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By A Tranquil Lake

By a tranquil lake fed by a rainbow waterfall
Bathe golden goddess adorn in suit of birth
Flowers bloom and burst with fragrant sweet
Birds in concert sing lullabies melancholy true

Fertile the soil she makes by each step she takes
Spreading the landscape with life of all denominations
Beams of gold light reflects from her precious locks
Eyes of blue sparkles and dances to her brilliant smile

I so captivated sat comforted by an Oak tree’s shade
Caught in the spider’s web helpless I like the fly
Such beauty my eyes has never laid on before
Wielded magic caught I in her spell

A moments desired I to be in her arms
Heaven’s gate flew open to the sound of fanfare horns
Gently massaging my mind thoughts of togetherness
String symphonies play Swan Lake by the blue lagoon

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poem by Wilfred Mellers
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The Haunted Hazel

Adown a quiet glen where the gowan-berries glisten
And the linnet, shyest bird of all, his wild note warbles free;
Where the scented woodbine-blossoms, o'er the brooklet, bend to listen,
There stands upon a mossy bank, a white-hazel tree.

Oh! fair it is to view, when the zephyr rustles lightly,
And warm sunlight glances back from polished bole and branch;
For then like wavelets on a rill the pendent leaves flash brightly,
And daisies nod in concert, round the column straight and staunch.

But when the day is ended, and the solemn moon is shining,
And shadows grim and ghostly, fall on grove and glen and lea,
Then godless elves their fairy paths with glow-worm lamps are lining,
And potent spells of magic bind this white-hazel tree!

For from their gorgeous palaces the fairy bands come stealing,
To dance in sportive circles on the never bending moss;
And the velvet-soft caressing of their finger-touches healing,
Brings to the sere white-hazel bark again its youthful gloss.

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poem by James Bernard Dollard
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Palais

Vers le palais de Rosemonde au fond du Rêve
Mes rêveuses pensées pieds nus vont en soirée
Le palais don du roi comme un roi nu s'élève
Des chairs fouettées des roses de la roseraie

On voit venir au fond du jardin mes pensées
Qui sourient du concert joué par les grenouilles
Elles ont envie des cyprès grandes quenouilles
Et le soleil miroir des roses s'est brisé

Le stigmate sanglant des mains contre les vitres
Quel archer mal blessé du couchant le troua
La résine qui rend amer le vin de Chypre
Ma bouche aux agapes d'agneau blanc l'éprouva

Sur les genoux pointus du monarque adultère
Sur le mai de son âge et sur son trente et un
Madame Rosemonde roule avec mystère
Ses petits yeux tout ronds pareils aux yeux des Huns

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poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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From abroad [Din străinătate]

When everybody's happy, when benefits are pouring,
When people are delighted and spend their time with style,
Only a soul is crying, only a soul is longing
For its enchanting homeland with fields that always smile.

That heart, which is despondent and feels the irritation,
That soul, which suffers greatly and sings its silent song,
Is my own heart, which finds no peace, no consolation,
Is my own soul, which burns with yearning all along.

I'd like to see my birthplace, that dale I held so dearly
Along which flows a river with waters clear and cold,
To see what made me happy and what I loved sincerely:
The shadow of the forest, its labyrinth of old;

And once again to welcome the shanties in the valley,
Which used to look so peaceful in that relaxing place,
Where they could breathe in secret and the sweet pleasures tally,
The mystic dreams, the whispers, the poems full of grace.

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poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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Why Regret

Didn't you like the way the ants help
the peony globes open by eating the glue off?
Weren't you cheered to see the ironworkers
sitting on an I-beam dangling from a cable,
in a row, like starlings, eating lunch, maybe
baloney on white with fluorescent mustard?
Wasn't it a revelation to waggle
from the estuary all the way up the river,
the kill, the pirle, the run, the rent, the beck,
the sike barely trickling, to the shock of a spring?
Didn't you almost shiver, hearing book lice
clicking their sexual dissonance inside an old
Webster's New International, perhaps having just
eaten out of it izle, xyster, and thalassacon?
What did you imagine lies in wait anyway
at the end of a world whose sub-substance
is glaim, gleet, birdlime, slime, mucus, muck?
Forget about becoming emaciated. Think of the wren
and how little flesh is needed to make a song.
Didn't it seem somehow familiar when the nymph

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poem by Galway Kinnell
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A pride moment

I may die soon and not survive
The new born may arrive
It is something new and you got to believe
I am in pain but it may relieve

Something is taking shape
It has not resulted out of rape
You are real party and creator
My savior and life mentor

It is boom in desert
It is out come of our lovely concert
It is not result of any act of flirt
It is delicate peace and not dirt

I shall give birth to a baby
I am happy but look shabby
The stage is set and ready
Some may on day may address you as daddy

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Morning After Revelation

A UFO silently landing on Woodward avenue
shall spur herald hippie cosmic greeting event
from star spaceship shall rock and roll emerge

the original vintage Beatles to perform an impromptu concert
singing galactic latest trendy pirated no royalties paid Earth hit
assuring awaiting universe the world "all you need is love"

accompanied by legions of angels singing back up (major version inclusions)
angelic chorus "what the world needs now is love
sweet love it's the only thing there is just too little of"

Beatles caused a riot angels being neutral gender beautiful
meant vast crowds of straights were passion competing with
gays lesbians in efforts to grope feel touch angelic heart throbs? ? ?

destruction of the world begins with our world's wildest party
while it's happening no one in groove will be anxious or fearful

birds shall become angelic beings presenting earth children

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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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An Ode For St. Cecilia's Day

I.
Prepare the hallow'd strain, My Muse,
Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbrs chuse;
the bright Cecilia's praise rehearse,
In warbling words,a nd glittering verse,
that smootly run into a song,
and gently die away,and melt upon the tongue.

II.
First let the sprightly violin
The joyful melody begin,
And none of all her strings be mute,
while the sharp sound and shriller lay
In sweet harmonious notes decay,
Soften and mellow'd by the flute.
'The Flute that sweetly can complain,
'Disolve the frozen nymph's disdain;
'Panting sympathy impart,
'Till she partake of her lover's smart.'

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poem by Joseph Addison
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She was there

It was not going well
There was nothing more to think or tell
We did nothing except allowing axe to fall
It was disseverance to nature’s call

I passed through the same sand desert
The wing was slowing blowing with concert
It did touch my cheeks with no warmth
Some thoughts entered to remind me forth

I had no love for rising sun
It was about ugly or bad turn
I had to miss her for whole tenure
She may hunt me for complete future

It reminds me of gently spoken words
They were quite enough to look forward
Dream of a land where sky was generally to meet
The sand was making way for our resolute feet

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A long marathon

I am participating in long marathon
It was decided and desired to be won
Not a loose attempt was to be made
Though there was strict criteria laid

Many more may find it enterprising
It was not at all sudden or surprising
Every time it brought certain level of perfection
The media is so powerful and integrated section

Two hundred long poems in stipulated period
So many things to be taken care off and avoid
All ways time bound action and strict adherence
It was nightmare with very good reference

I am quite used to such a long poems
There has to be strong and very good themes
Not always you get the set ideas of current nature
Still it is perfectly suiting to the future

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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