Abundant Roses

Monday, February 05, 2007

The Starry Sky

The Starry Sky

As I look into the sky
I see the stars and wonder why
I see the big bear and little bear
I see the other constellations up there
The little dipper, the big dipper
The dog star, the north star
Morning star,and evening star
The moon and the sun for light
And the milky way so white
And then I tell myself
Yes, God flung them in the sky
He knew his stuff, He put them way up high.

Virginia Hightower

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Charge Of The Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Memorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854
Written 1854

Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Wedding Poems

I Am the Happiest I've Ever Been

I am the happiest I've ever been.
My loneliness will be forever gone.
When you're away, my empty feelings spin,
But after this, I'll always be at home.
You're the only person in the world
From whom I cannot stand to be apart.
But now in your devotion I'll be curled,
Just as you'll take shelter in my heart.
And so we two create a separate thing
In which we dwell mystically as one.
Neither you nor I will solo sing
Once this strange new harmony's begun.
How sweet to join with you in this new life,
Not only as myself, but as your wife.

On Your Wedding Day, As You Trade Vows

On your wedding day, as you trade vows,
No ordinary moment hurries by.
You partake, as far as time allows,
Of something more than time and Earth and sky:
Unknowable, invisible, yet there;
Resplendent to the heart if not the face;
More than both of you, yet less than air;
A transcendental act conferring grace.
Reason might say, How can this be true?
Return then to the heart, for this is love.
In making vows, you make one out of two,
A mystery beyond what words can prove.
Go then as one flesh, one home, one heart:
Each still a whole, yet also now a part.

All poems copyright: Nicholas Gordon - Poemsforfree.com

Monday, July 31, 2006


John Keats - Hymn To Apollo

God of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Of the patient year,
Where---where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?
O Delphic Apollo!

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane
For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.
O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?
Why touch thy soft lute
Till the thunder was mute,
Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?
O Delphic Apollo!

The Pleiades were up,
Watching the silent air;
The seeds and roots in Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at his old labour,
When, who---who did dare
To tie for a moment, thy plant round his brow,
And grin and look proudly,
And blaspheme so loudly,
And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
O Delphic Apollo!

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Poem about Sea

Sea Fever

I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield

Monday, July 24, 2006

Emma Lazarus

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame,
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

by Emma Lazarus, New York City, 1883

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Chairil Anwar Poem - Indonesia


If my time should come
I'd like no one to entice me
Not even you
No need for those sobs and cries

I am but a wild animal
Cut from its kind

Though bullets should pierce my skin
I shall still strike and march forth

Wounds and poison shall I take aflee. Aflee
'Til the pain and pang should disappear

And I should care even less

I want to live
for another thousand years