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Nero CaroZiv Poems
Hills and dales of ancient land, bleak, barren and glaring Where my thoughtless, happy hours beguiling childhood strayed, How the sand with ages of patina on me is warring, Howl, moan winds of the past above my tufted shade!
Is it gone?
Is it gone? Is it Silent? My pulses beat What is it a mock trick of the brain Yet not, I thought I saw her stand As a shadow, a speechless phantom with awe at my feet
A walk in Manhattan
Faces that float in rivers of people I meet; I see and pass Throngs thrust through bustling city, buzzing noise and broken roar Faces that come and go; faces I see and lose in windows glass All portraits new I will never see again; I have never seen before
A Morning Rush
The seasons gather flowers from the rain And bring the firstling to the flock And in the dusk of dawn the unrelenting clock beats out the little dreams from the eyes of drowsy human
Often in my childhood I had seen a lonesome boy He lived across a road from my house near a field wild, I chanced to see him at break of summer day; shy and coy He was the solitary kind of child.
I occasionally have troubling; nagging fears that I may cease to be Before ambitions are complied; before my pen has gleaned my barren brain, Before my fountain of words dried; before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich late summer garners, the full ripened large grain;
A forest nymph
It was the middle of the night by the forest mossy rock The furry feathers owl had awakened the woods clock How drowsy were the habitants of the trees at that hour The wind whistled and moaned ominously across the wide bower
The pounding waves along the shore are the sea's foaming daughters, And raindrops are the children of rain which make rivers full of waters, But why does my shimmering waning body driving me insane For it, as young as I am, I have to be an icon of anguish and pain?
Oh that it were possible
Oh that it were possible After long grief and pain You walk in the path of amiable Innocence and repentance plain
I have no thought in me but you
I have no thought in me but you No other dear debt to me is due If yet I have not all your love I shall never have it all
Rain, rain, rain
Rain, rain, rain Why it cannot be another rain The one that comes down Whirling and smashing under a gust
A book bazaar
I was in Manhattan in a book bazaar with lots of bargains, none interested me. I kept my eyes wandering around not really knowing where to look, At the strolling people or at the static street shelves books It is just like being in a Zoo
The shade of death
The shade of death is made of a canopy piercing cold That mortal eyes ache and cannot comprehend or behold Yet when mortal eyes are closed And death, cold and pale the limbs reposed
Today at Gettysburg the woods are calm, nodding to and through With shimmering forms that flash before an observer view And then melt in green, variety of hues as the dawn stars melt in blue
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Winter, as harsh as brutal it isnone
Always warm spring follows, the wounded earth to appease
Yet unfortunate I am, not being as optimistic
When it comes to death; I am realistic''
''She looks fair from farnone
Yet she is far from being fair''
Comments about Nero CaroZiv
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Hills and dales of ancient land, bleak, barren and glaring
Where my thoughtless, happy hours beguiling childhood strayed,
How the sand with ages of patina on me is warring,
Howl, moan winds of the past above my tufted shade!
No more, gone the days I went out on an April morning
All alone, for my heart was high with the wind sigh
I was a child of the shining meadow, tulips on hill, and willow low in mourning
No cloud on vast blue heaven, just this sapphire eye of the sky.
Now in the windy winter flood of morning in rear
Longing lifted its weight from ...