Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

The Mother's heart, the hero's will,
The softest flowers' sweetest feel;

The charm and force that ever sway
The altar-fire's flaming play;

The strength that leads, in love obeys;
Far-reaching dreams, and patient ways,

Eternal faith in Self, in all,
The light Divine in great, in small;

All these and more than I could see,
Today may 'Mother' grant to thee!
...

It was not dying: everybody died.
It was not dying: we had died before
In the routine crashes-- and our fields
Called up the papers, wrote home to our folks,
And the rates rose, all because of us.
We died on the wrong page of the almanac,
Scattered on mountains fifty miles away;
Diving on haystacks, fighting with a friend,
We blazed up on the lines we never saw.
We died like aunts or pets or foreigners.

...

Upon the moor where shadows creep,
Beneath the moon's lamenting weep,
A voice drifts softly, lost in sighs,
A ghostly whisper, full of lies.

The trees bend low with sorrowed weight,
Their withered limbs resigned to fate,
While winds that echo sorrow's tune
Cry out beneath the haunted moon.


...

I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,
On a day I already remember.
I shall die in Paris- it does not bother me-
Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn.

It shall be a Thursday, because today, Thursday
As I put down these lines, I have set my shoulders
To the evil. Never like today have I turned,
And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone.

César Vallejo is dead. They struck him,
All of them, though he did nothing to them,
They hit him hard with a stick and hard also
With the end of a rope. Witnesses are: the Thursdays,
The shoulder bones, the loneliness, the rain, and the roads...
...

The camp-fire gleams resistance
To every twinkling star;
The horse-bells in the distance
Are jangling faint and far;
Through gum-boughs torn and lonely
The passing breezes sigh;
In all the world are only
My star-crowned Gove and I.

The still night wraps Macquarie;

...

I know you feel like you are invisible
Like your worth is lost in the world.
But I need you to know this
You may not see it yet
But there are people who care
Who would catch you if you fall
Who would hold you when you need to be seen
You matter
Not for what you do
But for who you are

...

I stopped to pick up the bagel
rolling away in the wind,
annoyed with myself
for having dropped it
as if it were a portent.
Faster and faster it rolled,
with me running after it
bent low, gritting my teeth,
and I found myself doubled over
and rolling down the street
head over heels, one complete somersault
after another like a bagel
and strangely happy with myself.
...

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.


...

This is not a happily ever after story
Nor a romanian and a youthful tragedy;
Rather, an attempt to search for meaning
Because, with every passing minute
That day, I was beside my sweet;
With the divine presence in searching—
I now feel,
we were in venus and cupid's greeting.

This is not a layered metaphor

...