Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

COMETH a voice:—‘My children, hear;
From the crowded street and the close-packed mart
I call you back with my message clear,
Back to my lap and my loving heart.
Long have ye left me, journeying on
By range and river and grassy plain,
To the teeming towns where the rest have gone—
Come back, come back to my arms again.

‘So shall ye lose the foolish needs
That gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve
To heal the ills that the city breeds,
The pallid cheek and the fretted nerve.
Treading the turf that ye once loved well,
Instead of the stones of the city’s street,
Ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell,
But the wind that croons in the ripening wheat.

‘Yonder, beneath the smoke-smeared sky,
A city of half a million souls
That struggle and chaffer and strive and cry
By a sullied river that seaward rolls.
But here, blue range and full-filled creek,
And the soil made glad by the welcome rain
Waiting the plough. If peace ye seek,
Come back, come back to my arms again.

‘I that am old have seen long since
Ruin of palaces made with hands
For the soldier-king and the priest and prince

...

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast


...

The Holy Land neath hammer blows -
is this what Jesus prophesied:
when sad-sack's hanged like mistletoes
the sightless see a suicide;
when thousands fall like dominoes
the blind deny it's homicide;
when women fry in thermal throes
the gents reject it's femicide
when rockets slaughter embryos
the fools forget it's feticide

...

Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .

She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.

'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'

She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.

'Why don't we do a sketch together--
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'

She will not turn to him--will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.

'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,--my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound

Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going

...

Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.


...

Help others find joy in their days,
Wipe their tears in so many ways.
A kind word can light up the dark,
And silence melts with love's gentle spark.

With kind words, we can shift the fate,
Change the world, don't hesitate.
Though sadness has marked your path,
Together we can find joy that lasts.


...

The amber tongue contains the carcass of
An ant. Our thoughts crucified with
Ruby nails hammered flush against the
Expatriate utterances of stolen voices
Hemming, hawing, planning, damning
Rivers too big to succumb to the pharmacy
Somewhere there's a way back, sure
But where was that place? It was health
Two divided worlds we walked, both of us
Who never knew it well, wrote our
Last will with hindsight. The future will
Not rest. We didn't do a very good job
Learning the new each other. Like Heron
And Crane: 'And to this very day they
Go to each other to propose but never get
Married.' Pour wine over brimming
Lip of glass, splotch white table-cloth
Pressed with blues, argue out blame
Say goodnight in tears
...

To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,
Scented and warm against my beating breast;

To whisper soft and quivering your name,
And drink the passion burning in your frame;

To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,
And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak

Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,

...

The poor can also rise and shine,
With dreams and hopes that intertwine.
But this world, often claims the weak,
The rich build walls—so cold, so bleak.

The poor hold hands, but drag each other down,
Reflecting struggles in a world that wears a frown.
Cursing overlaps with a heavy hate,
Lost is the love, as we navigate.


...