Quotes about advent, page 9
Twenty One Of January..
Small distances emerge from binary trails
as dusk falls upon her and dim memory ails
an origami oracle and their life's dictum
was her life a riddle, or a memory's victim?
twenty one had closed up, a fortress braced
by thoughts, recitals, a cause, finger-traced,
a sole attempt to erase quests, embraced,
if only her life tangential, emerged to waste..
To dream a reason of celestial, bridal nods,
waited to adorn her advent's Sunday codes,
maybe to nicely caress whispered phrases,
that also waited to hint, and blushed blazes..
Twenty one will stand in front, a dissonance,
of earlier caressing dreams, an abundance,
her quiet quest is standing up in dark space,
as an eccentric lone caress, touches her face.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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POW from Sheba's Dressing
Reminders of her ransack,
His collage of memories;
Like podcasts playing in his psyche;
Her flowing locks,
Pitch black with quaint curves,
Hugging the upper margin of her luscious hipbones;
Waltzing in the serenading breeze;
Her smile, like the advent of spring;
Amidst a Celtic winter-coated dawn;
Petite Dentile stubs that shimmer;
Like a string of white topazes;
Awakening spring time;
Her body, a luscious carpet;
In a Celtic glow, that ushers in, a scent of perfection;
Celtic clay immaculately molded by God's palms;
To conceive my goddess, Eve;
With a skip in her step, a gazelle's gait;
As I slurp the remnants of the droplets of liquid food;
That scatter inside the squalid margins of my plastic plate;
As I rest in my collage of memories;
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poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Edith Conant
We stand about this place -- we, the memories;
And shade our eyes because we dread to read:
"June 17th, 1884, aged 21 years and 3 days."
And all things are changed.
And we -- we, the memories, stand here for ourselves alone,
For no eye marks us, or would know why we are here.
Your husband is dead, your sister lives far away,
Your father is bent with age;
He has forgotten you, he scarcely leaves the house
Any more.
No one remembers your exquisite face,
Your lyric voice!
How you sang, even on the morning you were stricken,
With piercing sweetness, with thrilling sorrow,
Before the advent of the child which died with you.
It is all forgotten, save by us, the memories,
Who are forgotten by the world.
All is changed, save the river and the hill --
Even they are changed.
Only the burning sun and the quiet stars are the same.
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poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Autumn Song
With the advent of the Autumn
Trees behave as Nature taught 'em;
Maple, Sumach, Plum and Poplar, and the Chestnut known as Horse,
Ere they shed the Summer fashion,
Break into a perfect passion
Of sweet rivalry in color (if deciduous, of course).
Autumn comes, and Claret Ashes,
Liquidambars, showing splashes
From her palette, don the motley - Joseph's coats of many a hue:
Russet-red and golden-yellow
As the season waxes mellow.
As for me, like certain gum-trees, I perversely grow more blue.
I would quaff in ample measure
Every draught of Autumn's pleasure
Were it not a grim foreboding spreads its color thro' the mind.
And I know that Autumn breezes
Bring the first hint of the wheezes;
For, when Fall the Summer follows, Winter is not far behind.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Poppycock
Because he is black,
He believes he is held back.
He is!
And so are they!
Because she is black...
And attractive.
She believes she was hired for that!
She was!
For display.
Because I am black,
And proud of that fact!
I can not understand...
Why many blacks can not accept,
Who and what they are...
Will always be attacked!
There is a sickness attached,
With insecurities no one can match.
People are conditioned,
To believe in superstitions...
With inflicted intuitions to expose an ignorance.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Cherokee
White solemn smoke from distant hearths rising,
Cherokee spirit of his ancestors in a white vastness,
a spotted appaloosa, chestnut-white, vapor-snorting
the snow is abundant, and the game scarce or less.
All platitudes by wise-tribes-men appear visceral,
but within he feels it.. Icy plains with an outrageous,
erasing of buffalo tracks, strange to signs conferral,
oppose of his elders sacrifices and Great Spirit's vows.
Each tree in this forest, contains an ancestor's
killed warrior's soul, inside to abide; And the souls
gathered amid, constitute a great entity to endorse,
make a continuum to accept his tribe's prayer-calls.
A brave, Long Warrior of Tanasi, a vigil for his kin,
Impertinent oracles, about altered times advent,
and a demise of a numinous endorsement to win,
mal-spirits in a cadavers dance, a warrior's abetment.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Tall like a scythe
All strange calls want to decry,
as my delusion will comply,
with blossoming my Crimson free,
splatter my odd kind of entity.
My winds are blowing benign,
every invitation a lonely sign,
of an afternoon's sunset toll,
or an alliteration's deign call.
My calls a sea gull's bluish flight
I invited you in lonely bight,
My role in life in vain Crusades,
orderly guided Angels Brigades.
I value my solitude in causes lost
One Apocalypse of imposed frost,
that fails to promote my crying
to iced lines of deathly line.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Humanity and Tolerence
We have seen many ancient cultures
Through the excavated sites or in pictures
Golden past with lot more engineering skill
So many unanswered questions to fill
So many changes have taken place with advent of time
Gradual improvement too from time to time
Some addition and deletion of customs
Never with rigid stand on them
Culture is not our future
Wrongly interpreted and made sure
No one breaks it to create another one
Even though there is scope for refined and improved one
River water can remain pure
Only when it flows and detour
Culture thrives on bank
Many new have come up and many have sunk
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Under Thick Smoke
We propagate and own wholly
As we have failed to understand any
What have we to do with eternal peace?
When life is comfortable spent at ease
Why do we bother about people next door?
Why to think they are black, white or poor?
I am specially suited so enjoy
Why should I put show for decoy?
It is good for public consumption
There can never be any resumption
The difference may remain forever
But still hope is alive to narrow it down, however
We are good at deceiving art
We will show bravery at the start
We may withdraw steps at any time
But may render lip services sometimes
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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An Invective Against Gold
OF all the Poisons that the fruitful Earth
E'er yet brought forth, or Monsters she gave Birth,
Nought to Mankind has e'er so fatal been,
As thou, accursed Gold, their Care and Sin.
Methinks I the Advent'rous Merchant see,
Ploughing the faithless Seas, in search of thee,
His dearest Wife and Children left behind,
(His real Wealth) while he, a Slave to th' Wind,
Sometimes becalm'd, the Shore with longing Eyes
Wishes to see, and what he wishes, Spies:
For a rude Tempest wakes him from his Dream,
And Strands his Bark by a more sad Extream.
Thus, hopless Wretch, is his whole Life-time spent,
And though thrice Wreck't, 's no Wiser than he went.
Again, I see, the Heavenly Fair despis'd,
A Hagg like Hell, with Gold, more highly priz'd;
Mens Faith betray'd, their Prince and Country Sold,
Their God deny'd, all for the Idol Gold.
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poem by Anne Killigrew
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