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How can I be quite happy when…?

I see the beggar on road-side,
Unable to stand and to walk;
Begging for alms from passers-by,
Sitting upon a plank with wheels?

The lunatic so scarcely dressed,
Walking from garbage dump to dump,
Eating the left-overs on leaves,
And chased away by barking dogs?

The school-child works part-time to earn
A pittance for the family’s sake,
As mother cannot manage house,
And father drunk abandoned home?

Unborn children are killed in scores,
And elderly stay neglected,
And heinous crimes keep rising high,
Corruption runs across all ranks?

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poem by John Celes
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Weighed But Found Lacking

Like a fly nestled on the cow's back
Deceived that it's taller than its real size
Arrogance cannot see what it really lacks
And cannot perceive the plank from its eyes.

Proud to declare superiority
And quick to pronounce sweeping judgements,
Arrogance needs little remedy
In making its rules laid in sentiments.

With sight shaded by a controlling Self
All others dim from importance.
Like a book occupying a whole shelf -
All written work pale in its Dominance.

But 'the humble will be exalted,
And as 'pride goes before destruction'
The lowly writers may soon be read -
While the arrogant led to oblivion.

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poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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5. Bonfire Night

I remember in early November
We went looking for things that would burn
I remember the woods fallen branches
Got dragged home by each taking a turn

I remember the local greengrocer
Gave us crates that were all full of splinter
I remember my fingers being frozen
Well we were in the middle of winter

I remember our neighbours had paper
Old boots, coats and the odd plank of wood
I remember the midst of our garden
Piled up high and as safe as we could

I remember each yard had a bonfire
On the night of the fifth they were lit
I remember ours always seemed higher
Went right up to where our guy would sit

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poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Who You Think You Is

who you think you is,
fool with a big crown look,
tequila on the ice,
we come steal your queen man,
she goes to vocational school,
usual I'm warm-hearted,
but walk-the-plank man,
teach you never touch my mother again,
I'll be playing the xylophone,
yester-day was yester-eveing,
you have a problem disbelieving,
fool who you think you is,
I make you walk the street,
let you smell the vapor,
from her woman part,
you gonna need,
a umbrella to go under that waterfall,
best upholstery in the house,
say white-house mouse,
dude ugly-duckling tycoon,

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poem by Tommy Laster
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Sonnet: By God's Grace, the New Dean is One Year Old!

Most trees that grew around were cut for wood!
Just one escaped, as massive was its trunk!
If cut, it would have yielded timber good,
For, it was huge enough for making plank!

The campus has been efforested now –
The buildings seen from outside with much ease;
That one tree looks gorgeous all the more, wow!
It seems to live for years without disease!

The same soil, rain and sun nurtured all trees;
Just one managed to grow surpassing rest;
It brought the wood-cutters down on their knees!
It won the race on earth and stands the best!

God treats alike all creatures, great and small;
’Tis each one’s choice to heed the divine call!

Dedicated as a thanksgiving to the one living, loving God
By Dr.Celestine A. Raj Manohar MD.,

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poem by John Celes
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I Hear America Singing

I Hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics--each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat--the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench--the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter's song--the ploughboy's, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother--or of the young wife at work--or of the girl sewing or washing--Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day--At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

poem by Walt Whitman
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Dying momments

And finally you are here
My silent dim sunset
The journey of so many a year
Looking back a distance great
But I cannot see clear
Those early days of joys and fret
Heavy bags of school to bear
And a homework to rush and get

Jubilant days as a youngster
Some ideals then I did forget
A growing sense of responsibility to bear
Wedlock and a kid beget
Yet I have done my bit fair
Running through with the tide of Fate
Sitting with my conscience clear
Ups and downs I had to get

But then a firefly does linger
Glimpse of a thought to torment

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poem by Dr Avinash Dal
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Undefined Elegy

I.
no matching ever been briefed
simply a sky
young with soothing sun
saluted the pain of departing

a straight road-way pitch-black
never meets any border
encouraged the move to motion
long year-close breathless enclosures
masterly entranced the draconic spatula

scattered its every shape and saliva
yet none to arrange the match
unmatched by its acrylic brights
hanging hard from sky O Sky
the indepth blotting
our plinth and plank
just do nothing
simply afloating a boat

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poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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A Poet Leaving Athens

Speak not too ill of me, Athenian friends!
Nor ye, Athenian sages, speak too ill!
From others of all tribes am I secure.
I leave your confines: none whom you caress,
Finding me hungry and athirst, shall dip
Into Cephisos the grey bowl to quench
My thirst, or break the horny bread, and scoop
Stiffly around the scanty vase, wherewith
To gather the hard honey at the sides,
And give it me for having heard me sing.
Sages and friends! a better cause remains
For wishing no black sail upon my mast.
'Tis, friends and sages! lest, when other men
Say words a little gentler, ye repent,
Yet be forbidden by stern pride to share
The golden cup of kindness, pushing back
Your seats, and gasping for a draught of scorn.
Alas! shall this too, never lackt before,
Be, when you most would crave it, out of reach?
Thus on the plank, now Neptune is invoked,

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poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Convicts Love Canaries

Dick's dead! It was the Polack guard
Put powdered glass into his cage
When I was tramping round the yard,--
I could have killed him in my rage.
I slugged him with that wrench I stole:
That's why I'm rotting in the Hole.

Dick's dead! Sure I wish I was too.
His honey breast, his lacy claws
I kissed and cried, for well I knew
They murdered him. I cursed because
He was my only chum on earth . . .
Oh how he cheered me with his mirth!

Dick's dead! I know he cared for me.
Being I'm Irish I love song,
And there was heaven in his glee;
I'd bless his heart the dour day long.
I'd let him flutter round the cell;
He'd light upon my hand . . . Oh hell!

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poem by Robert William Service
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