Son of the old Moon-mountains African!
Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile!
We call thee fruitful, and that very while
A desert fills our seeing's inward span:
Nurse of swart nations since the world began,
Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile
Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,
Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan?
O may dark fancies err! They surely do;
'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste
"Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
Farewell to Severn shore.
Terence, look your last at me,
For I come home no more.
"The sun burns on the half-mown hill,
By now the blood is dried;
And Maurice amongst the hay lies still
And my knife is in his side.
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream- -and not make dreams your master;
The railway rattled and roared and swung
With jolting and bumping trucks.
The sun, like a billiard red ball, hung
In the Western sky: and the tireless tongue
Of the wild-eyed man in the corner told
This terrible tale of the days of old,
And the party that ought to have kept the ducks.
"Well, it ain't all joy bein' on the land
With an overdraft that'd knock you flat;
And the rabbits have pretty well took command;
WHat on Earth deserves our trust ?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
Seven years childless, marriage past,
A Son, a son is born at last :
So exactly lim'd and fair.
Full of good Spirits, Meen, and Air,
As a long life promised,
Yet, in less than six weeks dead.
Every time I do a smell
I think it's cool, somehow just swell,
I turn around and look to see
If they caught on it was me.
I cast a frown and act confused
For all to know I'm quite bemused,
I quickly learned this is the key
To then bleat out...it wasn't me!
I feign a gaze of sad and hurt
You came quietly along…
One sunny day in June…
You were a beautiful child…
With a bit of silver spoon…
You often share a smile…
With everyone in sight…
Always playing the peacemaker…
Should your siblings fight…
I have understood my mother in the present weather.
Her colourless, toothless, though contended a smile
Naif, fair, with dappled on face,
Age and height middled
Beautiful, my ‘maa’ she was.
In winter, she caught the ability to forget,
Forget her past, her present.... future-
Everything, but not everything, not me.
I was the nectar if bee she was,
he watches the rain like
but he feels less alive himself
the house turns dark
its last light going off
don't turn back
don't look back
keep going ahead
there's plenty of cutesy names to
call one's children
but his was 'unlovable trash'
He remembered it from the time he was in the crib
They held him there
for longer than most parents
held their kids in cribs. Though only dad
called him so
because he constantly claimed he wasn't his