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London Poets

(In Memoriam.)

They trod the streets and squares where now I tread,
With weary hearts, a little while ago;
When, thin and grey, the melancholy snow
Clung to the leafless branches overhead;
Or when the smoke-veiled sky grew stormy-red
In autumn; with a re-arisen woe
Wrestled, what time the passionate spring winds blow;
And paced scorched stones in summer:--they are dead.

The sorrow of their souls to them did seem
As real as mine to me, as permanent.
To-day, it is the shadow of a dream,
The half-forgotten breath of breezes spent.
So shall another soothe his woe supreme--
"No more he comes, who this way came and went."

poem by Amy Levy
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When Death Is Nearing

They paced the room as restless
As an untamed wind -
As the old Sycamore swayed
Like a belly dancer -

The dust-swirling in copper eddies -
And the storms concern -
E'er raging -

The windows-pulsating heart thunder -
And nerves on edge -
Of the edge of the sill -
There was a crack in the Pain -
But it can be relieved again -

No news is good news-some say -
But the silence of death -
It mourns -

The bells are tolling once more -

[...] Read more

poem by Theodora Onken
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At A Bridal

WHEN you paced forth, to wait maternity,
A dream of other offspring held my mind,
Compounded of us twain as Love designed;
Rare forms, that corporate now will never be!

Should I, too, wed as slave to Mode's decree,
And each thus found apart, of false desire,
A stolid line, whom no high aims will fire
As had fired ours could ever have mingled we;

And, grieved that lives so matched should miscompose,
Each mourn the double waste; and question dare
To the Great Dame whence incarnation flows,
Why those high-purposed children never were:
What will she answer? That she does not care
If the race all such sovereign types unknows.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Real Tragedy Today That Exists

The real tragedy today that exists,
Are those unresisting...
With mindsets rapidly diminished.

Fixed and glued unchanging,
On a fast paced landscape.
In a stationary place...
Slowly eroding,
And being erased.

There are those who stay unfazed.
Sitting stubbornly in positions...
And restricting themselves as they age!

Becoming the ones undaunted.
With demands to have things done.
As it had been in those 'olden days'...
When even the ones who once lived back then,
Will never again see the light of Sun!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Make Haste

Make haste, make haste, no time to waste,
the sandman’s on the move!
The minutes chased, missspent, misplaced,
swift scattered are, remove
from life the paste thats interlaced
with love to leave the groove
by others faced with fears encased
within themselves! Improve
your chances paced by those who’ve raced
where most may fear, disprove
the double-faced, minds [s]oft, effaced.
let no one disapprove
Strong spirits graced with soul true, chaste,
which ever must reprove
all evil based on base, poor taste, -
which ever seeks to prove
Good may be traced, Right be embraced
in confidence – for you’ve
the need to haste to truth, yes haste,
for Time is on the move!

poem by Jonathan Robin
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As If Affirmations

There are times when they come,
We all find ourselves...
Repeating those needs.
As if afirmations,
With wishes to have them completed...
Before an admiration of patience increases,
To forget what had been wished and wanted...
Had been a priority.

Once stated and done,
Most would leave their wishes alone...
To become fulfilled on their own.
How devoted to understanding can one get?
But there are those like myself,
Who would prefer not to have aged...
To grey too much with steps slower paced,
When those needs finally arrive to be done...
Hoping they are recognized as requests once made,
And who initiated the desire.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Meditation Of The Old Fisherman

YOU waves, though you dance by my feet like children at play,
Though you glow and you glance, though you purr and you dart;
In the Junes that were warmer than these are, the waves were more gay,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
The herring are not in the tides as they were of old;
My sorrow! for many a creak gave the creel in the-cart
That carried the take to Sligo town to be sold,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
And ah, you proud maiden, you are not so fair when his oar
Is heard on the water, as they were, the proud and apart,
Who paced in the eve by the nets on the pebbly shore,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.

poem by William Butler Yeats
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At The Hospital

one feels like
he is dead in a catacomb
he likes it
slow paced life
and everyone
attends to you
like you're the most
helpless
body, sprawled without
the strength of bones

one feels like he is wasted
useless piece
of flesh all wrapped
with dry skin

sometimes
he wishes he is not cured
and simply be
buried in that

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inscription 04 - For The Apartment In Chepstow-Castle

For thirty years secluded from mankind,
Here Marten linger'd. Often have these walls
Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread
He paced around his prison: not to him
Did Nature's fair varieties exist;
He never saw the Sun's delightful beams,
Save when thro' yon high bars it pour'd a sad
And broken splendor. Dost thou ask his crime?
He had rebell'd against the King, and sat
In judgment on him; for his ardent mind
Shaped goodliest plans of happiness on earth,
And peace and liberty. Wild dreams! But such
As PLATO lov'd; such as with holy zeal
Our MILTON worshipp'd. Blessed hopes! awhile
From man withheld, even to the latter days,
When CHRIST shall come and all things be fulfill'd.

poem by Robert Southey
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Caught To Cage

You should not expect,
To see my name blazened in lights.
I am not that kind of writer.
I do not sweeten what I say,
To appease those kinds of appetites to sway...
My way.
Too long have I paced my own footsteps alone.

My sights are on truths and not delusions.
I prefer to see what I observe as being what it is.
And if it isn't as it should be from my own experiences,
Well...
I refuse to debate over definitions.
Especially those changing in mid-conversation.

And those who find excuses to make,
For things they do to blame others...
To establish their own escapes,
Are spineless creatures no one should trust.
Unless, of course...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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