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Over the Hill - Barrack Room Ballad

Of mice and men, on overbearing pride,
Views differ until time takes time to show
Events' and causes' hidden secret side,
Revealing how success slipped from grasped bow
Turning 'what might have been' from present tense,
Hence future futile, prospects far too narrow,
Exit by bear pursued, outrage intense,
Hurt undermining heart, brain, nerves, bone marrow.
If arrogance could call the shots at three,
Life might have been more clement, Hill on Hill,
Link Whitehouse phone to an emergency
AND challenge fraught fought, thought to fit the 'Bill'.
'FAR from the madding crowd's ignoble strife'
AWAY hillbill_lies fade, both man and wife.

One's not surprised by primary results
Vision's more than fistful cents, sense squandered,
Evidently some preferred insults,
Refused key choices as attention wandered.
This conduct compromised democracy

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Fire And Straw

Lovers of death were on prowl:
nothing was finished.Smart words
were bouncing back. Quotes by the fire
had stripped down the carnage. More
bombs in courtyard and hope was confronting
death. Few branded names were causing
rift in the ranks and I must forget
about the waterboarding too.

After the outrage you would not trust
them to govern themselves. The towns were
still sleeping accustomed to the knocks
on the doors. The water birds were not
coming this winter. Smoke and fire. Sound
and fury with flashbacks of flood of red streams.
I was tumbling down beyond challenge.
With message of menace they will do no wrong!

SATISH VERMA

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poem by Satish Verma
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The Blue Scarf

Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded
In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with dark knotted fringes,
it lies there,
Warm from a woman's soft shoulders, and my fingers close on it, caressing.
Where is she, the woman who wore it? The scent of her lingers and drugs me!
A languor, fire-shotted, runs through me, and I crush the scarf down
on my face,
And gulp in the warmth and the blueness, and my eyes swim
in cool-tinted heavens.
Around me are columns of marble, and a diapered, sun-flickered pavement.
Rose-leaves blow and patter against it. Below the stone steps a lute tinkles.
A jar of green jade throws its shadow half over the floor. A big-bellied
Frog hops through the sunlight and plops in the gold-bubbled water of a basin,
Sunk in the black and white marble. The west wind has lifted a scarf
On the seat close beside me, the blue of it is a violent outrage of colour.
She draws it more closely about her, and it ripples beneath
her slight stirring.
Her kisses are sharp buds of fire; and I burn back against her, a jewel
Hard and white; a stalked, flaming flower; till I break to
a handful of cinders,

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poem by Amy Lowell
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Just Man Or Woman

JUST MAN OR WOMAN

Forced to live a human life,
filled with trouble, toil and strife,
called a Husband or a wife,
are we just Man or Woman?

Trapped inside a fleshy cage,
poked and prodded ‘till outrage,
labeled by both Fool and Sage,
who say, “Just Man or Woman”.

As the intellect grows old,
One discovers, or is told,
“all that glitters is not gold”
is there just Man and Woman?

Judged by BODY separately,
every human has to be,
him or Her, a He or She,

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poem by Rhey W. Hedges
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Up Close and Vivid

There was a time,
I loved agitating.
Just to see different expressions,
Shown on people's faces.
Coming close,
To aggravation.
I knew my limitations.

I had gone to school to learn body language.
Interpersonal Communication.
And studying 'where' folks' feelings were.
You know...
Probing from afar.
Seeking to discover...
With just observation.
Who was disturbed...?
Who was emotionally disconnected,
And unnnerved.
And just 'who' was crazed?
Living on the edge...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lines Addressed to a Young Lady

Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms
And hurtling o'er thy lovely head,
Has fill'd that breast with fond alarms.

Surely some envious Demon's force,
Vex'd to behold such beauty here,
Impell'd the bullet's viewless course,
Diverted from its first career.

Yes! in that nearly fatal hour,
The ball obey'd some hell-born guide;
But Heaven, with interposing power,
In pity turn'd the death aside.

Yet, as perchance one trembling tear
Upon that thrilling bosom fell;
Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear,
Extracted from its glistening cell;

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poem by Byron (1806)
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Kind Or hollow words

Why words are considered hollow?
Why taken differently if spoken slow?
Why taken as offensive if spoken little louder?
Well all in same manner if equally not offered

How come they form a rhythm when arranged?
How come they offer solace when offered to aged
Same usage but with different attitude and spirit
May have nice effect if mixed with nice bits

It lands person into rage
The moments something is spoken in haste
It crates anger and loud explosion
Putting an end to cordial relation

Words same but effects many
Tongue is considered to be thorny
It has no bone but slips to may direction
Then question arises about its wrong application

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Princess of the Stars

(To M/V Princess of the Stars, swallowed by the waters with hundred people within it last June23,2008, Philippines)

You sailed as stars hid through shadows of the night.
Never did you think in your wildest dream
a silhouette of a fight.
Your knights would have been there with you
but you moved on all alone-
yet, a hundred souls lay silent
deep within your womb.
The wind, harsh and angry slapped your very face;
enormous waves pushed you all away.
Why did you choose that crucial way?
Where are your stars, have they betrayed thy grace,
ne'r watching at you as Frank destroyed thy face?
Your highness what thou hast done
to your water friend or your self alone...
why does the wave in its outrage
took you from this earthly stage?
Why does the wind in its loudest cry

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poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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I Hear The Annual Rhetoric

My ears I keep open.
And I hear the annual rhetoric.
Spoken by some in glorious tones...
About uplifting the quality of life of those,
Of our brothers and sisters...
Who have done their best,
Avoiding to get stuck...
In cracks wrapped around loopholes.
The ones...
Many have accepted to address their unhappiness.
With a lack of discipline and purpose self confessed.

I hear the annual rhetoric.

Yet a slow slipping done,
Into a fissure has grown to become an abyss.
And 'annually' I've been approached and asked...
To express an intelligent response about this!

However...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Invective of Achilles--V. 225

'Bibber besotted, with scowl of a cur, having heart of a deer, thou!
Never to join to thy warriors armed for the press of the conflict,
Never for ambush forth with the princeliest sons of Achaia
Dared thy soul, for to thee that thing would have looked as a death-stroke.
Sooth, more easy it seems, down the lengthened array of Achaians,
Snatch at the prize of the one whose voice has been lifted against thee.
Ravening king of the folk, for that thou hast thy rule over abjects;
Else, son of Atreus, now were this outrage on me thy last one.
Nay, but I tell thee, and I do swear a big oath on it likewise:
Yea, by the sceptre here, and it surely bears branches and leaf-buds
Never again, since first it was lopped from its trunk on the mountains,
No more sprouting; for round it all clean has the sharp metal clipped off
Leaves and the bark; ay, verify now do the sons of Achaia,
Guardian hands of the counsels of Zeus, pronouncing the judgement,
Hold it aloft; so now unto thee shall the oath have its portent;
Loud will the cry for Achilles burst from the sons of Achaia
Throughout the army, and thou chafe powerless, though in an anguish,
How to give succour when vast crops down under man-slaying Hector
Tumble expiring; and thou deep in thee shalt tear at thy heart-strings,
Rage-wrung, thou, that in nought thou didst honour the flower of Achaians.'

poem by George Meredith
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