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Merlin

O Merlin in your crystal cave
Deep in the diamond of the day,
Will there ever be a singer
Whose music will smooth away
The furrow drawn by Adam's finger
Across the memory and the wave?
Or a runner who'll outrun
Man's long shadow driving on,
Break through the gate of memory
And hang the apple on the tree?
Will your magic ever show
The sleeping bride shut in her bower,
The day wreathed in its mound of snow
and Time locked in his tower?

poem by Edwin Muir
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Smiles and Laughter

Smiling faces beam of summer warmth
Greeting of jokes and cordial words
Handshakes from outstretched hands
Kisses from pursed lips of pretty faces
Are the greeting from our friends
And melt any coolness of the heart

Loneliness of previous years
Fade like forgotten memories
Friendship is a beautiful thing
Something that can never be replaced
No sorrow, no sadness to furrow the brow
Only smiles and laughter surround us now

(8 May 2003)

poem by David Harris
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Chanson Un Peu Naïve

What body can be ploughed,
Sown, and broken yearly?
But she would not die, she vowed,
But she has, nearly.
Sing, heart sing;
Call and carol clearly.

And, since she could not die,
Care would be a feather,
A film over the eye
Of two that lie together.
Fly, song, fly,
Break your little tether.

So from strength concealed
She makes her pretty boast:
Plain is a furrow healed
And she may love you most.
Cry, song, cry,
And hear your crying lost.

poem by Louise Bogan
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The End of the Furrow

When we come to the end of the furrow,
When our last day's work is done,
We will drink of the long red shaft of light
That slants from the westering sun.

We will turn from the field of our labour,
From the warm earth glad and brown,
And wend our feet up that village street,
And with our folk lie down.

Yea, after the long toil, surcease,
Rest to the hearts that roam,
When we join in the mystic silence of eve
The glad procession home.

poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Beautiful Smile (For Happy Chitongo)

When she smiles
Cotton wool of adrenalin
Dabs at my heart

Her smile
Makes my blood creamy
As a fluid avalanche
Of supple feelings
Hug my heart

When her scrump-dilicious mouth
Spread in a smile
I know i can walk for a mile
And for a while
I perspire sunshine
Of happiness

When her tender lips
Furrow into a smile
My heart lurches

[...] Read more

poem by Gerald Saidi
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Drink This Divine Wine and Celebrate!

Come, come climb with me
Up the ladder of emotional uncertainties,
Come, come drink with me
Free our souls from religion absurdities
Oh daughter of time,
Would you ever be mine?
Oh daughter of time
Fleeing from me in my prime,
As each furrow grew on my face,
Told stories of sacrifice and grace!
Each new line grew on my forehead,
Another hope lost to my bold head!
With good wine and a best friend I forget
Renew pleasures already spent!
Lost of laughs and silly jokes
Loosen my life's yokes

poem by leaking Pen
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There Is A Spell In Autumn

There is a spell in autumn early,
One all too brief, of an enchantment rare:
The nights are radiant and pearly,
The days, pellucid, crystal-clear.

Where played the sickle and fell the corn, a mellow,
A warm and breathless stillness reigns supreme;
Spanning the brown and idle furrow,
A dainty thread of cobweb gleams.

The birds have flown, we hear no more their clamour,
But winter's angry winds not soon will start to blow -
Upon the empty fields there pours the azure glow
Of skies that have not lost the warmth of summer.

poem by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
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Outside The Rain Begins To Fall

do you remember it?
the rain, it was outside us when we parted
the boat left a furrow on the sea
and the waves ran until everything was calm
and then i went inside a room
the windows all glass
the drapes dusty
and the tables and chairs so cold
like our feelings
and then outside the rain began to fall
when you left
i just watched the dissipation
just that
things happened and we let them be
we were not the masters of our fate
the stars write their lines
and they take the course
of the journey
we followed suit without a single question

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cupid Turned Ploughman. - From Moschus

His lamp, his bow, and quiver laid aside,
A rustic wallet o'er his shoulders tied,
Sly Cupid, always on new mischief bent,
To the rich field and furrow'd tillage went;
Like any ploughman toil'd the little god,
His tune he whistled, and his wheat he sow'd;
Then sat and laugh'd, and to the skies above
Raising his eye, he thus insulted Jove:
Lay by your hail, your hurtful storms restrain,
And as I bid you let it shine or rain,
Else you again beneath my yoke shall bow,
Feel the sharp goad, and draw the servile plough;
What once Europa was Nannette is now.

poem by Matthew Prior
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We see—Comparatively

534

We see—Comparatively—
The Thing so towering high
We could not grasp its segment
Unaided—Yesterday—

This Morning's finer Verdict—
Makes scarcely worth the toil—
A furrow—Our Cordillera—
Our Apennine—a Knoll—

Perhaps 'tis kindly—done us—
The Anguish—and the loss—
The wrenching—for His Firmament
The Thing belonged to us—

To spare these Striding Spirits
Some Morning of Chagrin—
The waking in a Gnat's—embrace—

[...] Read more

poem by Emily Dickinson
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