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Performance and Stamina

Cool with life and free of superstitions,
Four leaf clovers, rabbit feet...
And free flights of fancy.

She said I had 'captured wisdom' in my eyes.
As she turned down my request for a date,
To ask if I knew her grandfather!
It just so happened I did.
When we both were kids.

Cool with life and free of superstitions
Four leaf clovers, rabbit feet...
And free flights of fancy.
Most of the times.

People say I shouldn't admit to being 60.
That I should say to everyone I'm 45!
I feel so blessed I'd confess anything to who I meet.
Rejecting me because of my age,
Is such a foolish thing!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When The Rain Stopped Falling

there is this heavy rain
falling on top of your roof and it is so disturbing
that you wake up
and lock your windows
to shut yourself away from the sounds
of falling

but you cannot help worrying even when you cannot
literally hear the sound of the falling rain

you still imagine how they fall inside your mind
as though you can hear every syllable that every neddle of rain
is pricking in your brain
your ears
and your eyes still have the image of these
series of fallings

that even if the rain finally stopped
and you open your window to check
in the middle of this time

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Last Leaf

That she was old beyond belief
was obvious for all to see.
Her face was like a wrinkled leaf
The last one clinging to the tree

in defiance of the gales.
Which autumns sends to strip the trees.
But now and then this method fails
and one leaf refuses to release

its hold and stubbornly remains
attached to where it’s always been.
Where once it drank the summer rains
when it was tender young and green.

How old she is she cannot say
nor does she care apparently.
But like the last leaf in her way
intends to cling on stubbornly.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Pulling Life On The Mercy Of Others

The smoky restaurant on the roadside
Was waiting for its first customer
Ready with local South Indian menu
The owner was turning impatient
Pulling out and pushing in
His cash box
Hotel waiters standing close
To their areas of service
I was watching all of them
Positioning myself outside the premises
I was too keen to see their first customer
This hotel serves you the best
Among all the such outlets
In this part of the city
It may be business strategy, I do not know
The quality of the food initially served
Turns less acceptable to me as time passes
That is why, I come very early in the morning
So that I get the good stuff
I took off my eyes from the staff

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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Praise Of Ysolt

In vain have I striven,
to teach my heart to bow;
In vain have I said to him
'There be many singers greater than thou'.

But his answer cometh, as winds and as lutany,
As a vague crying upon the night
That leaveth me no rest, saying ever,
'Song, a song.'
Their echoes play upon each other in the twilight
Seeking ever a song.
Lo, I am worn with travail
And the wandering of many roads hath made my eyes
As dark red circles filled with dust.
Yet there is a trembling upon me in the twilight,
And little red elf words crying, ‘A song',
Little grey elf words crying for a song,
Little brown leaf words crying, ‘A song',
Little green leaf words crying for a song.
The words are as leaves, old brown leaves in the spring time

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poem by Ezra Pound
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Night Of Frost In May

With splendour of a silver day,
A frosted night had opened May:
And on that plumed and armoured night,
As one close temple hove our wood,
Its border leafage virgin white.
Remote down air an owl hallooed.
The black twig dropped without a twirl;
The bud in jewelled grasp was nipped;
The brown leaf cracked a scorching curl;
A crystal off the green leaf slipped.
Across the tracks of rimy tan,
Some busy thread at whiles would shoot;
A limping minnow-rillet ran,
To hang upon an icy foot.

In this shrill hush of quietude,
The ear conceived a severing cry.
Almost it let the sound elude,
When chuckles three, a warble shy,
From hazels of the garden came,

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poem by George Meredith
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The Year of the Rose

From the depths of the green garden-closes
Where the summer in darkness dozes
Till autumn pluck from his hand
An hour-glass that holds not a sand;
From the maze that a flower-belt encloses
To the stones and sea-grass on the strand
How red was the reign of the roses
Over the rose-crowned land!

The year of the rose is brief;
From the first blade blown to the sheaf,
From the thin green leaf to the gold,
It has time to be sweet and grow old,
To triumph and leave not a leaf
For witness in winter's sight
How lovers once in the light
Would mix their breath with its breath,
And its spirit was quenched not of night,
As love is subdued not of death.

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poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Milkmaid's Song

Turn, turn, for my cheeks they burn,
Turn by the dale, my Harry!
Fill pail, fill pail,
He has turned by the dale,
And there by the stile waits Harry.
Fill, fill,
Fill, pail, fill,
For there by the stile waits Harry!
The world may go round, the world may stand still
But I can milk and marry,
Fill pail,
I can milk and marry.

Wheugh, wheugh!
O, if we two
Stood down there now by the water,
I know who'd carry me over the ford
As brave as a soldier, as proud as a lord,
Though I don't live over the water.
Wheugh, wheugh! he's whistling through,

[...] Read more

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Autumn's Window Decorations! ! !

Spring gallops with his unbridled flourish, flamboyant in display,
In winter solstice rebuked, mellow Sun languishes in disarray,
Sedate autumn tiptoes warily stepping over spring’s leftovers,
Triumphs over its boisterous fracas, spilling glory in arcade of mature colors,

Smarmy cold winds guzzle darkness, a vice reserved for the night,
Cajoling her to huddle, intoxicated take to bed the moon,
Under the light blanket of stars, tossed off with approaching light,
In silhouette lull descends, to disrobe nature at dawn

Summer dons its last garb with deviance, as Nature begs,
For just one more warm day to bask in the subdued Sun,
Stealing away our precious light as nightfall creeps faster into day,
September’s sloppy kiss, bids adieu to summer’s last hoorah.

Catching a light and a shade of a vibrant spectrum, worn-out leaves dangle,
Lets doubtful light filter, through the tapestry of their veins, delicate,
Into decorative window hangings, sequined with colorful gems from the deep,
Sunlight streams through in beams, in shimmering golden brocade.

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poem by Seema joglekar
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The Metamorphosis Of Plants

THOU art confused, my beloved, at, seeing the thousandfold union

Shown in this flowery troop, over the garden dispers'd;
any a name dost thou hear assign'd; one after another

Falls on thy list'ning ear, with a barbarian sound.
None resembleth another, yet all their forms have a likeness;

Therefore, a mystical law is by the chorus proclaim'd;
Yes, a sacred enigma! Oh, dearest friend, could I only

Happily teach thee the word, which may the mystery solve!
Closely observe how the plant, by little and little progressing,

Step by step guided on, changeth to blossom and fruit!
First from the seed it unravels itself, as soon as the silent

Fruit-bearing womb of the earth kindly allows Its escape,
And to the charms of the light, the holy, the ever-in-motion,

[...] Read more

poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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