
There aint no drink no drug
(ah tell them, angels)
Theres nothing pure enough to be a cure for love
I see you in the subwayand I see you on the bus
I see you lying down with me, I see you waking up
I see your hand, I see your hair
Your bracelets and your brush
And I call to you, I call to you
But I dont call soft enough
There aint no cure,
There aint no cure,
There aint no cure for love
I walked into this empty church I had no place else to go
When the sweetest voice I ever heard, whispered to my soul
I dont need to be forgiven for loving you so much
Its written in the scriptures
Its written there in blood
I even heard the angels declare it from above
There aint no cure,
There aint no cure,
There aint no cure for love
There aint no cure for love
There aint no cure for love
All the rocket ships are climbing through the sky
The holy books are open wide
The doctors working day and night

[...] Read more

song performed by Leonard Cohen
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The Secret Whisky Cure

’Tis no tale of heroism, ’tis no tale of storm and strife,
But of ordinary boozing, and of dull domestic life—
Of the everlasting friction that most husbands must endure—
Tale of nagging and of drinking—and a secret whisky cure.
Name of Jones—perhaps you know him—small house-agent here in town—
(Friend of Smith, you know him also—likewise Robinson and Brown),
Just a hopeless little husband, whose deep sorrows were obscure,
And a bitter nagging Missis—and death seemed the only cure.

’Twas a common sordid marriage, and there’s little new to tell—
Save the pub to him was Heaven and his own home was a hell:
With the office in between them—purgatory to be sure—
And, as far as Jones could make out—well, there wasn’t any cure.

’Twas drink and nag—or nag and drink—whichever you prefer—
Till at last she couldn’t stand him any more than he could her.
Friends and relatives assisted, telling her (with motives pure)
That a legal separation was the only earthly cure.

So she went and saw a lawyer, who, in accents soft and low,
Asked her firstly if her husband had a bank account or no;
But he hadn’t and she hadn’t, they in fact were very poor,
So he bowed her out suggesting she should try some liquor cure.

She saw a drink cure advertised in the Sydney Bulletin—
Cure for brandy, cure for whisky, cure for rum and beer and gin,
And it could be given secret, it was tasteless, swift and sure—
So she purchased half a gallon of that Secret Whisky Cure.

And she put some in his coffee, smiling sweetly all the while,
And he started for the office rather puzzled by the smile—
Smile or frown he’d have a whisky, and you’ll say he was a boor—
But perhaps his wife had given him an overdose of Cure.

And he met a friend he hadn’t seen for seven years or more—
It was just upon the threshold of a private bar-room door—
And they coalised and entered straight away, you may be sure—
But of course they hadn’t reckoned with a Secret Whisky Cure.

Jones, he drank, turned pale, and, gasping, hurried out the back way quick,
Where, to his old chum’s amazement, he was violently sick;
Then they interviewed the landlord, but he swore the drink was pure—
It was only the beginning of the Secret Whisky Cure.

For Jones couldn’t stand the smell of even special whisky blends,
And shunned bar-rooms to the sorrow of his trusty drinking friends:
And they wondered, too, what evil genius had chanced to lure
Him from paths of booze and friendship—never dreaming of a Cure.

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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Spark In The Dark

Welcome to the party
Its only me and you
Tell the world to go away, babe
And Ill tell you what to do
Come over here and kiss me
I want to pull your hair
Turn out the lights and hold me
I want to touch you everywhere
We dont need nobody, baby
We dont need champagne
Ill take you to the deepest,
Darkest, hottest, lovers lane
For a little spark in the dark
Just a little spark in the dark
Dont matter where we sleep
Dont matter where we park
All we need is a spark, spark
Spark in the dark
Just a little spark in the dark
Come around midnight
Well be crawlin on the floor
Burnin with the fever
And yellin out for more
But dont you write it in your
Diary, baby
Dont blab it on the phone
Cuz if your mom and dad find out
Theyll skin me to the bone
Now we dont need instructions,
Baby
Dont you be afraid
It takes a little friction
Thats how our love is made
]from a little spark in the dark
Just a little spark in the dark
Dont matter what you say
No matter what you do
As long as it is me and you
We got a spark in the dark
Just a little spark in the dark, yeah
We dont need nobody, baby
We dont need cocaine
Ill take you to the deepest,
Darkest, hottest lovers lane
Spark in the dark
Just a little spark in the dark
Dont matter where we sleep
Dont matter where we park
All we need is a spark, spark
Spark in the dark

song performed by Alice Cooper
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With Rose In Hand

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

[...] Read more

poem by Meg Harrison
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The Cure Of Calumette

Dere's no voyageur on de reever never
run hees canoe d'ecorce
T'roo de roar an' de rush of de rapide, w'ere it
jump lak a beeg w'ite horse,
Dere's no hunter man on de prairie, never
wear w'at you call racquette
Can beat leetle Fader O'Hara, de Curé of
Calumette.

Hees fader is full-blooded Irish, an' hees moder
is pure Canayenne,
Not offen dat stock go tegedder, but she's
fine combination ma frien'
For de Irish he's full of de devil, an' de French
dey got savoir faire,
Dat's mak'it de very good balance an' tak'
you mos' ev'ry w' ere.

But dere' wan t'ing de Curé wont stan' it;
mak' fun of de Irlandais
An' of course de French we say not'ing,
'cos de parish she's all Canayen,
Den you see on account of de moder, he can't
spik hese'f very moche,
So de ole joke she's all out of fashion, an' wan
of dem t'ing we don't touch.

Wall! wan of dat kin' is de Curé, but w'en he
be comin' our place
De peop' on de parish all w'isper, 'How
young he was look on hees face;
Too bad if de wedder she keel heem de firse
tam he got leetle wet,
An' de Bishop might sen' beeger Curé, for it's
purty tough place, Calumette!'

Ha! ha! how I wish I was dere, me, w'en he
go on de mission call
On de shaintee camp way up de reever, drivin'
hees own cariole,
An' he meet blagger' feller been drinkin', jus'
enough mak' heem ack lak fou,
Joe Vadeboncoeur, dey was call heem, an' he's
purty beeg feller too!

Mebbe Joe he don't know it's de Curé, so he's
hollerin', 'Get out de way,
If you don't geev me whole of de roadside,
sapree! you go off on de sleigh.'
But de Curé he never say not'ing, jus' poule

[...] Read more

poem by William Henry Drummond
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Hearts

Hearing - talking - yes I - love you
Set your heart sail on the river
Look around you as you drift downstream hearing
Pouring souls into the ocean talking
Take account of all youve seen love you
One people - together
Freedom for today
So easy the future
So see the childrens way
Love me
Teach me
Know me
One people - together
Freedom for today
Tomorrow forever
So see the peoples way
Many moons cascade one river
They light from side to side
As we cross in close proximity
Like rivers our hearts entwine
How we talk - how we teach our children
How we move - we direct our eyes
All the senses tuned discovery
As and as and when our hearts decide
Be ready now - be ye circle
Be the central force ye life
As the game extends the cycle
Be ready to move
One hearts for love hearts
Ones for giving sailing down the river
Two hearts are better hearts
Than one throwing out a line
I hearing it hearts
I living it
I believe in it sharing out your fortunes
Two hearts are better hearts
Than one in and out of time
Hearing - talking - yes I - love you
One hearts for love hearts
Ones for giving sailing down the river
Two hearts are better hearts
Than one throwing out a line
I hearing it hearts
I living it
I believe in it sharing out your fortunes
I loving it
Two hearts are better hearts
Than one in and out of time
Who would believe you - wise men do
Days that we knew it clear with you

[...] Read more

song performed by Yes
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Hearts

Hearing - talking - yes I - love you
Set your heart sail on the river
Look around you as you drift downstream hearing
Pouring souls into the ocean talking
Take account of all youve seen love you
One people - together
Freedom for today
So easy the future
So see the childrens way
Love me
Teach me
Know me
One people - together
Freedom for today
Tomorrow forever
So see the peoples way
Many moons cascade one river
They light from side to side
As we cross in close proximity
Like rivers our hearts entwine
How we talk - how we teach our children
How we move - we direct our eyes
All the senses tuned discovery
As and as and when our hearts decide
Be ready now - be ye circle
Be the central force ye life
As the game extends the cycle
Be ready to move
One hearts for love hearts
Ones for giving sailing down the river
Two hearts are better hearts
Than one throwing out a line
I hearing it hearts
I living it
I believe in it sharing out your fortunes
Two hearts are better hearts
Than one in and out of time
Hearing - talking - yes I - love you
One hearts for love hearts
Ones for giving sailing down the river
Two hearts are better hearts
Than one throwing out a line
I hearing it hearts
I living it
I believe in it sharing out your fortunes
I loving it
Two hearts are better hearts
Than one in and out of time
Who would believe you - wise men do
Days that we knew it clear with you

[...] Read more

song performed by Yes
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Child Of The Islands - Winter

I.

ERE the Night cometh! On how many graves
Rests, at this hour, their first cold winter's snow!
Wild o'er the earth the sleety tempest raves;
Silent, our Lost Ones slumber on below;
Never to share again the genial glow
Of Christmas gladness round the circled hearth;
Never returning festivals to know,
Or holidays that mark some loved one's birth,
Or children's joyous songs, and loud delighted mirth.
II.

The frozen tombs are sheeted with one pall,--
One shroud for every churchyard, crisp and bright,--
One foldless mantle, softly covering all
With its unwrinkled width of spotless white.
There, through the grey dim day and starlit night,
It rests, on rich and poor, and young and old,--
Veiling dear eyes,--whose warm homne-cheering light
Our pining hearts can never more behold,--
With an unlifting veil,--that falleth blank and cold.
III.

The Spring shall melt that snow,--but kindly eyes
Return not with the Sun's returning powers,--
Nor to the clay-cold cheek, that buried lies,
The living blooms that flush perennial flowers,--
Nor, with the song-birds, vocal in the bowers,
The sweet familiar tones! In silence drear
We pass our days,--and oft in midnight hours
Call madly on their names who cannot hear,--
Names graven on the tombs of the departed year!
IV.

There lies the tender Mother, in whose heart
So many claimed an interest and a share!
Humbly and piously she did her part
In every task of love and household care:
And mournfully, with sad abstracted air,
The Father-Widower, on his Christmas Eve,
Strokes down his youngest child's long silken hair,
And, as the gathering sobs his bosom heave,
Goes from that orphaned group, unseen to weep and grieve.
V.

Feeling his loneliness the more this day
Because SHE kept it with such gentle joy,
Scarce can he brook to see his children play,
Remembering how her love it did employ

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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The Fight Against Corruption

The country cannot bear it anymore;
The vice has gained in-roads to every sphere;
Corruption rules the roost in daily life;
The weed has grown much better than good plants!

The common man’s the most affected one;
Corruption stays in forms, guises galore;
Taxes are worse and thanks to corruption;
No one is happy with the pay he gets!

Cheating has turned to be the way of life;
Stealing is not a crime for corrupted;
Corruption is the prime cause for price-rise;
The big cheats thrive despite the stricter laws.

Progress has been stifled by corruption;
The hand is used to get bribes all life-time;
The tongue speaks lies with ease and variety;
The time has come to root out corruption.

But who will fight this social evil great?
The few who try are not perfect at all;
The honest ones who try don’t make headway;
The beast is live and loitering afree!

The shark no longer stays in deeper seas;
The ice-berg’s tip can’t be made out these days;
The roots are stronger, gone too far and wide;
The habit’s now second nature of man!

No nation can go on in this fashion;
The good that’s done is undone by this bad!
A popular uprising is the answer;
But good leaders are not an easy find!

Fasting is not the way of doing things;
Violence only begets violence with time;
A lot of patience is needed to fight;
Unite must souls, hearts, minds to curb menace.

Real progress comes if corruption’s less;
Most people are fed up with how things are;
A renaissance must soon stem this vice fast;
Just righteousness can win over evils!

’Tis time to fight corruption in all ways;
Perseverance will tilt the balance soon;
A lot of sacrifice is essential;
The victory is a priceless gift to man!

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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The Child Of The Islands - Autumn

I.

BROWN Autumn cometh, with her liberal hand
Binding the Harvest in a thousand sheaves:
A yellow glory brightens o'er the land,
Shines on thatched corners and low cottage-eaves,
And gilds with cheerful light the fading leaves:
Beautiful even here, on hill and dale;
More lovely yet where Scotland's soil receives
The varied rays her wooded mountains hail,
With hues to which our faint and soberer tints are pale.
II.

For there the Scarlet Rowan seems to mock
The red sea coral--berries, leaves, and all;
Light swinging from the moist green shining rock
Which beds the foaming torrent's turbid fall;
And there the purple cedar, grandly tall,
Lifts its crowned head and sun-illumined stem;
And larch (soft drooping like a maiden's pall)
Bends o'er the lake, that seems a sapphire gem
Dropt from the hoary hill's gigantic diadem.
III.

And far and wide the glorious heather blooms,
Its regal mantle o'er the mountains spread;
Wooing the bee with honey-sweet perfumes,
By many a viewless wild flower richly shed;
Up-springing 'neath the glad exulting tread
Of eager climbers, light of heart and limb;
Or yielding, soft, a fresh elastic bed,
When evening shadows gather, faint and dim,
And sun-forsaken crags grow old, and gaunt, and grim.
IV.

Oh, Land! first seen when Life lay all unknown,
Like an unvisited country o'er the wave,
Which now my travelled heart looks back upon,
Marking each sunny path, each gloomy cave,
With here a memory, and there a grave:--
Land of romance and beauty; noble land
Of Bruce and Wallace; land where, vainly brave,
Ill-fated Stuart made his final stand,
Ere yet the shivered sword fell hopeless from his hand--
V.

I love you! I remember you! though years
Have fleeted o'er the hills my spirit knew,
Whose wild uncultured heights the plough forbears,
Whose broomy hollows glisten in the dew.

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Child Of The Islands - Summer

I.

FOR Summer followeth with its store of joy;
That, too, can bring thee only new delight;
Its sultry hours can work thee no annoy,
Veiled from thy head shall be its glowing might.
Sweet fruits shall tempt thy thirsty appetite;
Thy languid limbs on cushioned down shall sink;
Or rest on fern-grown tufts, by streamlets bright,
Where the large-throated deer come down to drink,
And cluster gently round the cool refreshing brink.
II.

There, as the flakèd light, with changeful ray
(From where the unseen glory hotly glows)
Through the green branches maketh pleasant way,
And on the turf a chequered radiance throws,
Thou'lt lean, and watch those kingly-antlered brows--
The lustrous beauty of their glances shy,
As following still the pace their leader goes,
(Who seems afraid to halt--ashamed to fly,)
Rapid, yet stately too, the lovely herd troop by.
III.

This is the time of shadow and of flowers,
When roads gleam white for many a winding mile;
When gentle breezes fan the lazy hours,
And balmy rest o'erpays the time of toil;
When purple hues and shifting beams beguile
The tedious sameness of the heath-grown moor;
When the old grandsire sees with placid smile
The sunburnt children frolic round his door,
And trellised roses deck the cottage of the poor.
IV.

The time of pleasant evenings! when the moon
Riseth companioned by a single star,
And rivals e'en the brilliant summer noon
In the clear radiance which she pours afar;
No stormy winds her hour of peace to mar,
Or stir the fleecy clouds which melt away
Beneath the wheels of her illumined car;
While many a river trembles in her ray,
And silver gleam the sands round many an ocean bay!
V.

Oh, then the heart lies hushed, afraid to beat,
In the deep absence of all other sound;
And home is sought with loth and lingering feet,
As though that shining tract of fairy ground,

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poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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An Indian Dream Comes True

The war against corruption has begun!
It cannot end in scheduled time in years;
A beginning that’s good is work half-done;
But thanks to Anna, his Think-tank and seers!

Corruption is ingrained in people’s hearts;
The weed has grown wide-spread throughout the lands;
It can’t be wiped away, despite efforts;
It needs a change of attitude, strong hands!

Corruption is a love for easy wealth;
No one’s immune from habit that’s so rife;
The habit gains every person by stealth;
It hurts the poor, down-trodden’s heart like knife!

United, war against the menace works;
Democracy needs cleansing from its sores;
When left as such, society, it well irks;
It enters houses, homes by windows, doors!

One Bill cannot contain the rampant strife;
All citizens must fight the habit, crime;
Nevertheless, it can improve one’s life;
Only then, nations progress with more time!

Corruption is not something with a cure;
Beyond a point, we need not it endure;
Nevertheless, many hearts it does lure;
The menace can be mitigated, sure.

(Dedicated to Anna hazare, his team and all honest Indians/27-08-11)

poem by John Celes
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Le Vieux Temps

1 Venez ici, mon cher ami, an' sit down by me--so
2 An' I will tole you story of old tam long ago--
3 W'en ev'ryt'ing is happy--w'en all de bird is sing
4 An' me!--I'm young an' strong lak moose an' not afraid no t'ing.

5 I close my eye jus' so, an' see de place w'ere I am born--
6 I close my ear an' lissen to musique of de horn,
7 Dat 's horn ma dear ole moder blow--an only t'ing she play
8 Is 'viens donc vite Napoléon--'peche toi pour votre souper.'--

9 An' w'en he 's hear dat nice musique--ma leetle dog 'Carleau'
10 Is place hees tail upon hees back--an' den he 's let heem go--
11 He 's jomp on fence--he 's swimmin' crik--he 's ronne two forty gait,
12 He say 'dat 's somet'ing good for eat--Carleau mus' not be late.'

13 O dem was pleasure day for sure, dem day of long ago
14 W'en I was play wit' all de boy, an' all de girl also;
15 An' many tam w'en I 'm alone an' t'ink of day gone by
16 An' pull latire an' spark de girl, I cry upon my eye.

17 Ma fader an' ma moder too, got nice, nice familee,
18 Dat 's ten garçon an' t'orteen girl, was mak' it twenty t'ree
19 But fonny t'ing de Gouvernement don't geev de firs' prize den
20 Lak w'at dey say dey geev it now, for only wan douzaine.

21 De English peep dat only got wan familee small size
22 Mus' be feel glad dat tam dere is no honder acre prize
23 For fader of twelve chil'ren--dey know dat mus' be so,
24 De Canayens would boss Kebeck--mebbe Ontario.

25 But dat is not de story dat I was gone tole you
26 About de fun we use to have w'en we leev a chez nous
27 We 're never lonesome on dat house, for many cavalier
28 Come at our place mos' every night--especially Sun-day.

29 But tam I 'member bes' is w'en I 'm twenty wan year--me--
30 An' so for mak' some pleasement--we geev wan large soirée
31 De whole paroisse she be invite--de Curé he 's come too--
32 Wit plaintee peep from 'noder place--dat 's more I can tole you.

33 De night she 's cole an' freeze also, chemin she 's fill wit snow
34 An' on de chimley lak phantome, de win' is mak' it blow--
35 But boy an' girl come all de sam an' pass on grande parloir
36 For warm itself on beeg box stove, was mak' on Trois Rivières--

37 An' w'en Bonhomme Latour commence for tune up hees fidelle
38 It mak' us all feel very glad--l'enfant! he play so well,
39 Musique suppose to be firs' class, I offen hear, for sure
40 But mos' bes' man, beat all de res', is ole Bateese Latour--

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poem by William Henry Drummond
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The Remedy of Love

When Cupid read this title, straight he said,
'Wars, I perceive, against me will be made.'
But spare, oh Love! to tax thy poet so,
Who oft bath borne thy ensign 'gainst thy foe;
I am not he by whom thy mother bled,
When she to heaven on Mars his horses fled.
I oft, like other youths, thy flame did prove,
And if thou ask, what I do still? I love.
Nay, I have taught by art to keep Love's course,
And made that reason which before was force.
I seek not to betray thee, pretty boy,
Nor what I once have written to destroy.
If any love, and find his mistress kind,
Let him go on, and sail with his own wind;
But he that by his love is discontented,
To save his life my verses were invented.
Why should a lover kill himself? or why
Should any, with his own grief wounded, die?
Thou art a boy, to play becomes thee still,
Thy reign is soft; play then, and do not kill;
Or if thou'lt needs be vexing, then do this,
Make lovers meet by stealth, and steal a kiss
Make them to fear lest any overwatch them,
And tremble when they think some come to catch them;
And with those tears that lovers shed all night,
Be thou content, but do not kill outright.—
Love heard, and up his silver wings did heave,
And said, 'Write on; I freely give thee leave.'
Come then, all ye despised, that love endure,
I, that have felt the wounds, your love will cure;
But come at first, for if you make delay,
Your sickness will grow mortal by your stay:
The tree, which by delay is grown so big,
In the beginning was a tender twig;
That which at first was but a span in length,
Will, by delay, be rooted past men's strength.
Resist beginnings, medicines bring no curing
Where sickness is grown strong by long enduring.
When first thou seest a lass that likes thine eye,
Bend all thy present powers to descry
Whether her eye or carriage first would shew
If she be fit for love's delights or no:
Some will be easy, such an one elect;
But she that bears too grave and stern aspect,
Take heed of her, and make her not thy jewel,
Either she cannot love, or will be cruel.
If love assail thee there, betime take heed,
Those wounds are dangerous that inward bleed;
He that to-day cannot shake off love's sorrow,
Will certainly be more unapt to-morrow.

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poem by Francis Beaumont
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