My Life in Verse

WHAT pulls at my heart so?

What tells me to roam?
What drags me and lures me

From chamber and home?
How round the cliffs gather

The clouds high in air!
I fain would go thither,

I fain would be there!

The sociable flight

Of the ravens comes back;
I mingle amongst them,

And follow their track.
Round wall and round mountain

Together we fly;
She tarries below there,

I after her spy.

Then onward she wanders,

My flight I wing soon
To the wood fill’d with bushes,

A bird of sweet tune.
She tarries and hearkens,

And smiling, thinks she:
“How sweetly he’s singing!

He’s singing to me!”

The heights are illum’d

By the fast setting sun;
The pensive fair maiden

Looks thoughtfully on;
She roams by the streamlet,

O’er meadows she goes,
And darker and darker

The pathway fast grows.

I rise on a sudden,

A glimmering star;
“What glitters above me,

So near and so far?”

And when thou with wonder

Hast gazed on the light,
I fall down before thee,

Entranced by thy sight!

Let’s contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep:
All be as before, Love,
—Only sleep!

What so wild as words are?
I and thou
In debate, as birds are,
Hawk on bough!

See the creature stalking
While we speak!
Hush and hide the talking,
Cheek on cheek.

What so false as truth is,
False to thee?
Where the serpent’s tooth is,
Shun the tree—

Where the apple reddens,
Never pry—
Lest we lose our Edens,
Eve and I.

Be a god and hold me
With a charm!
Be a man and fold me
With thine arm!

Teach me, only teach, Love!
As I ought
I will speak thy speech, Love,
Think thy thought—

Meet, if thou require it,
Both demands,
Laying flesh and spirit
In thy hands.

That shall be to-morrow,
Not to-night:
I must bury sorrow
Out of sight:

—Must a little weep, Love,
(Foolish me!)
And so fall asleep, Love,
Loved by thee.

Am I kin to Sorrow,
That so oft
Falls the knocker of my door —
Neither loud nor soft,
But as long accustomed,
Under Sorrow’s hand?
Marigolds around the step
And rosemary stand,
And then comes Sorrow —
And what does Sorrow care
For the rosemary
Or the marigolds there?
Am I kin to Sorrow?
Are we kin?
That so oft upon my door —
*Oh, come in*!

mooochelle:

by Jennifer K. Sweeney

The Himalayan legend says
there are beautiful white birds
that live completely in flight.
They are born in the air,

must learn to fly before falling
and die also in their flying.
Maybe you have been born
into such a life

with the bottom dropping out.
Maybe gravity is claiming you
and you feel
ghost-scripted.

For the one who lives inside the fall,
the sky beneath the sky of all.

[click here to listen to her read it]

‘My name is Felix and I am a poet.
I became a poet five years ago
Following an illness. Of course, that’sno
Excuse-the illness, I mean. I know.

We know about the world poets inhabit-
The wreckage their behaviour brings to wives,
Husbands, children, etc. How the habit
Sours and decimates our loved-ones’ lives.

Eating up time we could be spending
Late at the office, earning a crust
To pay for our children’s mobile phone bills.
Or watching TV with the family. We must

Be honest with ourselves. Think of the horrible
Embarrassment of a loved one forced to say:
“Well, to be honest, he/she is a poet.”
The appalled silece as they turn away.

We know all that. How we break promises
To take up stamp collecting. We know it,
Locked away in our own little selfish world.
My name is Felix and I am a poet.’

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her did not agree.

In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

I met a Lady Poet
who took for inspiration
colored birds, and whispered words,
a lover’s hesitation.

A falling leaf could stir her,
A wilting, dying rose
would make her write, both day and night,
the most rewarding prose.

She’d find a hidden meaning
in every pair of pants,
then hurry home to be alone
and write about romance.

When the walls

of Babylon are closing in

and Jerusalem

is a dim

and distant dream,

shut the door,

open a window

and pray.

When narrowness of vision

smothers hope

and stifles your every ambition,

shut the door,

open a window

and pray.

When you need to find your focus

in a free and far horizon

and to see beyond the furniture

that frames you,

shut the door,

open a window

and pray.

When darkness encroaches

and shadows fight with sight

and you crave the comfort of light,

shut the door,

open a window

and pray.

When the presence of God is a misted memory

and the promises of God are slow in coming

and the purposes of God are buried in the fields of your

anxiety,

when you are stuck,

stagnated,

struggling,

without hope

and without help in the world,

shut the door

in the presence of your Father,

open a window

to the promise of your redeemer

and pray

to the one who loves and lives

for you

and longs to help you

more than you can ever know.

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

Wat a joyful news, miss Mattie,
I feel like me heart gwine burs
Jamaica people colonizin
Englan in Reverse

By de hundred, by de tousan
From country and from town,
By de ship-load, by de plane load
Jamica is Englan boun.

Dem a pour out a Jamaica,
Everybody future plan
Is fe get a big-time job
An settle in de mother lan.

What an islan! What a people!
Man an woman, old an young
Jus a pack dem bag an baggage
An turn history upside dung!

Some people doan like travel,
But fe show dem loyalty
Dem all a open up cheap-fare-
To-England agency.

An week by week dem shippin off
Dem countryman like fire,
Fe immigrate an populate
De seat a de Empire.

Oonoo see how life is funny,
Oonoo see da turnabout?
jamaica live fe box bread
Out a English people mout’.

For wen dem ketch a Englan,
An start play dem different role,
Some will settle down to work
An some will settle fe de dole.

Jane says de dole is not too bad
Because dey payin she
Two pounds a week fe seek a job
dat suit her dignity.

me say Jane will never fine work
At de rate how she dah look,
For all day she stay popn Aunt Fan couch
An read love-story book.

Wat a devilment a Englan!
Dem face war an brave de worse,
But me wonderin how dem gwine stan
Colonizin in reverse.