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Riddle 1

THERE was an ancient City, stricken down
With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
And danced the night away.

I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad:
They pointed to a building gray and tall,
And hoarsely answered "Step inside, my lad,
And then you'll see it all."

* * * *

Yet what are all such gaieties to me
Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds?
x² + 7x + 53

= 11/3.

But something whispered "It will soon be done:

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poem by Lewis Carroll from Four Riddles
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A Map of Verona

Quelle belle heure, quels bons bras
me rendront ces régions d'où mes
sommeils et mes moindres mouvements?

A map of Verona is open, the small strange city;
With its river running round and through, it is river-embraced,
And over this city for a whole long winter season,
Through streets on a map, my thoughts have hovered and paced.

Across the river there is a wandering suburb,
An unsolved smile on a now familiar mouth;
Some enchantments of earlier towns are about you:
Once I was drawn to Naples in the south.

Naples I know now, street and hovel and garden,
The look of the islands from the avenue,
Capri and Ischia, like approaching drum-beats—
My youthful Naples, how I remember you!

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poem by Henry Reed
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Death Whispers in My Ear

The doctors said: ‘Take her away,
There's nothing we can do,
The life is seeping from her blood
Her soul is weeping too,
But keep her in a darkened room
And hidden from the light,
Perhaps you'll gain a week or two
Before her soul takes flight! '

I drove her to ‘The Grange' at that,
Post haste, in coach and four,
I veiled her in black crepe and lace,
She fainted at the door.
I carried her, she was so slight
I feared she might be dead,
And laid her on the davenport
A pillow at her head.

I covered her with red damask
And drew the velvet drapes,

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Popcorn, Glass Balls, and Cranberries

I. THE LION

The Lion is a kingly beast.
He likes a Hindu for a feast.
And if no Hindu he can get,
The lion-family is upset.

He cuffs his wife and bites her ears
Till she is nearly moved to tears.
Then some explorer finds the den
And all is family peace again.

II. AN EXPLANATION OF THE GRASSHOPPER

The Grasshopper, the grasshopper,
I will explain to you:—
He is the Brownies' racehorse,
The fairies' Kangaroo.

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poem by Vachel Lindsay
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The Sound of the Spheres

The Rastenberg Philharmonic had sat,
Were shuffling in their seats,
And tuning their various instruments
To play ‘The Survivor Suite'.
It had only been played just once before,
They knew they were taking a chance,
The conductor and several cellists had gone
Right after Svrili's Dance!

One moment, the baton was waved in the air,
The next, the podium was clear,
A cellist had sawed at an awful E flat
Before he had disappeared;
Then holes had appeared in the group at the front
Where cellists and violins sat,
And all that was left of the treble bassoon
Was a sandwich, under his hat.

It wasn't as if they hadn't been warned
For Borchnik appeared on the stage,

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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In Front Of The Landscape

Plunging and labouring on in a tide of visions,
Dolorous and dear,
Forward I pushed my way as amid waste waters
Stretching around,
Through whose eddies there glimmered the customed landscape
Yonder and near,
Blotted to feeble mist. And the coomb and the upland
Foliage-crowned,
Ancient chalk-pit, milestone, rills in the grass-flat
Stroked by the light,
Seemed but a ghost-like gauze, and no substantial
Meadow or mound.
What were the infinite spectacles bulking foremost
Under my sight,
Hindering me to discern my paced advancement
Lengthening to miles;
What were the re-creations killing the daytime
As by the night?
O they were speechful faces, gazing insistent,
Some as with smiles,

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poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Oakland Dog

I lay one happy night in bed
And dreamed that all the dogs were dead.
They'd all been taken out and shot
Their bodies strewed each vacant lot.

O'er all the earth, from Berkeley down
To San Leandro's ancient town,
And out in space as far as Niles
I saw their mortal parts in piles.

One stack upreared its ridge so high
Against the azure of the sky
That some good soul, with pious views,
Put up a steeple and sold pews.

No wagging tail the scene relieved:
I never in my life conceived
(I swear it on the Decalogue!)
Such penury of living dog.

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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Yellow Clover

Must I, who walk alone,
Come on it still,
This Puck of plants
The wise would do away with,
The sunshine slants
To play with,
Our wee, gold-dusty flower, the yellow clover,
Which once in Parting for a time
That then seemed long,
Ere time for you was over,
We sealed our own?
Do you remember yet,
O Soul beyond the stars,
Beyond the uttermost dim bars
Of space,
Dear Soul, who found earth sweet,
Remember by love's grace,
In dreamy hushes of the heavenly song,
How suddenly we halted in our climb,
Lingering, reluctant, up that farthest hill,

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poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Binge drinking grub in pub rues dreams run rare

When you are young and blithe, brink full of fun,
binge drinking grub in pub rues dreams run rare.
Case quick disjointed joint. Soon rising sun
transforms both in and outright sight with glare.

Teetering down by overflowing bar,
murmur, sadly slurring, how Love fled.
Glass clinking clown mask crowd clouds twinkling stars
as unseen, from the gutter, as mountains overhead

Take a quick gander in mind's mirror too.
Shake out fair hair, where lusting hands would grope.
Make hay while sun shines, remember very few
shall beacon beckon, most unravelled rope
too soon unreel. Time's kriegspiel lightning flash
strikes home as Charon charges one-way fee
for memories few hold. Bough breaks. Vows trash
consigned by brash newcomers seeking key.

In some sum total of recorded time

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Eyes Of Mr D (Part 3)

(The author recommends that you read Parts One and Two before reading this.)

For a week, he frantically looked
for her at the bus stop
and the surrounding area.
Unfortunately, he could not see her anywhere.
It was as if she had vanished into thin air.
He bought most every paper,
looking for her picture there somewhere,
but it never appeared.

At his ground floor flat, he paced about.
She was on his mind constantly.
He need to find her,
but was lost on what to do.
He could not go to the police;
they would take him as a crank,
or worst still,
accuse him of being a murderer.

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poem by David Harris
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