History Poems
The City In Which I Loved You
by Li-Young Lee
And when, in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent song goes unanswered,
andI mount the scabbed streets,
the long shouts of avenues,
and tunnel sunken night in search of you...
That I negotiate fog, bituminous
rain rining like teeth into the beggar's tin,
or two men jackaling a third in some alley
weirdly lit by a couch on fire, that I
......
We Refugees
by Benjamin Zephaniah
I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.
......
Creed
by Steve Turner
We believe in Marxfreudanddarwin.
We believe everything is OK
as long as you don't hurt anyone,
to the best of your definition of hurt,
and to the best of your knowledge.
We believe in sex before during
and after marriage.
We believe in the therapy of sin.
We believe that adultery is fun.
......
The River's Tale
by Rudyard Kipling
Prehistoric
Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew--
(Twenty bridges or twenty-two)--
Wanted to know what the River knew,
For they were young, and the Thames was old
And this is the tale that River told:--
"I walk my beat before London Town,
Five hours up and seven down.
Up I go till I end my run
......
Mountain
by Kenneth Koch
Nothing's moving I don't see anybody
And I know that it's not a trick
There really is nothing moving there
And there aren't any people. It is the very utmost top
Where, as is not unusual,
There is snow, lying like the hair on a white-haired person's head
Combed sideways and backward and forward to cover as much of the top
As possible, for the snow is thinning, it's September
Although a few months from now there will be a new crop
Probably, though this no one KNOWS (so neither do we)
......
saved
by Mario Marcou
Who can be saved
a road already paved
history a keeper of blood and thunder.
Who can be saved
man In constant anger.
Words to be chains
ambitious claims
a palm readers hand
draws the line in the sand.
Will history decide to speak
......
Photograph
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Some haunt me pleasantly,
Using the grains of dewy silence that speak loudly
Within the long, grey halls of history.
I recline on such images with smiles I borrow from
The penetralia of my soul and skin.
Behind them come lean trees denuded by the swift
Gales of re-greened winters that celebrated
Friendliness in the course of wondrous seasons.
I peer deeply at them, genuflecting to Time
For its abundance of grace and reflections.
......
Cleopatra
by Mario Odekerken
Cleopatra, a vision draped in gold and shadow,
eyes painted dark as the Nile's midnight flow,
lips curving with secrets
whispered to power,
each glance a promise, each word a silken snare.
She moves as a storm hidden in silks,
her beauty a veil over cunning
that glitters sharp,
a queen crowned in mysteries,
......
Stanbrook Abbey.
by Laurence Argyll Simon Noond
In a quiet Worcestershire village,
Stands an Abbey of a by-gone age.
Once a home to Benedictine Nuns,
The holy order; the silent ones.
A place of peace and grace,
Stanbrook Abbey; a Holy place.
Along the Cloisters; the chapel to reach,
On bended knees to pray and beseech.
It`s a hotel now of grand design,
......
Beyond the Past
by Aloo Denish Obiero
The past is a lesson, not a prison,
The past is a mentor, not a captor.
The past is a tale, not a jail,
The past is a page, not a cage.
The past is a foundation, not a stagnation,
The past is a phase, not a maze.
The past is a guide, not a slide,
......
