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God-Speed to the Snow

March is slain; the keen winds fly;
Nothing more is thine to do;
April kisses thee good-bye;
Thou must haste and follow too;
Silent friend that guarded well
Withered things to make us glad,
Shyest friend that could not tell
Half the kindly thought he had.
Haste thee, speed thee, O kind snow;
Down the dripping valleys go,
From the fields and gleaming meadows,
Where the slaying hours behold thee,
From the forests whose slim shadows,
Brown and leafless cannot fold thee,
Through the cedar lands aflame
With gold light that cleaves and quivers,
Songs that winter may not tame,
Drone of pines and laugh of rivers.
May thy passing joyous be
To thy father, the great sea,

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poem by Archibald Lampman
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The Sunday News

Looking for something in the Sunday paper,
I flipped by accident through Local Weddings,
Yet missed the photograph until I saw
your name among the headings.

And there you were, looking almost unchanged,
Your hair still long, though now long out of style,
And you still wore that stiff and serious look
You called a smile.

I felt as though we sat there face to face.
My stomach tightened. I read the item through.
It said too much about both families,
Too little about you.

Finished at last, I threw the paper down,
Stung by jealousy, my mind aflame,
Hating this man, this stranger whom you loved,
This printed name.

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poem by Dana Gioia
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Is it Dark on the Other Side

What lies on the other side of death?
What happens at the last breath?
How will I feel inside?
When I take a look at life from the outside?

In life there is no place to hide,
No need to step aside,
Don't wanna have too much pride!
It is along life's truth that we must glide!

Is it dark on the other side?
Are we all gonna be fried?
No way, I say,
No need to be afraid!

When you feel it is time to rest,
Lay your head on love's breast,
And when you reach the other side,
You will see that I've not lied,

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poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Fancies

Surely the flowers of a hundred springs
Are simply the souls of beautiful things!

The poppies aflame with gold and red
Were the kisses of lovers in days that are fled.

The purple pansies with dew-drops pearled
Were the rainbow dreams of a youngling world.

The lily, white as a star apart,
Was the first pure prayer of a virgin heart.

The daisies that dance and twinkle so
Were the laughter of children in long ago.

The sweetness of all true friendship yet
Lives in the breath of the mignonette.

To the white narcissus there must belong
The very delight of a maiden's song.

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poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Leela- an eng. movie

Exile rating is the air she breathes,
Bewildering is the glance she casts;
Enticingly vulnerable is her condition.
She is a picture of smouldering sensuality.

With her poise and polish,
She makes you yarn and pine.
Driven by warmth of a young-becoming man,
She is like a cold candle set aflame.

No surgeon yet bringing relief,
No scalpel yet helping a heal,
In a moment, life might encapsulate
Its joys, yet life is not just a moment.

She lets go of her inhibition and collapses
Like surging waves falling on shores.
Simplistic in delineation, over simple in Solution;
It develops into a little more than nothing.
Blinded, she and he entangles.

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poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pure Emotion...

When I think of you a shiver runs through my being,
Like silk dancing across my skin, raising my expectations.
Your eyes bright reveal the devlish thoughts in your mind.
My heart quickens at the thought of possessing you once more.
Heart pounding, emotions unquenched, a desperate need embraces me.
I watch as an impish smile plays upon your lips as I stare into you.
Like a newborn storm I await the crash of thunder in my soul.
I yearn the electricity that will set our emotions aflame.
My touch like the faintest whisper of angels breath upon your skin.
I place my hand around yours you feel my gentle power.
I wash away all your anxiety like a cleansing summer rain.
For we were meant for this moment in time... We are pure emotion...

Spread the love... The peace will follow...

poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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One Face

One face in a crowd is hard to find.
One face in that crowd is on my mind.
How can I find the face of one,
The face that to me is like the sun?

Shiny and bright with a radiant glow,
The face that picks me up when I'm low,
Eyes that light up wherever they are
Just like the splendor of an evening star,

Lips that break into the sweetest smile
That lingers for me for the longest while,
Hair that surrounds that face like a frame
That always sets my heart aflame.

I search all the faces but cannot see
The one that means the world to me.
I'm lost. I'm wretched. This should not be.
There are too many faces. I'm lost at sea.

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poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sheepish The Lion

The Sheepish Lion
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Sunday, January 9,2011, @6: 59 PM

It’s a dirty rotten shame
Chance never given to play the game
Not even a farthing left to my name
Now who is really to blame?

No one so back from where I came
Sought out fortune and fame
Everything remains the same
The pauper I became

The waters now inflame
The wild lion now tame
Fires now enflame
Onetime associates now disclaim

Friends now I rename
Diligently they took aim

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poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Hope

When we went singing down the road,
In days when want was not a goad,
Dull care behind us flinging,
No step we stayed, no joy we missed,
To hearken to the pessimist,
But gaily went on singing.

We'd faith in this great country then;
We'd hope in her great, stalwart men,
Who built a worthy nation.
Hope? Hope was ever in our hearts,
For we seemed cast for Builders' parts
And there was our salvation.

But what has changed our outlook now?
With weary eyes and furrowed brow
The uphill road we're facing.
But why? This land is still aflame

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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When you visited me

My world was dull
like a black and white film
made by a third rate producer,

but it was like a scene
from a movie
made by Steven Spielberg
when you came to visit me.

Never were you more beautiful
than last night
when I saw you again.

Happiness shone in your eyes
which sparkled
like rare golden citrine
brighter than at any time
and your whole face was aflame,

your auburn hair

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poem by Gert Strydom
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