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For President, Leland Stanford

Mahomet Stanford, with covetous stare,
Gazed on a vision surpassingly fair:
Far on the desert's remote extreme
A mountain of gold with a mellow gleam
Reared its high pinnacles into the sky,
The work of _mirage_ to delude the eye.
Pixley Pasha, at the Prophet's feet
Piously licking them, swearing them sweet,
Ventured, observing his master's glance,
To beg that he order the mountain's advance.
Mahomet Stanford exerted his will,
Commanding: 'In Allah's name, hither, hill!'
Never an inch the mountain came.
Mahomet Stanford, with face aflame,
Lifted his foot and kicked, alack!
Pixley Pasha on the end of the back.
Mollified thus and smiling free,
He said: 'Since the mountain won't come to me,
I'll go to the mountain.' With infinite pains,
Camels in caravans, negroes in trains,

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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Snow Fairy

I

Throughout the afternoon I watched them there,
Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky,
Whirling fantastic in the misty air,
Contending fierce for space supremacy.
And they flew down a mightier force at night,
As though in heaven there was revolt and riot,
And they, frail things had taken panic flight
Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet.
I went to bed and rose at early dawn
To see them huddled together in a heap,
Each merged into the other upon the lawn,
Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep.
The sun shone brightly on them half the day,
By night they stealthily had stol'n away.

II

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poem by Claude McKay
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I Need Red

He sees red. In a snap, He frees head
He flings it, away with all decorum.
A quorum, his mental faculty cannot form
His mind is at once deformed into the form,
Of a moon-pest, a lunatick.

He read red, spread through their blunders
So like a bull, in a china shop
He began to pull, the whole place assunder,
Breaking bones, taking home,
No prisoners; this irate wave, roars like thunder.

Red, the unspoken language of violence,
The color of bloodshed,
The emblem of the hot-head.
Red, a madman, shouting in ire
Aflame with rage, eyes ablaze like hell-fire.

But now I see red, and instead of dread,
I see bread, and see wine,

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poem by Joba Akinola
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London's Burning

His eyes reflect the golden fire, his pupils burning bright
As he turns away they feel a sudden, crying urge to fight
Big Old Ben has run away, they always thought it might
London's Burning
London's Burning

The chapels down in Kensington are bursting into flames
The children of the neighbourhood are dancing, gone insane
They hug their parent's knees and try to cry away the shame
London's Burning
London's Burning

Members of the royalty rush in to see the Queen
She's rushed off to a bunker, told to wait and not to scream
But all of London's gone aflame, her bunker traps her here
London's Burning
London's Burning

Teenage gangs are on the prowl, they go from place to place
They need no names or calls or shouts, don't need know their race

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poem by Matt Pocock
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A Question

I.

SOUL, spirit, genius--which thou art--that whence
I know not, rose upon this mortal frame
Like the sun o'er the mountains, all aflame,
Seen large through mists of childish innocence,
And year by year with me uptravelling thence,
As hour by hour the day-star, madest aspire
My nature, interpenetrate with fire
It felt but understood not--strong, intense,
Wisdom with folly mixed, and gold with clay;--
Soul, thou hast journeyed with me all this way.
Oft hidden and o'erclouded, oft arrayed
In scorching splendors that my earth-life burned,
Yet ever unto thee my true life turned,
For, dim, or clear, 't was thou my daylight made.

II.

SOUL, dwelling oft in God's infinitude,

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poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Fire-Pit

How soon those eyes of yours
stretch across
to grab me by the soul
and squeeze
til heart drops drip
drip drip
and my knees
clank away
shaking.

Each time I say
I will not
let
these feelings sway.

My common sense
turns away
abandoning me;
my helpless self,
my angry self

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Tomb At Akr Çaar

‘I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched
These five millennia, and thy dead eyes
Moved not, nor ever answer my desire,
And thy light limbs, wherethrough I leapt aflame,
Burn not with me nor any saffron thing.

See, the light grass sprang up to pillow thee,
And kissed thee with a myriad grassy tongues;
But not thou me.
I have read out the gold upon the wall,
And wearied out my thought upon the signs.
And there is no new thing in all this place.

I have been kind. See, I have left the jars sealed,
Lest thou shouldst wake and whimper for thy wine.
And all thy robes I have kept smooth on thee.

O thou unmindful ! How should I forget!
-Even the river many days ago,
The river? thou wast over young.

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poem by Ezra Pound
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Mendax

High Lord of Liars, Pickering, to thee
Let meaner mortals bend the subject knee!
Thine is mendacity's imperial crown,
Alike by genius, action and renown.
No man, since words could set a cheek aflame
E'er lied so greatly with so little shame!
O bad old man, must thy remaining years
Be passed in leading idiots by their ears
Thine own (which Justice, if she ruled the roast
Would fasten to the penitential post)
Still wagging sympathetically-hung
the same rocking-bar that bears thy tongue?

Thou dog of darkness, dost thou hope to stay
Time's dread advance till thou hast had thy day?
Dost think the Strangler will release his hold
Because, forsooth, some fibs remain untold?
No, no-beneath thy multiplying load
Of years thou canst not tarry on the road
To dabble in the blood thy leaden feet

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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Pope John Paul II (A Biography Poem Sequence-1)

The Pope’s Childhood Days:

His home was near to Peter’s square;
The Church had cast its spiritual air
That made Karol, a pope at last,
And rather young and very fast!

His pious parents reared him well;
Prayers were done as if by bell;
As altar-boy in his parish,
His childhood days, he did cherish.

The passion plays of Calvary,
Brought him to Christ, Mother Mary;
His chief weapon, the rosary
Helped war against Satan wary.

His childhood days were prayerful;
The chapel was so wonderful;
Karol was on his knees for long,

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poem by John Celes
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I Once Knew A Woman

Well now I once knew a woman listen while I tell you all about her yeah
And the first time I seen her I knew I couldn't live without her
Well now she swore she'd love me all her life and I knew I'd do the same
God damn but I don't even remember her name I don't remember her name

Well now I once knew a woman and oh listen while I'm tellin' it to ya yeah
She had big brown eyes the kind that could look right through ya
Now that she looked in my soul with those big brown eyes
Got a feelin' like I never knew hey come to think of it those eyes were blue
I think those eyes were blue

Well now you end one love then onto another never thinkin' back at the past one
Never stop to think oh brother that the next one gonna be just like the last one
I once knew a woman listen while I tell you my story
She had a heart like the world her lips like a morning glory yeah
Well I knew at last I met my fate and I'm bound to settle down
Hey I wonder if she's still in town

Yeah I once knew a woman and listen while I tell you some more boys
Hey come to think of it I think I told bout her before boys

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poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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