English Poetry

upside down and shaken around
tossed in each direction
flipped over inside out
swept aside with fierce rejection
trampled upon dwindled away
yet again mercilessly drubbed
wantonly squished into a pulp
and so ruthlessly scrubbed

and yet a few breaths left
clinging on to flickering hope
biting dirt and dragging along
nailing dreams at each stope
millions of miles to the horizon
slow agonizing inspiring crawl
vision of morrow nidulating
undaunted by the minds wall

Wow!!! U write a poem a day?
Are these supposed to be poems with hope?
Despite the depressing tone, very nicely expressed.
Woh subah kabhi to aayegi...

Kabhi kabhi sochhti hoon ke Zee is workin in a s/w company at all

Jaise Daddu waise poti.

kya matlab hai aapka!
aur zaroori hai ki s/w company main sab coding hi karein bas

Thought they cant think past it

Ok. U do not take after Ur Daddu. U are poles apart. Kaun Daddu, kaun poti.

Daddu ka naam mat le Priyz

Kya kiya usne?

Ye puchh kya nahi kiya

He pushed me re and I have hurt my leg real bad still walkin around like one langdi He refuses to accept he pushed me Meanie daddu of Zee

To-morrow, and To-morrow, and To-morrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing...

Shakespeare

Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
‘She must weep or she will die.’

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept. Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’



Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The Burial of Love

His eyes in eclipse,
Pale-cold his lips,
The light of his hopes unfed,
Mute his tongue,
His bow unstrung
With the tears he hath shed,
Backward drooping his graceful head,
Love is dead:
His last arrow is sped;
He hath not another dart;
Go-carry him to his dark deathbed;
Bury him in the cold, cold heart-
Love is dead.
O truest love! art thou forlorn,
And unrevenged? thy pleasant wiles
Forgotten, and thine innocent joy?
Shall hollow-hearted apathy,
The cruellest form of perfect scorn,
With languor of most hateful smiles,
For ever write,
In the withered light
Of the tearless eye,
And epitaph that all may spy?
No! sooner she herself shall die.

For her the showers shall not fall,
Nor the round sun shine that shineth to all;
Her light shall into darkness change;
For her the green grass shall not spring,
Nor the rivers flow, nor the sweet birds sing,
Till Love have his full revenge.


Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sometimes I Hold it half a Sin

(by Alfred Lord Tennyson)


I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold;
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more




Night comes for me throughout the day


(by Nicholas Gordon)


Night comes for me throughout the day
And closes my external door.
I know that I am in for more
Unhappiness, and yet I stay.

The pain of missing you is less
Than that of missing thoughts of you.
And so I'd rather suffer through
This torture than face emptiness.

I want you with me, even though
You're not with me. You are the light
That gets me through this awful night
Yet brings the darkness where I go.


... I have over 400 verses by Nicholas Gordon..
simple and straight yet very touching