 |
What the moral? Who rides may read.
When the night is thick and the tracks are blind
A friend at a pinch is a friend, indeed,
But a fool to wait for the laggard behind.
Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
White hands cling to the tightened rein,
Slipping the spur from the booted heel,
Tenderest voices cry " Turn again!"
Red lips tarnish the scabbarded steel,
High hopes faint on a warm hearth-stone--
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
One may fall but he falls by himself--
Falls by himself with himself to blame.
One may attain and to him is pelf--
Loot of the city in Gold or Fame.
Plunder of earth shall be all his own
Who travels the fastest and travels alone.
Wherefore the more ye be helpen-.en and stayed,
Stayed by a friend in the hour of toil,
Sing the heretical song I have made--
His be the labour and yours be the spoil.
Win by his aid and the aid disown--
He travels the fastest who travels alone!
David Masad
<dpaymas@hotmail.com>
Givatayim, Israel - Tuesday, August 20, 2002 at 17:02:53 (EDT)
When I die and go afar,
I'll write your name on every star,
So every one on earth can see,
Just how much you mean to mee
Vicky
<Alicevp@bigpond.com>
Australia - Tuesday, June 04, 2002 at 02:16:39 (EDT)
Until We Meet Again
I knew someday it would have to end
I knew eventually I would have to go back to calling you a friend
It's killing me that now that day has come
It's for the best
I know deep inside that this is what I had to do
But it's breaking my heart to walk away
I'm trying my best to appear strong
But it's hard when part of me says that in your arms is where I belong
I still love you with all my heart
That's not going to change even though we're apart
You were my first love and my first kiss
There are so many of our special times I'm going to miss
All the words I never said, still hold true
But for now, from a distance, is where I'll be loving you
I think you need me as a friend to help you through
Because there are things I can't control that are hurting you
We both have issues no one knows of
Neither of us had the strength to be true to our love
Maybe we will be together again if it was meant to be
But for now please don't stop loving me
Even though I'm not your girlfriend I'll still be here
With a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear
The story of love can be quicker than the blink of an eye
But our story of won't be over until the day that we die
Until We Meet Again...I love you
Catigan West
<cwest@nnk.gcisa.net>
King Salmon, AK USA - Monday, May 27, 2002 at 02:38:10 (EDT)
This is a poem by Christopher Marley - I don't know it's title.
The greatest poem ever known is one all poets have outgrown.
The poetry innate, untold, of being only four years old.
Still young enough to be a part of nature's great impulsive heart.
Born comrade of bird and bee, and unselfconscious as the tree.
And yet with lovely reason skilled, each day new paradise to build.
A late explorer of each sense, without dismay, without pretense.
In your unstrained, transparent eyes, there is no conscience, no surprise.
Life's queer connundrums you accept, your strange divinity still kept.
And life that sets all things in rhyme, may make you poet too in time.
But there were days, oh tender elf, when you were poetry itself.
Robbie
<rld520@hotmail.com>
QLD Australia - Wednesday, May 08, 2002 at 02:15:35 (EDT)
After A Spring Rain
Eyes wide with glowing anticipation,
thechild bursts forth and escapes
from the unlocked door
into the rain washed world.
The sun emerges suddenly, changing
the raindrops into translucent diamonds
dripping from the clump of redbud trees.
Sing, mockingbird, sing with your soul for two eyes, chickadee bright,
watch
and listen in magical wonderment.
No need to run,little ladybug. You must be touched and talked to before your
escape.
Here she comes,mud puddle.
With uncontollable joy, she squishes the mud between her toes and splashes
and splatters in wild abandon,squealing in delight.On your gaurd, forsythia.
Too late.She's snatching your petals and tossing them like confetti, sprinkling
the tender grass.Weary at last, the child, puddle-happyand content, leaves
the Spring-filledwonderland to make little chocolate tracks on the cleaned
mopped floor. Celestine Houston
Angie
<Angie1202@aol.com>
lawrence, ks USA - Tuesday, May 07, 2002 at 10:43:00 (EDT)
I WILL ALWAYS LOVE U
I WILL ALWAYS LOVE U BECAUSE I CARE
I WILL ALWAYS LOVE U BECAUSE I TRUST U
I WILL ALWAYS LOVE U BECAUSE I BECAUSE YOU WILL ALWAYS LOVE ME
SO NEXT TIME U ASK ME IF I LOVE U THINK ABOUT THIS PEOM !!!!!
JOYCE STEVENS
<DEZZ987654321@HOTMAIL.COM>
albany, ny USA - Wednesday, April 24, 2002 at 09:12:20 (EDT)
The Eve Before Christmas
Twas the eve before Christmas, and good night had been said,
And Annie and Willie had crept into bed.
There were tears on their pillows and tears in their eyes, and each little
bosom was heavy with sighs.
For tonight their stern Fathers command had been given. That they should
retire exactly at seven instead of at eight for they troubled him more with
questions unheard of than ever before.
He told them he thought this delusion a sin, no such person as Santa Claus
ever had been, and he hoped after this, he should never more hear, how he
scrambled down chimneys with presents each year. And this was the reason
why two little heads, so restlessly tossed in their soft downy beds.
Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple chimed ten. Not a word had been
spoken by either till then. When Willies sad face from the blankets did peep,
and he whispered, Dear Annie, are you fast asleep? Why no brother Willie,
a sad voice replied, Ive oft tried in vain but just cant shut my eyes. For
somehow it makes me so sorry because, dear Papa says theres no Santa Claus.
Now we know there is, and it cant be denied, for he came every year before
Mama died, but Ive been thinking that she used to pray, and God would hear
everything Mama would say.
Well, why cant we pray, just as Mama did then, and ask him to send him with
presents again?
Ive been thinking so too, and without a word more, four little bare feet
bounded off on the floor. Four little knees, the soft carpet pressed, and
two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast. Now Willie, she said,you
must firmly believe that the favors you ask for, your sure to receive. Now
you wait just as still ‘till I say amen, and by that youll know your
time has come then. Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me and grant
us the favors we ask of thee. I want a dolly, a tea set, a ring, an ebony
workbox that shuts with a spring, and bless Papa, dear Jesus and cause him
to see, that Santa Claus loves us as much as does he, and dont let him be
fretful and angry again at dear brother Willie and Annie amen.
Dear Jesus, let Santa Claus come down tonight and bring us some presents
before it is light. I want him to bring me a nice little sled with bright
shinning runners and all painted red. A box full of candy, a book and a toy
Amen, and Jesus Ill be a good boy.
Their prayers having ended, their raised up their heads, and with hearts
light and cheerful again sought their beds.
They were soon lost in slumber, both peaceful and deep, and with fairies
in dreamland they roamed in their sleep.
Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten, ere the Father had
thought of his children again. He seemed now to hear Annies half suppressed
sigh, and to see the tears standing in Willies blue eyes. I was harsh to
my darlings he inwardly said, and should not have sent them so early to bed.
But then I was troubled my feelings found vent, for bank stocks today have
gone down ten percent, but just to make sure Ill steal up to their door,
for I never spoke so harsh to my darlings before.
And saying so, he softly ascended the stairs, and arrived at the door to
hear both of their prayers. His Annies bless Papa, brought forth a big tear
and Willies brave promise fell sweet on his ears. Strange, strange, Id forgotten
he said with a sigh, how I longed when a child to have Christmas draw nigh.
Ill atone for my harshness, he inwardly said, by answering their prayers
ere I sleep in my bed.
And, saying, he turned to the stairs, and went down, threw off velvet slippers
and silk dressing gown. Downed hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the street,
a millionaire facing the cold driving sleet, nor stopped until he had bought
everything from the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring, and indeed he
kept adding so much to the store, that the various presents outnumbered a
score.. Then homeward he turned with his holiday load and with Aunt Marys
help in the nursery was stowed. Miss dolly was seated beneath the tree, beside
a table set out for her tea. A workbox well filled in the center was laid
and on it the ring for which Annie had prayed. A soldier in uniform stood
by a sled with bright shinning runners and all painted red. There were bells,
dogs and horses, books pleasant to see, and birds of all colors were perched
in the tree, and as the fond Father this picture surveyed, he thought to
himself that hed amply been paid. And he said to himself as be brushed off
a tear, why Im happier tonight, than Ive been in a year. Ive enjoyed more
true pleasure than ever before. What care I if bank stocks fall ten percent
more. Hereafter Ill make it a rule, I believe, to have Santa Claus visit
us each Christmas Eve, and saying he softly extinguished the light and tipping
down stairs retired for the night.
As soon as the light of the bright morning sun put darkness to flight, and
the stars one by one, four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide and
at the same moment their presents they spied. And out of their beds they
came with a bound, why the very gifts prayed for were every one found and
they laughed and they cried in their innocent glee and shouted for Papa to
come quick and see the presents ole Santa Claus brought through the night
and just the things that they wanted and left before light.
And now said Annie in a voice soft and low, youll believe theres a Santa
Claus Papa I know. While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee determined
no secret between them should be, and he told in soft whispers how Annie
had said that their dear blessed Mama so long ago dead used to kneel down
and pray by the side of her chair and God up in heaven would answer her prayer.
Then we got up and prayed just as well as we could and he answered our prayers,
now wasnt he good?
I should say that he was if he sent you all these and knew just the presents
my children to please.
Kind Father who caused our stern heart to relent and the hasty words spoken
so soon to repent? Twas a being who bade you steal softly upstairs and made
you an agent to answer their prayers.
barb
<bdobbin@ix.netcom.com>
hedgesville, WV USA - Monday, April 15, 2002 at 15:56:04 (EDT)
THE RAVEN
by Edgar Allan Poe
1845
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;–vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow–sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me–filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"–here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning–little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered–not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never–nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee–by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite–respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!–prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted–tell me truly, I implore-
Is there–is there balm in Gilead?–tell me–tell me, I
implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil–prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us–by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!–quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted–nevermore!
psyche
USA - Friday, April 12, 2002 at 14:07:06 (EDT)
[somewhere i have never travelled]
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
-e. e. cummings
Mortal
USA - Friday, April 12, 2002 at 14:05:09 (EDT) |
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