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Cat Heart

I searched in deep desert
Thought she may be busty with concert
Looks as if she is down with barren heart
But can manage well as she is capable and smart

Why has she gone off completely when on peak?
Built of strong will power and never felt weak
Never uttered a work or tried to speak
Even if suture deemed uncertain and bleak

Where she is I may pray for her well being
She may be doing exceptionally and managing well
We all need not advise her or tell
She has capability of turning hell

I would try to venture in her kind approach
She was well versed and needed no coach
The poetic world might have benefited a lot
But alas! Something was definitely lost

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Songs Without Words

When they brought him to the Hospital

He was listed as John Doe.

He would have liked the irony-

as Harry Chapin was well known.

His hair was like a lion’s mane

His face both kind and strong

Though doctor’s tried and nurses cried

Harry had sung his last song.

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poem by John F. McCullagh
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Work For Woman

Woman, sitting at your ease,
In the midst of luxuries,
Bound by chains of selfishness,
With no aim but 'how to dress,'
Does the thought ne'er come to you
Of the thing that you could do?
Could, and yet do not,
To crush out the liquor trade,
That is making, and has made,
Sin and shame, and woe and tears
In our land, for years and years-
Have you never thought?

You will chat for hours and hours
Over ribbons, silks, and flowers,
But you will not talk or think
Of this growing evil-drink.
You will weep and smile and laugh
Over trashy books of chaff,

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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Wish I Had Been Born A Bird...[Personal; Birds; Humor]

My parents were both humans, so I am human too,
but I'd wish to be a bird, if I could be born anew.
Though I 'love' birds, you may think my wish absurd.
But more absurd wishes I'm sure you have heard.

Of course I'm not a bird and never will be.
But if I could talk to birds I could better see
if the life of a bird would really satisfy me.
Eating seeds and bugs and such, and sitting in a tree.

My bird of choice? How would I pick a winner?
Not a penguin, who has to dress for dinner.
Not an ostrich, another flightless bird.
And a strutting peacock might just be absurd.
Perhaps an eagle, soaring high above you,
or a hummingbird, acrobat of the blue.
Or perhaps a mighty swan swimming gracefully,
or a nightingale whistling a concert, free.

For certain I would not choose a caged-life,

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poem by Bri Edwards
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A Lemon Sunshine Day

To float among the new summer clouds
and under a new full silver moon I can
see the shadows looking back down at me
to smell the night time fragrance from
the first Honey Suckle trees to bloom
to feel the new summer winds blowing
through my hair, whispering new
summer secrets in my ear.

And on the first new dawn of summer
to smell new smells, and natures old
forgotten familiar ones to stop and
hear a Robins babies peeping from
their nest hidden sunggled among
the Honey Suckle flowers, and branches.
The crickets are performing their first
concert of the summer.

With the smell of fresh summer
dirt comes Gods creatures so

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poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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Pleasure

True pleasure breathes not city air,
Nor in Art's temples dwells,
In palaces and towers where
The voice of Grandeur dwells.

No! Seek it where high Nature holds
Her court 'mid stately groves,
Where she her majesty unfolds,
And in fresh beauty moves;

Where thousand birds of sweetest song,
The wildly rushing storm
And hundred streams which glide along,
Her mighty concert form!

Go where the woods in beauty sleep
Bathed in pale Luna's light,
Or where among their branches sweep
The hollow sounds of night.

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poem by Charlotte Brontë
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Candle Hat

In most self-portraits it is the face that dominates:
Cezanne is a pair of eyes swimming in brushstrokes,
Van Gogh stares out of a halo of swirling darkness,
Rembrant looks relieved as if he were taking a breather
from painting The Blinding of Sampson.

But in this one Goya stands well back from the mirror
and is seen posed in the clutter of his studio
addressing a canvas tilted back on a tall easel.

He appears to be smiling out at us as if he knew
we would be amused by the extraordinary hat on his head
which is fitted around the brim with candle holders,
a device that allowed him to work into the night.

You can only wonder what it would be like
to be wearing such a chandelier on your head
as if you were a walking dining room or concert hall.

But once you see this hat there is no need to read

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poem by Billy Collins
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He Sang those Songs Without Words

When they brought him to the Hospital
He was listed as John Doe.
He would have liked the irony-
as Harry Chapin fans well know..

His hair was like a lion’s mane
His face both kind and strong
Though doctor’s tried and nurses cried
Harry had sung his last song.

Like Wednesdays’ child with far to go,
He’d been on the road that day.
He was scheduled for a concert
For which he’d take no pay.

He sang songs for the suppers
of the poor and the deprived.
He may not have been “Religious”
-but he lived life sanctified-

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poem by John F. McCullagh
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Do All Religions Give The Same Light?

two famous folk singers
once said at their concert
that all earth's religions

give the light
but is this
the same light?

Do all these religions
teach believe
the same teachings?

Do true faithful advocates
of each of these religions
believe the same beliefs?

Christianity teaches
Jesus is the only begotten
Son of divine God

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Alright - Darius Rucker

Alright, alright
Yeah, it's alright, alright

I don't need no five star reservations,
I got spaghetti and a cheap bottle of wine.
I don't need no concert in the city,
I got a stereo and the 'Best Of Patsy Cline'.

Ain't got no caviar, no Dom Perignon,
But as far as I can see I got everything I want.

'Cause I got a roof over my head,
The woman I love layin' in my bed,
And it's alright, alright.

I got shoes under my feet,
Forever in the aisle staring back at me,
And it's alright, alright.

Yeah, I got all I need,

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poem by Rebecca Ryan
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