Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

Ah Sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;

Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go!
...

I cherished my non sequiturs
spent more time out of my head
in half-baked theorising
or a vagrant continuity glitch
and some gawky deaths

like, the sex-drugs billets-doux
of a simple girls-night-out
that transience, routine backdrops
tracks up and down stairs

...

I wrote a letter that you'll never read,
Folded my heart in every creed.
The ink has dried, the words remain,
A silent song of love and pain.
If only time could turn around,
The love I lost might still be found.
...

The world`s great age begins anew,
The golden years return,
The earth doth like a snake renew
Her winter weeds outworn:
Heaven smiles, and faith and empires gleam,
Like a wrecks of a dissolving dream.

A brighter Hellas rears its mountains
From waves serener far;
A new Peneus rolls his fountains
Against the morning star.
Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep
Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.

A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
Fraught with a later prize;
Another Orpheus sings again,
And loves, and weeps, and dies.
A new Ulyssses leaves once more
Calypso for his native shore...
...

That half-open amber eye fixed on you,
the woman in the kitchen half turning to you —
drowsy tonight, you take in the angles
of chairs, walls, old photos, a painted vase.

There, a heron’s stillness helps it vanish,
wading by a wind-flecked lake.
Outside, car-noise glistening after early rain.
Night’s silence builds its inner ear.


...

I am broadcasting from a frequency of static
a nameless signal in the crowded dark
calling out from a room without a face
hoping some wandering eye will catch the spark.
It is a quiet sort of panic
this needing to be heard but not seen
a desperate reach across the empty miles
through the cold glow of a glass screen.
I have stripped away the titles and the history
leaving only the weight of the plea

...

As bronze may be much beautified
By lying in the dark damp soil,
So men who fade in dust of warfare fade
Fairer, and sorrow blooms their soul.

Like pearls which noble women wear
And, tarnishing, awhile confide
Unto the old salt sea to feed,
Many return more lustrous than they were.

But what of them buried profound,
Buried where we can no more find.
Who ( )
Lie dark for ever under abysmal war?
...

Sugar Lee you are the sun today,
Pervasive light and heat, and I
The valley floor, the birch pine slopes,
The snow-capped peaks, transparent sky

Through which you spread, and oh how
My toes are tingling miles away.
Then let us spread this picnic rug;
Come let's play mortals Sugar Lee.


...

The silent witness of Manipur
The age-old tree of Kangla
It has seen kings come and go
It has seen war, peace, joy and sorrow.
But still it stands —

Someone, long ago, planted this tree —
Planted with a dream and hope
Knowing the decades to grow
Knowing its shade will not bestow shade upon them,

...