LOST

Lost
is a puzzle
of stars
that breathes
like water
and chews
like stone

Alone
is a reminder
of how far
acceptance
is from
understanding

Fear
is a bird
that believes itself
into extinction

Desperation
the honest recognition
of a false truth

Hope
seeing who you really are
at your highest
is who you will become

Grace
the refinement of a
Soul though time

- Jewel

The Months by Christina Rosetti

January cold desolate;
February all dripping wet;
March wind ranges;
April changes;
Birds sing in tune
To flowers of May,
And sunny June
Brings longest day;
In scorched July
The storm-clouds fly
Lightning torn;
August bears corn,
September fruit;
In rough October
Earth must disrobe her;
Stars fall and shoot
In keen November;
And night is long
And cold is strong
In bleak December.

Garland

There was an old woman who lived in

a shoe,

She had so many children she didn't

know what to do;

She gave them broth without

any bread,

She whipped them all soundly and put

them to bed.

-Graham Gurton

Peter Piper

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled

pepper;

A peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper

picked;

If Peter Piper picked a pickled

pepper,

Where's the peck of pickled pepper

Peter Piper picked?

-Anonymous

Untitled

The lion and the unicorn

Were fighting for the crown;

The lion beat the unicorn

All about the town

some gave them white bread,

And some gave then brown;

Some gave them plum cake,

And sent them out of town

-William King

Asleep

Under his helmet, up against his pack,
After so many days of work and waking,
Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.

There, in the happy no-time of his sleeping,
Death took him by the heart. There heaved a quaking
Of the aborted life within him leaping,
Then chest and sleepy arms once more fell slack.

And soon the slow, stray blood came creeping
From the intruding lead, like ants on track.

Whether his deeper sleep lie shaded by the shaking
Of great wings, and the thoughts that hung the stars,
High-pillowed on calm pillows of God's making,
Above these clouds, these rains, these sleets of lead,
And these winds' scimitars,
-Or whether yet his thin and sodden head
Confuses more and more with the low mould,
His hair being one with the grey grass
Of finished fields, and wire-scrags rusty-old,
Who knows? Who hopes? Who troubles? Let it pass!
He sleeps. He sleeps less tremulous, less cold,
Than we who wake, and waking say Alas!

Rathiy

The Chimney Sweeper (Songs of Experience)

When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep,
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.

Theres little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lambs back was shav'd, so I said.
Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair

And so he was quiet. & that very night.
As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight
That thousands of sweepers Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack
Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black,

And by came an Angel who had a bright key
And he open'd the coffins & set them all free.
Then down a green plain leaping laughing they run
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind.
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.

Rathiy

Mobile

Those who walk within confines are men,
those who walk beyond are saints.

No confines for me, no confines
a closed fist is my boundary wall

I can go wherever I want
but in this man’s pocket

I can connect to anyone anywhere
but always under his thumb.

Even when he’s dead asleep
he’ll tuck me under his pillow
listening to the tick-tock-tick of his wristwatch.
The whole night through
quietly I’ll keep all his messages
coming from all over the world.

Those silent messages will glow
in my dark spaces
They’ll glow like the cats-eyes
of my  dream-memories:
   Mother’s ailments
   filed court cases
   all the office scuffles
   all the rush of unfinished kisses
   all the muffled calls
the faint quivers of many a held-in sob all flicker within me.
In me flutter the wounded wings of messenger-pigeons 
each feather yanked out  and flicked off one by one
once in a while, even a pat on the wing.
No matter how modern the world may be
the expression of love and hate are primordial.

I’m like the roads of old Baghdad
before the American bombings
Parallel to the modern malls
are the old souks and the meena  bazaar
glittering inside me
like archeological ruins dotting the heart of the metropolis.

 

Rathiy