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To Chloe Weeping

See, whilst Thou weep'st, fair Cloe, see
The World in Sympathy with Thee.
The chearful Birds no longer sing,
Each drops his Head, and hangs his Wing.
The Clouds have bent their Bosom lower,
And shed their Sorrows in a Show'r.
The Brooks beyond their Limits flow;
And louder Murmurs speak their Woe.
The Nymphs and Swains adopt Thy Cares:
They heave Thy Sighs, and weep Thy Tears.
Fantastic Nymph! that Grief should move
Thy Heart, obdurate against Love.
Strange Tears! whose Pow'r can soften All,
But That dear Breast on which they fall.

poem by Matthew Prior
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Dust And Smoke

Sitting in piles of papers,
I don't find my dear poem.
Alas! What I did yesterday,
with pen, in poem's name?
I see eagerly, but find
nothing, which can be my
the best poem, I cry in
sorrow and heave a sigh.
And oh! to my surprise
I watch smoke of anger,
of sorrow, and tear are
coming out, I can't share!
The dust of old thought,
smear my imagination...
I tear my poems one by
one in the sky and laugh
in wilderness to vie
with me and my power
which have gone in the air!
I make tight grip to fight

[...] Read more

poem by Nilakshi Das
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Make Believe

Life is full of make believe,
dreams of earnest topping fame.
Gilded Lilies spring up everywhere
as if in some dark nightmare.
We look with weary eyes
at temples we want to climb.
The shrines we want to spell out our name,
but with heavy sighs, we heave,
knowing our dreams are but make believe.

Each hill we climb
brings us closer,
to our vacant dreams departed.
Still we strive towards them,
hoping one day to catch a glimpse,
of what our heart wants most,
the dreams that will not fade,
in the hollow halls,
of the land of make believe.

poem by David Harris
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On Seeing the Wind at Hope Mansell

Whether or not shadows are of the substance
such is the expectation I can
wait to surprise my vision as a wind
enters the valley: sudden and silent
in its arrival, drawing to full cry
the whorled invisibilities, glassen towers
freighted with sky-chaff; that, as barnstorming
powers, rammack the small
orchard; that well-steaded oaks
ride stolidly, that rake the light-leafed ash,
that glowing yew trees, cumbrous, heave aside.
Amidst and abroad tumultuous lumina,
regents, reagents, cloud-fêted, sun-ordained,
fly tally over hedgerows, across fields.

poem by Geoffrey Hill
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Answer To Cloe Jealous. The Author Sick

Yes, fairest Proof of Beauty's Pow'r,
Dear Idol of My panting Heart,
Nature points This my fatal Hour:
And I have liv'd; and We must part.

While now I take my last Adieu,
Heave Thou no Sigh, nor shed a Tear;
Lest yet my half-clos'd Eye may view
On Earth an Object worth it's Care.

From Jealousy's tormenting Strife
For ever be Thy Bosom free'd:
That nothing may disturb Thy Life,
Content I hasten to the Dead.

Yet when some better-fated Youth
Shall with his am'rous Parly move Thee;
Reflect One Moment on His Truth,
Who dying Thus, persists to love Thee.

poem by Matthew Prior
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Sailing The Sea Of Love

and so tired of the weepy willows,
ironic about the daily news of love
abandoned, lovers abscond,
about a love lost, lover betrayed,

you heave a sigh and for once
agree with your feet to stroll the
shores of love: the hermit
crabs finally exchanging
shells for love beds, the worms
giggling for new partners
setting aside hermaproditic
decisions, the seagulls mating
on air and on top of the roofs
of boats moving out to sea

wave after wave of love
you sail out to sea all alone still
wishing that on the other island
you shall meet your best find.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Outside

I want to be lighting my pipe on deck,
With my baggage safe below—
I want to be free of the crowded quay,
While the steamer’s swinging slow.
I want to be free of treachery,
And of sordid joys and griefs—
To be out of sight of the faces white,
And the waving of handkerchiefs.
I want to be making my ship-board friends,
I want to be free of the past—
I want to be laughing with kindred souls,
While the Heads are opening fast.
I want to be sailing far to-day,
On the tracks where the rovers go,
To feel the heave of the deck, and draw
The breath that the rovers know.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Outside

I want to be lighting my pipe on deck,
With my baggage safe below—
I want to be free of the crowded quay,
While the steamer’s swinging slow.
I want to be free of treachery,
And of sordid joys and griefs—
To be out of sight of the faces white,
And the waving of handkerchiefs.
I want to be making my ship-board friends,
I want to be free of the past—
I want to be laughing with kindred souls,
While the Heads are opening fast.
I want to be sailing far to-day,
On the tracks where the rovers go,
To feel the heave of the deck, and draw
The breath that the rovers know.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Feel Of Sharing A God

It should not have happened
this way, or that way,
rendering breathing difficult
in the intense smoke of misunderstanding.
The granite wall between the doors!

You grope through a thicket of words
crossing the centuries of hate.
Sun, no sun settles for the hope
of a slain blankness, to properly
heave, a sigh after the childbirth of truth.

All the dead white bones, jutting out
from the ancestral incompleteness of
forgetfulness of man to accept gracefully
the suffering of neighbourhood. The very
feel of sharing a god.

You are what you are not
I am not, what I am.

poem by Satish Verma
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Sonnet- 'Tis A Lull For Now

The mental torture seems to have ended,
At least for now, if not for my lifetime;
With help from God, I had well defended;
My winter's gone and Spring is now the clime.

My foes had failed in miserable a way;
They lie in ambush and in low profile;
May be, they wait for yet, another day;
They could not make the black mark in my life.

I heave a sigh of relief, just for now;
My honesty has triumphed yet again;
To God who saved me from trouble, I bow;
He brings the Sun in time and also Rain.
My sufferings ain't big compared to those
Unlucky ones, to suffer more, God chose.

poem by John Celes
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