A poem a day

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Exile

BY the sad waters of separation
Where we have wandered by divers ways,
I have but the shadow and imitation
Of the old memorial days.

In music I have no consolation,
No roses are pale enough for me;
The sound of the waters of separation
Surpasseth roses and melody.

By the sad waters of separation
Dimly I hear from an hidden place
The sigh of mine ancient adoration:
Hardly can I remember your face.

If you be dead, no proclamation
Sprang to me over the waste, gray sea:
Living, the waters of separation
Sever for ever your soul from me.

No man knoweth our desolation;
Memory pales of the old delight;
While the sad waters of separation
Bear us on to the ultimate night

by Ernest Dowson

[Balu]

Dear Robert,
I understand, that you gratified me by your poems, but where is your poem for today?
I am missing it!!!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Dear Robert,
I understand, that you gratified me by your poems, but where is your poem for today?
I am missing it!!!

I beg your pardon. True ,I am late to post that poem. I will now do so and thanks !!-- --Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Because I Could Not Stop For Death
------------------------------------------- by Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death--
He kindly stopped for me--
The Carriage held but just Ourselves--
And Immortality.


We slowly drove--He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility--

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess--in the Ring--
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain--
We passed the Setting Sun--

Or rather--He passed us--
The Dews drew quivering and chill--
For only Gossamer, my Gown--
My Tippet--only Tulle--

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground--
The Roof was scarcely visible--
The Cornice--in the Ground--

Since then--'tis Centuries--and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity--

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Hope you enjoy this one. Got to run now , busy , busy man I be.. -Tyr

[Balu]

Because I Could Not Stop For Death
------------------------------------------- by Emily Dickinson

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoy this one. Got to run now , busy , busy man I be.. -Tyr

Such a pleasant thing it is to start a new day with your new poem! They are like a fork, attuning me to the positive mood. I can not stop admiring you talent.
Thank you again, Robert!
(Mow time is 4:50 a.m. now.)

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Poem by Robert Nehls



LIFE'S STORIES

His eyes are dark, but, there's still a spark.
There are canyons in his face.
His lungs are gone and it won't be long,
'Till his heart can't keep the pace.
He's lived three lives, had his share of wives.
The decades have been nine.
There's a soul to bare, with a joy to share.
And he always says, "I'm fine."

He's a wise old man and the whole damn clan,
Likes to hear him tell his tales.
He remembers when as a boy of ten,
He was raising up the sails,
Of his father's boat and he'll always gloat,
"It was hard work for a boy."
"Hell, it was hard for men, but I'd go again,
Just to feel that youthful joy."

With dreams to follow and pride to swallow,
He reached for life with lust.
Following his heart, met his first sweetheart,
On the street he calls, "False Trust."
After one short week, they were heard to speak,
"Until death do us part."
Then, the next two years, thunder, lightning, tears.
And she left with his torn heart.

Lost in grief a while, it was hard to smile.
And he wore his armor well.
Heartless, hurt and laden, but a fair young maiden
Put him under her sweet spell.
Speaking of her dreams, and the gold dust streams
Sparkled in her clear blue eyes.
Making his blood stir, and he followed her
To the land of pastel skies.

Bitter cold up there, but he didn't care.
She could make the hard ice melt.
Then his heart returned, and a fire burned.
True love was what he felt.
She could feel it to and the fever grew,
Like the child in her womb.
But, a family was not meant to be.
And her corpse became it's tomb.

His whole world shattered and nothing mattered.
Streams and canyons echoed pain.
Cursing God and man for the evil plan,
That was driving him insane.
Wandering aimlessly in the open sea,
Of demented souls that quit.
Two long years go by, and he can't deny,
He remembers none of it.

Then at twenty five, well, he comes alive,
And decides to live once more.
Like a broken spell, he walks out of hell,
Passing through life's open door.
Everyone there knows where the story goes,
And the old man kind of grins.
With a little wink, he begins to think,
This is where my life begins.

There was gold out there and he didn't care,
What it took to make it his.
"I'll be rich one day," he was heard to say,
"And that's just the way it is."
Well, he mucked and slaved but he never caved,
So the gold gave up the fight.
There were nuggets found measured by the pound;
Bringing golden dreams in sight.

Just a vagabond who was rich beyond,
The means of any king.
He was young with health and he bathed in wealth,
As the girls began to cling.
Well, he played the field, but he wouldn't yield,
To the pressures of the heart.
There were memories, love was some disease,
That could tear a soul apart.

He was rich it's true, but he also knew,
That you can't buy happiness.
So, he headed down to his old home town,
To what? He could only guess.
It was strange to see the old filigree,
Pressed in frames upon the wall.
Faces lost somehow to the years that now,
Drift into his heart's recall.

Seven years had passed since his father last,
Took a breath upon this earth.
Mother held him tight and to his delight,
He began to feel his worth.
No conditions there, love was everywhere,
Riches far beyond the gold.
So, he bought some land, and he took the hand,
Of fate with a life to mold.

Was a big barn dance, when another chance,
At true love was brought his way.
With her skin so fair, and her golden hair,
He was drawn to Jenny Mae.
Dancing close all night and to his delight,
She allowed a little kiss.
When he dreamed of her, the thought would occur.
There was too much there to miss.

He was ready then, his heart soared again,
And he longed to tie the knot.
Down upon his knee with a marriage plea,
A sweet wife was what he got.
Life brought so much joy when their baby boy,
Had been born out on the farm.
And eventually it was them plus three.
Fate had swung it's loving arm.

There were ups and downs, but the world goes round,
With reunions every year.
And he swells with pride as he holds his bride,
Sitting next to him it's clear,
That we may grow old, but there's always gold,
To share when love abounds.
Laughter all about, life that seems to shout,
Love's the greatest of all sounds.

Tell us more, they say, right up 'till today;
He's reminded where they were.
He includes them all in his tale as tall,
As an ancient Douglas fir.
Jenny holds his hand, ah, this life's so grand.
And the old man kind of grins.
With a little wink, he begins to think.
This is where my life begins.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

A Good Knight In Prison
---------------------------------by William Morris

Wearily, drearily,
Half the day long,
Flap the great banners
High over the stone;
Strangely and eerily
Sounds the wind's song,
Bending the banner-poles.

While, all alone,
Watching the loophole's spark,
Lie I, with life all dark,
Feet tether'd, hands fetter'd
Fast to the stone,
The grim walls, square-letter'd
With prison'd men's groan.

Still strain the banner-poles
Through the wind's song,
Westward the banner rolls
Over my wrong.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Every day I bear a burden

----------------------------------------by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi




Every day I bear a burden, and I bear this calamity for a purpose:
I bear the discomfort of cold and December's snow in hope of spring.
Before the fattener-up of all who are lean, I drag this so emaciated body;
Though they expel me from two hundred cities, I bear it for the sake of the love of a prince;
Though my shop and house be laid waste, I bear it in fidelity to a tulip bed.
God's love is a very strong fortress; I carry my soul's baggage inside a fortress.
I bear the arrogance of every stonehearted stranger for the sake of a friend, of one long-suffering;
For the sake of his ruby I dig out mountains and mine; for the sake of that rose-laden one I endure a thorn.
For the sake of those two intoxicating eyes of his, like the intoxicated I endure crop sickness;
For the sake of a quarry not to be contained in a snare, I spread out the snare and decoy of the hunter.
He said, "Will you bear this sorrow till the Resurrection?" Yes, Friend, I bear it, I bear it.
My breast is the Cave and Shams-e Tabrizi is the Companion of the Cave

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

I lived from 1207-1273. I was from Afghanistan, and am in the Asian category.

My influences include Shams al-Din Tabrizi

Jalal al-Din Rumi was born on September 30, 1207 in Balkh (Afghanistan). His father Baha' Walad was descended from the first caliph Abu Bakr and was influenced by the ideas of Ahmad Ghazali, brother of the famous philosopher. Baha' Walad's sermons were published and still exist as Divine Sciences (Ma'arif). He fled the Mongols with his son in 1219, and it was reported that at Nishapur young Rumi met 'Attar, who gave him a copy of his Book of Mysteries (Asrar-nama). After a pilgrimage to Mecca and other travels, the family went to Rum (Anatolia). Baha' Walad was given an important teaching position in the capital at Konya (Iconium) in 1228 by Seljuk king 'Ala' al-Din Kayqubad (r. 1219-1236) and his vizier Mu'in al-Din. Rumi married and had a son, who later wrote his biography. In 1231 Rumi succeeded his late father as a religious teacher. His father's friend Burhan al-Din arrived and for nine years taught Rumi Sufism. Rumi probably met the philosopher ibn al-Arabi at Damascus.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Prayer at Sunrise


James Weldon Johnson, 1871 - 1928
.



Now thou art risen, and thy day begun.
How shrink the shrouding mists before thy face,
As up thou spring’st to thy diurnal race!
How darkness chases darkness to the west,
As shades of light on light rise radiant from thy crest!
For thee, great source of strength, emblem of might,
In hours of darkest gloom there is no night.
Thou shinest on though clouds hide thee from sight,
And through each break thou sendest down thy light.

O greater Maker of this Thy great sun,
Give me the strength this one day’s race to run,
Fill me with light, fill me with sun-like strength,
Fill me with joy to rob the day its length.
Light from within, light that will outward shine,
Strength to make strong some weaker heart than mine,
Joy to make glad each soul that feels its touch;
Great Father of the sun, I ask this much.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Today a double presentation of poems by Henley. Two of my favorites.. -Tyr


The Rain and the Wind
-------------by William Ernest Henley

The rain and the wind, the wind and the rain --
They are with us like a disease:
They worry the heart, they work the brain,
As they shoulder and clutch at the shrieking pane,
And savage the helpless trees.

What does it profit a man to know
These tattered and tumbling skies
A million stately stars will show,
And the ruining grace of the after-glow
And the rush of the wild sunrise?

Ever the rain -- the rain and the wind!
Come, hunch with me over the fire,
Dream of the dreams that leered and grinned,
Ere the blood of the Year got chilled and thinned,
And the death came on desire!
----------------------------------------------------

Between the Dusk of a Summer Night
----by William Ernest Henley

Between the dusk of a summer night
And the dawn of a summer day,
We caught at a mood as it passed in flight,
And we bade it stoop and stay.
And what with the dawn of night began
With the dusk of day was done;
For that is the way of woman and man,
When a hazard has made them one.
Arc upon arc, from shade to shine,
The World went thundering free;
And what was his errand but hers and mine --
The lords of him, I and she?
O, it's die we must, but it's live we can,
And the marvel of earth and sun
Is all for the joy of woman and man
And the longing that makes them one.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Vine & Oak, A Fable
-----------------------------by Major Henry Livingston, Jr.




A vine from noblest lineage sprung
And with the choicest clusters hung,
In purple rob'd, reclining lay,
And catch'd the noontide's fervid ray;
The num'rous plants that deck the field
Did all the palm of beauty yield;
Pronounc'd her fairest of their train
And hail'd her empress of the plain.
A neighb'ring oak whose spiry height
In low-hung clouds was hid from sight,
Who dar'd a thousand howling storms;
Conscious of worth, sublimely stood,
The pride and glory of the wood.

He saw her all defenseless lay
To each invading beast a prey,
And wish'd to clasp her in his arms
And bear her far away from harms.
'Twas love -- 'twas tenderness -- 'twas all
That men the tender passion call.

He urg'd his suit but urg'd in vain,
The vine regardless of his pain
Still flirted with each flippant green
With seeing pleas'd, & being seen;
And as the syren Flattery sang
Would o'er the strains ecstatic hang;
Enjoy'd the minutes as they rose
Nor fears her bosom discompose.

But now the boding clouds arise
And scowling darkness veils the skies;
Harsh thunders roar -- red lightnings gleam,
And rushing torrents close the scene.

The fawning, adulating crowd
Who late in thronged xx bow'd
Now left their goddess of a day
To the O'erwhelming flood a prey,
which swell'd a deluge poured around
& tore her helpless from the ground;
Her rifled foliage floated wide
And ruby nectar ting'd the tide.

With eager eyes and heart dismayed
She look'd but look'd in vain for aid.
"And are my lovers fled," she cry'd,
"Who at my feet this morning sigh'd,
"And swore my reign would never end
"While youth and beauty had a friend?
"I am unhappy who believ'd!
"And they detested who deceived!
"Curse on that whim call'd maiden pride
"Which made me shun the name of bride
"When yonder oak confessed his flame
"And woo'd me in fair honor's name.
"But now repentance comes too late
"And all forlorn, I meet my fate."

The oak who safely wav'd above
Look'd down once more with eyes of love
(Love higher wrought with pity join'd
True mark of an exalted mind,)
Declared her coldness could suspend
But not his gen'rous passion end.
Beg'd to renew his am'rous plea,
As warm for union now as he,
To his embraces quick she flew
And felt & gave sensations new.

Enrich'd & graced by the sweet prise
He lifts her tendrils to the skies;
Whilst she, protected and carest,
Sinks in his arms completely blest.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Major Henry Livingston Jr (1748 - 1828) was born into a prominent family in Poughkeepsie, New York. His father was from Scotland and his mother was Dutch. He married in 1774 to Sarah (or Sally) Wells. A year later, right after his first child (Catherine) was born, he joined the American Revolution. Henry suffered greatly from the death of his wife in 1783. This tradgedy left him alone to raise their four children. On the ten year anniversary of his wife's death however, he remarried. He and his second wife (Jane Patterson) had four children together. Then in 1828, at the age of eighty, he died. Some of his decendants have stated that he is the true author of A Visit From St. Nicholas.

Unlike the man who has been recognized by most people as the true author of A Visit From St. Nicholas, Clement Clarke Moore, Henry Livingston was not well known. Most of his peotry was written for himself and his family and therefore was not published. His published works were clever, amusing, funny and good natured. He was an imaginative and creative person who it is hard not to like. His personality is a big part of Donald Foster's argument in Author Unknown in which he states his opinion that Henry Livingston is the true author.

Although Henry Livingston never claimed authorship of A Visit From St. Nicholas many of his decendants, such as his great great great great great grand daughter Mary Van Deusen, are determined to prove that he wrote it. Some of his other works have also been promoted by those who want to prove his authorship.


Biography by: This article is licensed under the GNU Free Documentation License and uses material adapted in whole or in part from the Wikipedia article on Major Henry Livingston Jr.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Sonnet- Silence

------------------------ by Edgar Allan Poe


There are some qualities- some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a two-fold Silence- sea and shore-
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!

[LongTermGuy]

Sonnet- Silence

------------------------ by Edgar Allan Poe


There are some qualities- some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.
There is a two-fold Silence- sea and shore-
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,
Some human memories and tearful lore,
Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)
Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man,) commend thyself to God!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Lines Written In Early Spring
---------------------------------- by William Wordsworth


I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wordsworth one of the truly great poets ...... One of my favorites. -Tyr

[Loralei]

I have several of mine, but don't know where to post them.