Category Archives: Poetry

Love Song

…from the styluses of the long dead poets Sumerian Love Song ( 27th century B.C.) He has sprouted, he has burgeoned, he is lettuce planted by the water, My well-stocked garden of the plain, my favoured of the womb, My … Continue reading

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The Moon In a Zenith

…from the quills of the dead white poets Anna Akhmatova (1889 – 1966) But nothing changed for ages here… In the same way the divine lyre Pours bliss from the eternal crests. Same are the waters and stars’ throngs, And … Continue reading

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Akbar’s Bridge

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) JELALUDIN MUHAMMED AKBAR, Guardian of Mankind, Moved his standards out of Delhi to Jaunpore of lower Hind, Where a mosque was to be builded, and a lovelier … Continue reading

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That Shadow of My Likeness

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   That shadow my likeness that goes to and fro seeking a livelihood, chattering, chaffering, How often I find myself standing and looking at it where it … Continue reading

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Where the bee sucks…

…from the quills of the dead white poets William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly … Continue reading

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Quicksand Years

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither, Your schemes, politics, fail, lines give way, substances mock and elude me, Only the scheme I sing, … Continue reading

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The Hyaenas

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) After the burial-parties leave And the baffled kites have fled; The wise hyaenas come out at eve To take account of our dead. How he died … Continue reading

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The deaf called the deaf

…from the quills of the dead white poets Aleksandr Pushkin (1799 – 1837) The deaf once called the deaf to the deaf judge – right now; The first deaf cried: “He’s spoiled my own cow!” – “For goodness’ sake,” to … Continue reading

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Fata Morgana

…from the quills of the dead white poets Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882) O sweet illusions of Song, That tempt me everywhere, In the lonely fields, and the throng Of the crowded thoroughfare! I approach, and ye vanish away, … Continue reading

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I can’t sleep

…from the quills of the dead white poets Osip Mandelshtam 1891 -1938 I can’t sleep. Homer, and the taut white sails. I could the list of ships read only to a half: The long-long breed, the train of flying cranes … Continue reading

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The Quest

…from the quills of the dead white poets Robert William Service (1874 – 1958) I sought Him on the purple seas; I sought Him on the peaks aflame; Amid the gloom of giant trees And canyons lone I called His … Continue reading

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Tears

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   Tears! tears! tears! In the night, in solitude, tears, On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck’d in by the sand Tears, not a star shining, all … Continue reading

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The Prophecy

…from the quills of the dead white poets Mikhail Lermontov (1814 – 1841) A year will come, the year of Russia, last, When the monarchs’ crown will be cast; Mob will forget its former love and faith, And food of … Continue reading

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Mesopotamia (1917)

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) They shall not return to us, the resolute, the young, The eager and whole-hearted whom we gave: But the men who left them thriftily to die in … Continue reading

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Life is bitter

…from the quills of the dead white poets William Ernest Henley 1849 -1903 Life is bitter. All the faces of the years, Young and old, are gray with travail and with tears. Must we only wake to toil, to tire, … Continue reading

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You, who first stood before the source

…from the quills of the dead white poets Anna Akhmatova (1889 – 1966) (To Alexander Blok)   You, who first stood before the source With your smile, so deadly stoned! How tortures us a look, you own, – The heavy … Continue reading

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No longer mourn for me

…from the quills of the dead white poets William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From … Continue reading

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Grand is the Seen

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   Grand is the seen, the light, to me – grand are the sky and stars, Grand is the earth, and grand are lasting time and space, … Continue reading

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I prefer the gorgeous freedom

…from the quills of the dead white poets Alexandr Alexandrovich Blok (1880 – 1921) I prefer the gorgeous freedom, And I fly to lands of grace, Where in wide and clear meadows All is good, as dreams, and blest. Here … Continue reading

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Smuteční

…from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914) Zbyla mě veteš vzpomínek, zástavní list z mých hodinek a zablácená promenáda z dob, kdys mě ještě měla ráda. V městě teď bouří karneval, a já bych slzy … Continue reading

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