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A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Immortality, by John Liddell Kelly
At twenty-five I cast my horoscope,
And saw a future with all good things rife --
A firm assurance of eternal life
In worlds beyond, and in this world the hope
Of deathless fame. But now my sun doth slope
Hymn to Nightfall, by Brian Okabayashi
The light that was the day's
Is waning only per the nothingness lorn
O joyous blending of the azure rays
Which gave a hope another morn
Is watched in awe as beauty fades to charm.
The Children Band, by Sir Aubrey De Vere
ALL holy influences dwell within
The breast of Childhood: instincts fresh from God
Inspire it, ere the heart beneath the rod
Of grief hath bled, or caught the plague of sin.
How mighty was that fervour which could win
A Child, by Mary Lamb
A CHILD 's a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space--
Then tire, and lay it by.
But I knew one that to itself
Genius Loci, by Margaret L. Woods
PEACE, Shepherd, peace! What boots it singing on?
Since long ago grace-giving Phoebus died,
And all the train that loved the stream-bright side
Of the poetic mount with him are gone
Beyond the shores of Styx and Acheron,
Chorus from 'Atalanta', by Algernon Charles Swinburne
WHEN the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,
The mother of months in meadow or plain
Fills the shadows and windy places
With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;
And the brown bright nightingale amorous
On a Girdle, by Edmund Waller
THAT which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has done.
It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,
Players, by Victor James Daley
And after all -- and after all,
Our passionate prayers, and sighs, and tears,
Is life a reckless carnival?
And are they lost, our golden years?
Ah, no; ah, no; for, long ago,
A Girl's Grave, by Patrick Edward Quinn
"Aged 17, OF A BROKEN HEART, January 1st, 1841."
What story is here of broken love,
What idyllic sad romance,
What arrow fretted the silken dove
That met with such grim mischance?
In Excelsis, by Thomas S. Jones Jr.
Spring!
And all our valleys turning into green,
Remembering --
As I remember! So my heart turns glad
For so much youth and joy -- this to have had
The Rosary, by Robert Cameron Rogers
The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,
Are as a string of pearls to me;
I count them over, every one apart,
My rosary.
Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer,
Her Loving Heart, by TomsPoems
"Her Loving Heart"
I cannot help but write these words,
the pressure floods my soul.
That such a 'One' would touch my life,
and in Her eyes I see the light,
The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2012 by Timothy Keith Bovee. All rights reserved.
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