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When in the long-drawn avenues of Thought

When in the long-drawn avenues of Thought
I halt, and look before me and behind,
And seek what erst I all too little sought,
Some spot secure of rest, I do not find.
Retrace my steps I dare not, lest each nook
I late rejected should reject me now,
And sweetest arbours, restlessly forsook,
No more be prone their leafage to allow.
So to the untrod distance do I strain,
Which seemeth ever further to extend;
Desiring oft, in irritable pain,
Premature sleep would bring that settled End,
When I shall know it all, or else forget
This far too little which for more doth fret.

poem by Alfred Austin
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Lent is:

A battle-time for folks;
Each soul seems like war-zone;
So, circumcise your hearts;
Renounce your sinful crafts.

Think of the good God did;
Repent for sins of past;
Remember: ‘Be perfect,
Like how the Lord, God is.’

Read holy works and books;
Reflect on life’s true worth;
Regain soul’s state of grace;
Retrace your steps to God.

Lent is to spend time lent
In life to search for God;
Lent is a chance to mend
Your ways, avoiding rod.

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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Seeking Evidence

I could stop right now in my tracks.
And not concern myself,
With taking another step forward.
With clues I've left behind,
For you to retrace...
How I did what I did,
And what took place.
Laced with tasty unhidden facts!

Still you would be seeking undisclosed evidence,
To waste more of your time.
Believing you'll discover something to find,
To win and grin at the finish line.
Since your mind is not convinced...
I do not, have not or will not regard you as competition.
I look upon you more as a nuisance on the pursuit.
And somewhat of an annoyance that doesn't take hints.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Reality...

outside the door
as you close it
you say it is sunny
and the clouds are
blue and the sky is
clear like a transparency
of a class,

inside your head
there are dark clouds
and when you sleep
in bed when the heart
beats faster and faster
you see a heavy downpour
of rain as you close your
eyes as your fingers begin
to shape a fist,

the room is one empty
storage of chaos

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Young England--What Is Then Become Of Old

YOUNG ENGLAND--what is then become of Old
Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead,
Dead to the very name? Presumption fed
On empty air! That name will keep its hold
In the true filial bosom's inmost fold
For ever.--The Spirit of Alfred, at the head
Of all who for her rights watched, toiled and bled,
Knows that this prophecy is not too bold.
What--how! shall she submit in will and deed
To Beardless Boys--an imitative race,
The 'servum pecus' of a Gallic breed?
Dear Mother! if thou 'must' thy steps retrace,
Go where at least meek Innocency dwells;
Let Babes and Sucklings be thy oracles.

poem by William Wordsworth
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Retreating To The Coolness Of Life

the sea is calm this morning
and you try a little casual walk
along the shore
you stare at the horizon
you wish a cyclone
a tsunami
a whirlwind
a whirpool

you wish the eye of the storm
you wish for the
hole of the earth to open up
and swallow you
whole

no one of this nature
does it for you, however

the sea is still calm and the sands so soft and fine
the breeze touches your face

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: Women Defiled

My eyes retrace the contour of a dame:
‘My God, ’ “How beautiful the Eve You made! ”
I stop in wonder whence the beauty came;
I know not how to swim but only wade.

My mind then paints the colors of her flesh
That lies concealed by modest attire;
‘If only she be nude, ’ is my mind’s wish!
If I could play the lute and the lyre!

Her face alone is visible to me;
My sense of appreciation fills my heart;
But what about the damsels on TVs!
Revealing dresses play a major part.

Why is the human female exposed thus?
The pornography’s sins are eating us!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-19-2006

poem by John Celes
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Associations

As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds,
Still on that vision which is flown I dwell,
On images I loved, alas, too well!
Now past, and but remembered like sweet sounds
Of yesterday! Yet in my breast I keep
Such recollections, painful though they seem,
And hours of joy retrace, till from my dream
I start, and find them not; then I could weep
To think how Fortune blights the fairest flowers;
To think how soon life's first endearments fail,
And we are still misled by Hope's smooth tale,
Who, like a flatterer, when the happiest hours
Pass, and when most we call on her to stay,
Will fly, as faithless and as fleet as they!

poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Yesterday And To-Morrow

YESTERDAY I held your hand,
Reverently I pressed it,
And its gentle yieldingness
From my soul I blessed it.
But to-day I sit alone,
Sad and sore repining;
Must our gold forever know
Flames for the refining?
Yesterday I walked with you,
Could a day be sweeter?
Life was all a lyric song
Set to tricksy meter.
Ah, to-day is like a dirge,—
Place my arms around you,
Let me feel the same dear joy
As when first I found you.
Let me once retrace my steps,
From these roads unpleasant,
Let my heart and mind and soul
All ignore the present.

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Lost Friends

In youth I moved from place to place
And left my friends at each behind,
And when I think of each lost face,
My thoughts to distant parts retrace,
Where, if I went, I know I'd find,
Each face would now with age be lined.

And when I think of those lost friends,
To me they are all fixed in time,
My mind, for them does time suspend,
No ravages of time offend;
They still to me are in their prime;
That hill of age they've yet to climb.

And if sometimes these friends so few
Do think of me in parts far flung;
If they still see me as they knew
Me when we said that last adieu;
This memory to which they've clung,
In this at least, I'm ever young.

poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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