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In The Month Athyr

I can just read the inscription on this ancient stone.
“Lo[r]d Jesus Christ.” I make out a “So[u]l.”
“In the mon[th] of Athyr’ ‘Lefkio[s] went to sleep.”
Where his age is mentioned—“lived to the age of”—
the Kappa Zeta shows that he went to sleep a young man.
In the corroded part I see “Hi[m]…Alexandrian.”
Then there are three badly mutilated lines—
though I can pick out a few words, like “our tea[r]s,”
“grief,”
then “tears” again, and “sorrow to [us] his [f]riends.”
I think Lefkios must have been greatly loved.
In the month of Athyr Lefkios went to sleep.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Dreams

It seems that most of my dreams fade as fast as September.

Though that failed philosophy class is one I’ll remember.

Since I cut too many classes I couldn’t take the final test;

Flunked the course, didn’t get my degree and negated the rest.

Then there’s the general manager’s job I lost in the Near East.

Since the level of company politics had greatly increased.

Said what I thought which didn’t work worth a damn.

That’s why I find myself right here where I am.

Naked in front of all who pass with only glances so rude.

No compassion though I’m helpless, penniless… and nude.

poem by Gregory Huyette
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Soldiers at Peace

Mourn not for these, the children of the spring :
On Flemish plains and far Aegean sand,
Mourn not for these, who had no perishing !
Hang high their swords in churches greatly spanned !
Whose deeds have spoken so, beyond our tears,
Their spirits live, needing no other voice
Above the dimming valley of the years
They live anew, immortal by their choice.

The soldiers' peace of their imagining
has fallen here. The whirling leaves are still:
Deep in the shadow of the rainwashed hill,
A lustre and a quietude art shed,
When all the valley streams are glimmering,
And the moon swims from the storm-wrack overhead.

poem by Herbert Asquith
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Sonnet XIV: If He From Heav'n

If he from Heav'n that filch'd that living fire
Condemn'd by Jove to endless torment be,
I greatly marvel how you still go free
That far beyond Prometheus did aspire.
The fire he stole, although of heav'nly kind,
Which from above he craftily did take,
Of lifeless clods us living men to make,
He did bestow in temper of the mind;
But you broke into Heav'n's immortal store,
Where Virtue, Honor, Wit, and Beauty lay,
Which taking thence you have escap'd away,
Yet stand as free as e'er you did before;
Yet old Prometheus punish'd for his rape.
Thus poor thieves suffer when the greater 'scape.

poem by Michael Drayton
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A flower to kiss

Aflower to kiss,
the flower yet to be flowering
So cute but not yet cluttering
in the bowl, the flower is the sent
The yet beautiful but greatly cute
The flower, flowering a glory
Then, now the smell is the scent

Glory, glory is the name
The rose flower standing amiss
The rose flower that tantalises
In the midst of the green garden
Such a light in the natural eyes
The golden eyes sparkling
In the flower, so flowered

In the flower, yet to kiss
So eyes get the truth
In the flower of the days
Each day, tomorrow and yet to reborn

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Mopoke Mopoke Is All It Has To Say

In the still of night I hear the boobook cry
Mopoke mopoke in the parkland nearby
Mopoke mopoke is all it has to say
The bird that hides from the bright lamp of day
A voice quite unmelodiuos though clear
That in the night time one does often hear
An owl that the small songbirds greatly fear
They fly from their roosting perch when boobook's near
Small enough for to kill and delicious for to eat
To boobook's taste buds quite a tasty treat
With killer claws and a deadly hooked bill
The boobook owl is out hunting for to kill
Mopoke mopoke echoes in the night sky
The boobook owl hunts in the park nearby.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Why is there Oil?

Why is there oil I asked one night,
and a startling answer came into sight.
It’s Mother’s Earth’s blood, that is what oil is,
It’s Sacred and my blood to share.
Be wise in your pumping
Man is not to do wrong with this blood,
For it’s not to be shed so humans end up dead

for here is what she seriously said:

“You are pumping the blood right out of ME,

Which makes ME very Sad,

The spilling has greatly affected

My Land

and my Ocean,

[...] Read more

poem by Christina Sunrise
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Hidden Harmony

THE thoughts in me are very calm and high
That think upon your love: yet by your leave
You shall not greatly marvel that this eve
Or nightfall—yet scarce nightfall—the strong sky
Leaves me thus sad. Now if you ask me why,
I cannot teach you, dear; but I believe
It is that man will always interweave
Life with fresh want, with wish or fear to die.
It may be therefore,—though the matter touch
Nowise our love,—that I so often look
Sad in your presence, often feeling so.
And of the reason I can tell thus much:—
Man's soul is like the music in a book
Which were not music but for high and low.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Human Spirit

Oh brightest of the brightest stars
You shine out greatly in the darkest night
And all around the darkness falls
Yet you do not, you stand and fight

Time and again, wave after wave
The darkness assaults your soul
Threatening to smash to a thousand pieces
Yet you still stand tall and whole

Relentlessly the scorching fire rains down
And you are battered from every side
Weaker now, to your knees you fall
Desperately seeking for a place to hide

For one who once stood tall and strong
Now forsaken and lost and no more fight
Surrounded by darkness on every side
You must now flee into the darkest night

poem by Frank McEleny
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Poem Celebrating 50 Years

My dear, ‘twas fifty years ago when we first met
on a trip to Stratford that I'll never forget.
When as a sweet girl of fourteen you caught my eye
and love first began its great work in this old guy.

Today we dined together and were reminiscing
and we praised God for each years' wonderful blessing.
Then we sat by the canal in the bright moonlight
holding hands like two lovers sitting in God's sight.

Time has passed by and how quickly the years have flown
and God has blessed us greatly as our love has grown.
I am so glad that I have married you my dear
and shared the experience of each passing year.

poem by Royston
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