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Busy Old Fool

Standing at a corner unseen to us,
with his dreadful club
what a busy creature he is.
Always watching our every steps
following our every movements
Busy old fool!

Rich men he respect not
poor men no concern he show
philantropists he show no mercy
wicked men he strike too
No affection he show to the beautiful
The ugly he show no care
Bloodless fellow!

Some he killed with sickness
some passed away peacefully in sleep
Injured greatly in the metalic monster,
[plane crash and motors]
good bye they said to this world

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poem by Ifetayo Elijah
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The Yellow Tailed Thornbill

I'm a fussy little fellow
In my kilt of glowing yellow;
As about the garden ways I bow and bend.
Many a melody I bring you,
In the soft, gay songs I sing you
With a cheery little grace-note at the end
'Chip, chip.'
Oh, I never miss that grace-note at the end.

Summer into autumn passes,
And among the rippening grasses,
'Mid the midges, goodly provender I gain.
Little for your presence caring,
Confident and greatly daring,
I will charn you with a sudden, sweet refrain
'Chip, chip.'
Oh, a very soft, yet valiant refrain.

When the time has come for nesting,
Our sagacity attesting,

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Churchwarden and The Apparition: A Fable

The night was cold, the wind was high,
And stars bespangled all the sky;
Churchwarden Joe had laid him down,
And slept secure on bed of down;
But still the pleasing hope of gain,
That never left his active brain,
Exposed the churchyard to his view,
That seat of treasure wholly new.
“Pull down that cross,” he quickly cried,
The mason instantly complied:
When lo! behold, the golden prize
Appears—joy sparkles in his eyes.
The door now creaks, the window shakes,
With sudden fear he starts and wakes;
Quaking and pale, in eager haste
His haggard eyes around he cast;
A ghastly phantom, lean and wan,
That instant rose, and thus began:
“Weak wretch—to think to blind my eyes!
Hypocrisy's a thin disguise;

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poem by Thomas Chatterton
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Chinese Style Olympia 2008

How great it was in Beijing Olympia
Wisdom and Intellect are it answers.
Used a lot of capitals and manpower
Most sports performed in a bird’s nest
Swimming sports were in a water cubic

Our concept was ‘one man, one dream’
Every body may have the same dreaming
No matter you are Chinese or guests
Bring the same heart to look for success

The starting day performed marvelous shows
Men and women made shapes of symbols
One day by one day different races were in safe
Chinese athletes happily raced with guests

Both the Chinese and the foreigners were happy
American athlete seemed like a swimming jet
He made excellent results gained 8 gold medals
Frog’s style swim champion is a Japanese king

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poem by Albert Wong
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What You Have Pretended To Save

Kiss me on either side of my face,
If you are from Seville
And it is your whim: Play your radio and
Back off,
As old men drive away back through the
Perfidy of their adolescence:
Think of the time you spent mocking me in
High school,
The cumulostratus or whatever you call
The flying holocaust it put me through:
Build up and pull over and make love at the
Anonymous road stop underneath the
Great stone bridges where the Indians died
Or at least gave way,
Because you are the greatly educated:
So proud of yourself and your football teams.
Your bedroom is full of red and blue ribbons,
Either coming or going away,
But it is just a very thin wall, thankless,
Persuaded,

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poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Swindled Swindler

I stand at my back yard
I watch from afar
And see the way he's made you happy
The way he smiles at you

In his hands he holds what used to be mine
I once owned you with pride but now he owns you
I wonnder why I turned my back on you
And what it was that prompted me

Nights are forever without you
I spend sleepless nights with my mind full of you
surely I have lost my first possession

I left you in the cold for a young sweet lover
I should have known she was emptying my pockets
What a seasonal lover she was

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poem by Moffat Mbuzi
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Upon A Spider Catching A Fly

Thou sorrow, venom Elfe:
Is this thy play,
To spin a web out of thyselfe
To Catch a Fly?
For Why?

I saw a pettish wasp
Fall foule therein:
Whom yet thy Whorle pins did not clasp
Lest he should fling
His sting.

But as affraid, remote
Didst stand hereat,
And with thy little fingers stroke
And gently tap
His back.

Thus gently him didst treate
Lest he should pet,

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poem by Edward Taylor
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A Gardener-Sage

Here in the garden-bed,
Hoeing the celery,
Wonders the Lord has made
Pass ever before me.
I see the young birds build,
And swallows come and go,
And summer grow and gild,
And winter die in snow.

Many a thing I note,
And store it in my mind,
For all my ragged coat
That scarce will stop the wind.
I light my pipe and draw,
And, leaning on my spade,
I marvel with much awe
O'er all the Lord hath made.

Now, here's a curious thing:
Upon the first of March

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poem by Katharine Tynan
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Rules Of Chasing Baboons

If sunrises on mount Gideon
on the raods, and only sandy routes
Strifling on it to the baboon house
Twenty miles away from home
it grins by your foot

If you are late with a minute,
cereals are unretreated;
Shinning to the baboos' house
And they shoot with aquick steps
With their rifles clearly held
And cereals, cry for support

There are decrees attached to them
Beautifully laid down, the human life
For they say we grow and you care
But when such rules, scary ones
But when rules are in the autam
And both lives are bothered

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poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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A little Thing Called Magic

There is a sigh of words drained from the bitterness of your mouth
warning me again of the magic that is stored
this magic tricking me, scraching at my heart
making it open to the simple words of praise and fortune
opening to absorb these simple words so greatly
this magic shows how much one love can hurt
how much one life cannot heal
and how much magic cannot survive in a world that cannot believe
this magic was shown in the worst kind of statue
performing so slowly, so stiffly its as if so forgotton
so misunderstood to the one who cannot feel its presence
its lies showing simple words that deffeat the purpose of its innocence
shatttering the true beauty of the statements my magition
playing as if so played out and so perfected
knowing with all certainty that this love cannot be real
but still lying to one self to proove that it once was such magic
able to lift, to fly, to shadow the main truth of lost love asside
to pursue the greatness of a thing we call love
to hide the true facts that one cannot love
and to in fact destroy the belifs of one girl

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poem by Kristinahh KIMBER
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