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Dewi Sri, the Goddes of Rice

In the frontyard and leftside of my grandpa house
When the padi harvests and holiday came
I certainly went to my grandpahouse
Where before and after the harvests we have a religiousmale together
We pray and praise the Lord
Through the smoke of incense up and up to the sky
And the wind brought its to people around the village
For avoiding disaster and thanks to
Dewi Sri, the Goddes of Rice (fertility goddes)

My partjob is waiting the rice in the place for drying
firewood, from morning till evening
Till its rice and firewood to become dry
While I saw some people were paced back and forth over the path
Beside my grandpahouse
To carry padis on the back after the harvest
With pureface
After they got part of their work during threemonth
In the ricefields
Wheter they have and havenot the ricefield

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poem by Prasetya Utama
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The Death of Adonis

Cythera saw Adonis
And knew that he was dead;
She marked the brow, all grisly now,
The cheek no longer red;
And 'Bring the boar before me'
Unto her Loves she said.

Forthwith her winged attendants
Ranged all the woodland o'er,
And found and bound in fetters
Threefold the grisly boar:
One dragged him at a rope's end
E'en as a vanquished foe;
One went behind and drave him
And smote him with his bow:
On paced the creature feebly;
He feared Cythera so.

To him said Aphrodite:
'So, worst of beasts, 'twas you

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poem by Theocritus
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Three Faces

I.--VENTIMIGLIA

The sky and sea glared hard and bright and blank:
Down the one steep street, with slow steps firm and free,
A tall girl paced, with eyes too proud to thank
The sky and sea.

One dead flat sapphire, void of wrath or glee,
Through bay on bay shone blind from bank to bank
The weary Mediterranean, drear to see.

More deep, more living, shone her eyes that drank
The breathless light and shed again on me,
Till pale before their splendour waned and shrank
The sky and sea.

II.--GENOA

Again the same strange might of eyes, that saw
In heaven and earth nought fairer, overcame

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poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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A fool?

I set out on a long trip,
In a train that spans from end to end.
Out through the window flashed past,
Assorted scenes one by one.

Sky scrapers and mud hovels,
Steaming cities and peaceful hamlets,
Row upon row of maize and wheat,
Bent down under the weight of grain.

Cars gliding along crowded streets
Children school bound in crisp uniforms
Cattle grazing on distant hills
Cadets on parade beside their tented camps

Smoke coiling up from tall chimneys
Sizzling cascades from the heights
Swirling streams and glistening rivulets
Silky meadows and tall mountains

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poem by Valsa George
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The Battle Autumn of 1862

The flags of war like storm birds fly,
The charging trumpets blow;
Yet rolls no thunder in the sky,
No earthquake strives below.

And, calm and patient, Nature keeps
Her ancient promises well,
Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps,
The battle's breath of hell.

And still she walks in golden hours,
Through harvest-happy farms,
And still she wears her fruits and flowers
Like jewels on her arms.

What means the gladness of the plain,
This joy of eve and morn,
The mirth that shakes the bread of grain
And yellow locks of corn?

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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Belisarius

I am poor and old and blind;
The sun burns me, and the wind
Blows through the city gate
And covers me with dust
From the wheels of the august
Justinian the Great.

It was for him I chased
The Persians o'er wild and waste,
As General of the East;
Night after night I lay
In their camps of yesterday;
Their forage was my feast.

For him, with sails of red,
And torches at mast-head,
Piloting the great fleet,
I swept the Afric coasts
And scattered the Vandal hosts,
Like dust in a windy street.

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Aphelion

Maybe I could synthesise a fire,
If his moon’s face had, blue-paced, grown a frown,
Maybe, if his wintered kings think higher,
If bone-robes of gold tried long to drown.
Maybe I could synthesise a fire,
If sly crying eyes marred stars and skies,
And had not washed away Sam’s happy pire,
Which wept three tipples true with his fine lies.
Maybe I could synthesise a fire,
If his hills had willed six steep-found ills,
And if his children’s chiding wasn’t dire,
As if there lives some love beyond his wills.
Maybe I could synthesise a fire,
And make nine lines of moonlight moving still,
And if his crazy cats would stop their ire,
And drink their skinny dinner for his fill.
Maybe I could synthesise a fire,
Yes if, beneath these seas, lush fish could breathe,
And each dumbstruck ivy could climb higher,
If some sober men sung well in Meathe.

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poem by Sean Godley
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Shoes

'Get rid of those old shoes, ' she said,
'Their time has come and gone.'
I looked down at my battered soles
And smiled, as she went on;
When women talk of 'romance', then
It must be dressed to kill,
But these old shoes saw more romance
Than she could ever tell.

I took these shoes to China,
They passed through Singapore,
They trod old Wenzhou's meaner streets
In silence, pride and awe;
They padded through fine Restaurants
And stood before my class,
While Chinese students bit their pens
Translating Poe, en masse.

These shoes took me to Shanghai,
To walk the Nanjing Road,

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Beatrice

She came into the April air,
And passed across the silvery lawn;
Blithe was her voice, her brow was bare,
And rippled from her radiant hair
The glow and glory of the dawn.
Her footfall scared nor doe nor fawn,
No timid songster ceased to sing;
But, wheresoe'er she strayed or stood,
Her maiden coming seemed to bring
A wider wonder to the wood,
And more of magic to the Spring.

When June is throned, and round her blows
The rambling briar and lily tall,
I saw her watch the buds unclose,
Herself, herself the loveliest rose,
And stateliest lily of them all.
The blackbirds' fluting, cuckoo's call,
She scarcely heard, for trembled near,
And thrilled her wheresoe'er she strayed,

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poem by Alfred Austin
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Red Devil

I stand on the edge
I can see all the cars
They look like ants
Bright fast paced ants
I look up and see the full moon
Its so bright
My bright ball of light
I take of swig of my tequila
Molten lava slides down my throat
I start to cry and i teeter on the edge
I look out on the city
All the bright lights
So full of life
I close my eyes and remember
I remember my red devil
Its all running through my mind
Im cowering in the corner
I throw my pillow at it
It shakes it off
I throw my teddys at it

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poem by Vianca Borrero
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