America The Beautiful
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
O beautiful for pilgrim feet,
Alastor: Or, The Spirit Of Solitude
Earth, Ocean, Air, belovèd brotherhood!
If our great Mother has imbued my soul
With aught of natural piety to feel
Your love, and recompense the boon with mine;
If dewy morn, and odorous noon, and even,
With sunset and its gorgeous ministers,
And solemn midnight's tingling silentness;
If Autumn's hollow sighs in the sere wood,
And Winter robing with pure snow and crowns
Of starry ice the gray grass and bare boughs;
Brotherhood
I am a man: little do I last
and the night is enormous.
But I look up:
the stars write.
Unknowing I understand:
I too am written,
and at this very moment
someone spells me out.
Hyperion
BOOK I
DEEP in the shady sadness of a vale
Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
Still as the silence round about his lair;
Forest on forest hung above his head
Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
Not so much life as on a summer's day
Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
Blood All Over
Blood spilled all over on ground
Bodies scattered and in mutilation found
Fresh wave of violence gaining round
Hatred, distrust reign with system sound
Who are people doing all criminal acts?
Why not all come to sense and react?
Is it the only way out to combat terrorism?
Are we not to be blamed for all kinds of “ism”?
Acrostic : Georgiana Augusta Keats
Give me your patience, sister, while I frame
Exact in capitals your golden name;
Or sue the fair Apollo and he will
Rouse from his heavy slumber and instill
Great love in me for thee and Poesy.
Imagine not that greatest mastery
And kingdom over all the Realms of verse,
Nears more to heaven in aught, than when we nurse
And surety give to love and Brotherhood.
My Friends
My friends without shields walk on the target
It is late the windows are breaking
My friends without shoes leave
What they love
Grief moves among them as a fire among
Its bells
My friends without clocks turn
On the dial they turn
Beauty
Learned poets have said "beauty is to enjoy"
Like fresh flowers always give you joy
Don't attempt to pluck or destroy
Not to play with it as simple toy
Thing of beauty is joy for ever
Ever lasting and fading never
Liked by eyes and smelt by nose
Fresh fragrance of flower always like rose
My Imagination
Imagine that there is no heaven
Above us only a sky
Imagine that there is no religion
To create controversy and lies.
Imagine that there are no countries
One sea and only one land
Imagine that there is no war
So everyone stood hand in hand.
Wax And Wane
Myth has it that the riches of the rich are good for all the people
And such a fable has got so many performances that it’s easy
To be swayed into thinking that it’s just the truth.
But when I see the eyes of the poor, aloof in their bare poverty,
And I compare their gazes with the personal greed and moral
Shamelessness of most of the rich, I feel disgust rise inside my soul
And I feel I share the closest brotherhood with the poorest of the poor.
Will I ever describe all this? Maybe I do, but you have to listen to me:
Our Poem Hunter Family
Beauty is seen daily in poetic duty every day,
Cutie is our Poem Hunter Family all here say.
Far across the globe poets unite here to write,
Daily poem of the day to readers does delight.
We unite for love, for peace and for more bliss,
We write poems from spirit we all do not miss.
World is our lovely family here we truly feel,
A Spirit's Return
……..'This is to be a mortal,
And seek the things beyond mortality!' ~ Manfred.
Thy voice prevails - dear friend, my gentle friend!
This long-shut heart for thee shall be unsealed,
And though thy soft eye mournfully will bend
Over the troubled stream, yet once revealed
Shall its freed waters flow; then rocks must close
For evermore, above their dark repose.
Let Me Love (Verse)
I
The world is a vast market of trading love
though it is not a visible commodity at all
every man and woman are buyer and seller
they either buy or sell love at an uncertain profit
some make interest, again some lose capital
but nothing can be obstacle of its buying or selling,
it only depends on the classes of love,
physique, mental demand, ability, and psychology
Humble Submission
Neither I have right to express opinion,
Nor do I have any desire to make humble submission,
It is just the guilt of admission,
To ask for something can be out of question,
Whole universe is direct under your umbrella,
Took every care to gift each corner with Messiah,
Muslims got Almighty, the only one Allah in prophet
Jews too have same but with different moment
A Dream Of Good
To do some little good before I die;
To wake some echoes to a loftier theme;
To spend my life's last store of industry
On thoughts less vain than Youth's discordant dream;
To endow the world's grief with some counter--scheme
Of logical hope which through all time should lighten
The burden of men's sorrow and redeem
Their faces' paleness from the tears that whiten;
To take my place in the world's brotherhood
If I Were A Voice
If I were a voice, a persuasive voice,
That could travel the wide world through,
I would fly on the beams of the morning light,
And speak to men with a gentle might,
And tell them to be true.
I'd fly, I'd fly, o'er land and sea,
Wherever a human heart might be,
Telling a tale, or singing a song,
In praise of the right - in blame of the wrong.
Into The Twilight
OUT-WORN heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight,
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.
Your mother Eire is aways young,
Dew ever shining and twilight grey;
Though hope fall from you and love decay,
Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill:
For there the mystical brotherhood
The Scholar-Gipsy
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill;
Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes!
No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats,
Nor the cropp'd herbage shoot another head.
But when the fields are still,
And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest,
And only the white sheep are sometimes seen
Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanch'd green.
Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest!
Territorial Integrity
Why countries are simply invaded?
Do the other countries are principally wedded?
Does their ethnic love and belonging firmly embedded?
The country’s territory annexed and added
Is it grand design to form a powerful block?
The bell should ring as per their time in clock
Will their aim succeed and keep together the flock
Fire will be raging inside giving room for smoke
Hill Top
On green grass near hill top sat one poet
Seized with serious thought but very quiet
He was lean and thin but on simple diet
He mastered an art in composing the duet
He had masterly skill but not looking smart
Thoughts were slowly entering part by part
It was not age of cars but small wheeled cart
This was only refuge where he had very good start