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Marian Evans Poems
The Sound of Silence
If my pen were to fall Upon a solid floor, Would my objection be all To follow and nothing more?
I'm sure our hearts will chance to bleed true. I hope yours does better than mine for you. From the time we first sit and look out
Would it be fair to discriminate? Everybody deserves it, some have hope. Why should every soul wait its turn When the lottery proves a solidifying factor
How Do You Spell It?
Who, then, are the free-versed And cannot stop for race? A muttered slight without remorse Plagues a nation in disgrace.
I know of those who wish to hide, Their efforts are in vain. They cannot help but fail and bide; I am a path already lain.
How can we bleep a thing, On tv or among our peers, If we will allow - and allow we do - The greatest insult to go free?
On My Golden Years
And why wouldn't I be the hermit of the neighborhood? I would have, by then, seen infinitely more than I should Of a cruelty that might just have it out for me.
Small house, smaller still when filled, Warm kitchen, equally from the stove and ourselves, Laughing, perhaps cackling, faces innocently instilled With only a portion of Mom's shelves.
I Know the Gambler's Lament
I am sheltered when advised, The boldest noble in good times Or the meekest soldier at the round. I should not be fleeced-
Can it be fairly said That life on earth looks good To those of it and subscribing?
On Life's Struggle
Why can't I have A knowledge of something more, A friend without a catch, A slate of settled score,
I care what you think, So I'll try to captivate I like to think I'm creative.
A man of the world, With many refined tastes, Requested I compose a memoir. With great pride, I dictate.
Comments about Marian Evans
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
The Sound of Silence
If my pen were to fall
Upon a solid floor,
Would my objection be all
To follow and nothing more?
Would the artist then be silenced:
No media to give him voice?
His audience would by then have commenced
To applaud, to give a great rejoice
For their expression of great volume
Drowns, displaces, and depicts the new standard
Of ambient noise that fills a room
Before the bar is raised and my audience is meandered.