A HUNTING MORNING By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Put the saddle on the mare,
For the wet winds blow;
There's winter in the air,
And autumn all below.
For the red leaves are flying
And the red bracken dying,
And the red fox lying
Where the oziers grow.

Put the bridle on the mare,
For my blood runs chill;
And my heart, it is there,
On the heather-tufted hill,
With the gray skies o'er us,
And the long-drawn chorus
Of a running pack before us
From the find to the kill.

Then lead round the mare,
For it's time that we began,
And away with thought and care,
Save to live and be a man,
While the keen air is blowing,
And the huntsman holloing,
And the black mare going
As the black mare can.

Send By: Denis Mandel

A Moment of Intimacy

I know you are there
I need to see you
I need to look into your eyes
I need to feel your presence beside me
I want to feel the tickle of your whisper in my ear

I want you to accept my complement for what it is
I want to see you eat your food the way you like to eat it when nobody is watching

I dream of touching you, physically, yes - but not just physically
I want to be hugged by you while I am fulfilling you desire to be hugged by me
I want to hear your thoughts and feel your passion
I want all of you while you are wanting all of me

We're not nearly as far away as you might think

C. Daniele

Keats' Sonnet (When I Have Fears That I May Cease to Be...)

Here’s a sonnet written by John Keats, with a theme that rings true even today. –Jeff Calzaloia

 

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,

Before high-piled books, in charact’ry,

Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love!—then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

 

"Stars in Water" by Cleopatra Mathis

We were walking through the shadows
of the Adirondacks. I saw so clearly
that unfamiliar country, our sudden friendship.
You said it couldn't be that way again,
walking that field, the small hands of birch leaves
fluttering in the still line of sunset.

The one night without a moon
seems now the end of summer. We walked
down the narrow road to the pond,
apart even from that separate world.
The water was bright with stars,
a crowd of lights gleamed on black.
You said some of those stars
had already burned themselves out,
yet still they lived on the glass surface
of the pond. And I thought, even this landscape
is accidental.

On the last day the weather changed.
We walked past pond and field,
watched the stream mirror the cloudy sky,
variations of sun turning in the water.
The movement of light and shadow changed the rocks
as if by years. We left unexplained
whatever changes in ourselves
and walked back to our deliberate lives.

America's on Sale by Alix Olson

ATTENTION SHOPPERS!!!
attention 9 to 5 folk, cell-phone masses,
the up and coming classes.
attention sports-utility,
plastic-surgery suburbanites,
viagra-popping, gucci-shopping urbanites.
attention george-clooney loonies,
promise-keeper sheep,
stockbroker sleep-walkers,
big investment talkers,
ricki lake-watchers.
attention walmart congregation,
shop til you drop generation,
ATTENTION NATION!
AMERICA’S ON SALE!

We’ve unstocked the welfare pantry
to restock the wall street gentry
it’s economically elementary
because values don’t pay,
yes, american dreams are on permanent layaway!
(there was limited availability anyway)
the statue of liberty is being dismantled,
ten dollars a piece to sit on your mantle
or hang on your wall
by the small somalian child
you bought from sally struthers
sisters and brothers, it’s now or never,
these deals won’t last forever-
AMERICA’S ON SALE!
(restrictions may apply if you’re black, gay or female)

And shoppers!
global perspective is ninety-ninety percent off
cause most of the world don’t count to us.
our ethic inventory is low
because moral business has been slow,
the values-company is moving to mexico--
and ALL ETHICS MUST GO!

It’s a remote control America that’s on sale
because standing up for justice can’t compare
to clicking through it from a lazy chair--
Answer: jerry, montel, oprah
Question: folks who really care!
for a million dollars!
in this new mcveggie burger world order
where the mainstream scene has an alternative theme.
where national health care is one hundred percent off!
and medicare is in the fifty percent bin,
so you can buy--half an operation
when AMERICA’S ON SALE!
There’s a close-out bid to determine
which religion will win
all the neon flashing signs of sin.
the Christian Coalition is bidding high
shoppers, you ask WHY?!
who needs a higher power when you’ve got
the purchasing power
to corner and market
one human mold.
That’s right - Real family values
are being UNDERSOLD!!

And it’s open hunting season for the NRA!
there’s a special oozie discount-- only today!
Gun control?! We say--
Fuck it! Blow it all away!

Because inflation is up on the CEO ego
and power is deflated as far as we go:
Nike bought the revolution,
and law schools bought the constitution!
Tommy Hilfiger bought the red, white, and blue,
(a flag shirt for fifty dollars,
the one being burned is you!)
Marlboro bought what it means to be a man,
Lexus equals power- so get it while you can.
Maybelline bought beauty,
New York bought Rudy Guiliani,
Mastercard Gold bought the national soul
Broadway bought talent and called it CATS!
the Republicans bought out the Democrats-
they liquidated all asses in a fat white donkey sale-
now it’s buy one shmuck, get one shmuck free
in the capitalist party!
And there’s nothing left to get in the way
of a full blue-light blow-out
of the U.S. of A!
there’s a no-nothing back guarantee,
a zero-year warranty,
when you buy this land of the fritos, ruffles, lays..
this home of the braves, the chiefs, the reds, the slaves!
so call 1-800- i don’t care about shit
or www.FUCK ALL OF IT!
to receive your credit for the fate of our nation-
(call now! Interest is at an all-time low)

But hurry shoppers!
because america’s being downsized, citizens,
and you’re all fired.

"little words" by dorothy parker

When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf,
  Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds;
And I can only stare, and shape my grief
  In little words.

I cannot conjure loveliness, to drown
  The bitter woe that racks my cords apart.
The weary pen that sets my sorrow down
  Feeds at my heart.

There is no mercy in the shifting year,
  No beauty wraps me tenderly about.
I turn to little words- so you, my dear,
  Can spell them out.

 

submitted by naomi lansing (in addition to "annabel lee" by edgar allan poe)

Poetry Appreciation

Poetry Appreciation

By Adam Freed

 

Why a poem? And a sonnet too?

What makes you special?

Why analyze you?

 

I might inquire, I'll give it a try:

You sing babes to sleep,

Such a soft lullaby.

 

Is it merely the meaning you hold?
Symbol and imagery,

Enigmas untold.

 

Or the fantasy contained within,

A pillar-like maze,

Stacket up end-to-end?

 

Alas! Alack! None will suffice.

The answer my friend,

Is in this advice:

 

Writing a poem is giving to others,

So go off and write one,

For someone to discover.

The Hollow Men

Written by T.S. Eliot

Submitted by Adam Freed

 

Mistah Kurtz--he dead.

 

         A penny for the Old Guy

 

I

 

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw.  Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us--if at all--not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

 

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer--

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

 

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

 

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
and avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

 

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
and the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

For thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Song by John Donne

Even though this poem is almost 400 years old,  it still seems fresh and amazing...

 

It is one of my favorites...Enjoy

 

SONG.
by John Donne

GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
            And find
            What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
            And swear,
            No where
Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
            Yet she
            Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

---

Source:
Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, ed.
London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 4-5.

---

Jos Graham, Campus Police Officer at MassBay

 

 

A Soul Missing

A Soul Missing

My heart bleeds

for you,

 because of you

and the

words

you spew

onto me…

To know you is to know

Nothing…

your chest is hollow

no beating heart

just a cavity

that houses the many

lies you tell

stores the many

faces you show…

except your real face

you save that special one for

me…

Lucifer

cries as he looks at you

no remorse

no apologies

 a vacant body

missing a

Soul

 

 

 

by Jocelyne Jouki  2008

---

Be a better friend, newshound, and know-it-all with Yahoo! Mobile. Try it now.

A Soldiers Poem Karen Curtis

This poem touched my heart, I know what it is like to be away from home...
Karen Curtis

A Soldiers Poem...

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
THEY LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF
PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.

NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.

FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.

THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.

WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?

I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.

THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.

THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;

I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."

THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.

I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.

THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE."

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT,"

This poem is a reworked version from the original which was written by Lance Corporal James M. Schmidt stationed in Washington DC in 1986.

Untitled

Sad to see you go just like watching the sun setting in the horizon

Yet knowing that you won’t be back unlike the sun…

As sad as seems…we cannot escape the direction our path is calling toward us…

Although the calls don’t lead us down one path

But at the fork of the road I hope one day that same calling intertwines the roads again

So that I can see the progress you’ve made and how life has changed you…

So that the last memory we had of each other is nothing more than a childhood dream

So that we both may know that things don’t have to be a certain way

But in the end we are still who we said we were and what will become of us..

written by K.M. (prefers to be anonymous)

Submitted by Gazel Hebbert

Lost

A passionate kiss

Like a well written novel

Is something

One may get lost in

Endlessly.

 

James S. Cleary

January 10, 1998

Life is a Theatre

Invite Your Audience Carefully.
Not everyone is healthy enough to have a front row seat in your life.
There are some people in your life who need to be loved from a DISTANCE.
It is amazing what you can accomplish when you let go of - or minimize
your time with - those draining, negative, incompatible, 'not-going-
anywhere' relationships or friendships.
Observe the relationships around you.
Pay close attention...


Which ones lift, and which ones lean?
Which ones encourage, and which ones discourage?
Which ones are on a path of growth uphill, and which ones are going downhill?
When you leave certain people,
do you feel better or feel worse?
Which ones always have drama, or don't really understand, know or
appreciate you & the gifts that lie within you?


Remember that the people you have around you will have an impact on your
life, your values and your income. So, be careful when choosing the
people you hang out with, as well as the information with which you will
feed your mind. We should not share our dreams with negative people, nor
feed our minds with negative thoughts.


The more you seek quality, respect, growth, peace of mind, love and truth
around you... the easier it will become for you to decide who gets to sit
in the FRONT ROW, and who should be moved to the balcony of your life.
Ask your God for wisdom and discernment, and choose wisely the people who
will sit in the front row of your life.
You cannot change the people around you....but you CAN change the people
you choose to be around!
...WHO IS IN YOUR FRONT ROW?

Things to think about:
If you died today, what impact would you have had in other peoples lives?...
Would you be remembered as a positive inspiration or a wasted soul?
Are you a jealous or envious person? IF so, WHY?
What is your plan to impact your life as well as others around you?
With that said...... Remember, positive energy feeds positive, negative
energy feeds negative. The people who are around you could help in
dictating your future. You are in control of your own destiny. You are
your own worst critic, and BIGGEST "Hater"! No one else could hate you
the way you could yourself, right?


So take Control of your
Spiritual, Emotional, Physical, and Financial
destiny.... This is something we have to continuously work on in life,
as none of us are "perfect"!


Have a wonderful new beginning

 

 

 

P.s I was having problems with friends and one of my best friends sent me this poem!

                                                                                                          

                                                                                           Lydia Nabumba

                        

Two Goddesses

This is a poem for the National Poetry Month from Anton Afonin:

 

 

There're two goddesses in the Universe
Their names are Day and Night
One dresses all in ebony black
Another one in pure white.
 
Two goddesses are sisters
And nobody can win the bet:
What's more important - sky with stars
Or pretty day and sunset?
 
One paints the world in ivory white
Another one in dark and deep.
The sisters fight at dusk and dawn
And sands of time still seep.

Everytime they want to stay
But still, the Night comes after Day

 

by Anya Morozkina

---

Be a better friend, newshound, and know-it-all with Yahoo! Mobile. Try it now.

If You Forget Me

Here is one of my favorite poems
-Adriana Albuquerque

If You Forget Me
by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

Adriana Tassini

One Inch Tall by Shel Silverstein

       
If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).



the book  Where the Sidewalk Ends  brings back fond memories of sweet Mrs.Brown and the ugly carpeting of the Underwood Elementary school library :)

The Broken Tower by Hart Crane

And here’s another, this one by Hart Crane. –Jeff Calzaloia

 

The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn

Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell

Of a spent day—to wander the cathedral lawn

From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell.

 

Have you not heard, have you not seen that corps

Of shadows in the tower, where shoulders sway

Antiphonal carillons launched before

The stars are caught and hived in the sun’s ray?

 

The bells, I say, the bells break down their tower;

And swing I know not where. Their tongues engrave

Membrane through marrow, my long-scattered score

Of broken intervals…and I, their sexton slave!

 

Oval encyclicals in canyons heaping

The impasse high with choir. Banked voices slain!

Pagodas, campaniles with reveilles outleaping—

O terraced echoes prostrate on the plain!...

 

And so it was that I entered the broken world

To trace the visionary company of love, its voice

An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)

But not for long to hold each desperate choice.

 

My word I poured. But was it cognate, scored

Of that tribunal monarch of the air

Whose thigh embronzes earth, strikes crystal Word

In wounds pledged once to hope,—cleft to despair?

 

The steep encroachments of my blood left me

No answer (could blood hold such a lofty tower

As flings the question true?)—or is it she

Whose sweet morality stirs latent power?—

 

And through whose pulse I hear, counting the strokes

My veins recall and add, revived and sure

The angelus of wars my chest evokes:

What I hold healed, original now, and pure…

 

And builds, within, a tower that is not stone

(Not stone can jacket heaven)—but slip

Of pebbles,—visible wings of silence sown

In azure circles, widening as they dip

 

The matrix of the heart, lift down the eye

That shrines the quiet lake and swells a tower

The commodious, tall decorum of that sky

Unseals her earth, and lifts love in its shower.

 

 

 

 

The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens

Here’s a poem a by Wallace Stevens for your pleasure.

 

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Submitted by Jeff Calzaloia

Lilly

Lilly

Limitless next to God,
created for a purpose,
Lilly turns her head,
expanded into the extremes of flair,
plainer than the existence,
Lilly turns her head
encompassed by all she fears,
dying for all she sees,
Lilly turns her head,
Careful not to let them know,
how she feels at that moment
Lilly turns her head
purposed to a new life,
not seeing the on coming light
Lilly turns her head
crying, saddened, by loss
Lilly's family pleas
for Lilly to turn her head.

 

Damaris McLaren

President

MassBay Community College SGA