Innocence Poems

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
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Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
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Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no
No question was asked me--it could not be so !
If the life was the question, a thing sent to try
And to live on be YES; what can NO be ? to die.
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Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
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Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
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Love and harmony combine,
And round our souls entwine
While thy branches mix with mine,
And our roots together join.
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Neither clown nor child nor black
nor white but verticle
and a questioning innocence
dressed in night and snow:
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Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt,
Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt!
From Queenstown Bay to Donegal, O listen to my song,
The honourable gentlemen have suffered grievous wrong.
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Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deny'st me is;
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea, our two bloods mingled be;
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I remember
vividly those serene eyes,
shining bright,
emotion in them
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History has to live with what was here,
clutching and close to fumbling all we had--
it is so dull and gruesome how we die,
unlike writing, life never finishes.
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Somewhere, sometime, you were Wounded
Maybe as early as infancy when you were denied
All the essentials of the bonding experience
Perhaps the wounds were inflicted
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ONCE more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory's wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind.
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This, no song of an ingénue,
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever her natural bents.
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Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its climax, death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
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A pretty girl
is like a simile
and vice-a-versa
so I'd say
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For Morn, my dome of blue,
For Meadows, green and gay,
And Birds who love the twilight of the leaves,
Let Jesus keep me joyful when I pray.
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oh...masters of the sky
i am a goddess who waits
a lady who speaks
ambassadress of friendship...
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A lot of praise and admiration I got when I was full of innocence
Now, I am under crook clumsy seductive adolescence.
Keeping head straight, running life difficult a lot
Sensing the senses makes me a bewildered pot.
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FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful,
Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,
Here I wander in April
Cold, grey-headed; and still to my
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Innocence, pure and true
A precious gift, bestowed on few
Untainted by the world's harsh ways
Living in a blissful haze
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I don't care
if I lose
my innocence
I don't believe
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ONCE THIER INNOCENCE HAS BEEN SHOT

One of my favorite qualities in children…of which they are innately blessed
is the enthusiastic, unbridles innocence…which they all possess.
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Children sing uninhibitedly when they're happy…like they haven't got a care.
Children will begin to dance spontaneously when there's music in the air.

Children will climb as high as they can climb…before they realize they can fall.
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There is a a purity born into every baby…an innocence that runs deep…I imagine every parent feels it whenever they watch their baby sleep.

We not only see it in the way they sleep…but in the morning when they rise…we see it in the way they look at us…it's in their smile…in their eyes.
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From the safety of his room…watching raindrops sliding down his window pane…he noticed a bird…perched on a branch…with no protection from the rain.

The more he watched…the more he thought…that bird needs caring for…so he put on his raincoat…grabbed an umbrella…and headed for the door.
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mourn innocence lost
stripped bare in eyes of young children
mourn innocence lost
fear horror in eyes of young children
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Our children and grand children have all grown…
which is as it should be…I don't mind
but every now and then I miss the innocence they left behind…
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