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26 March, 2018
25 March, 2018
True heart
A true heart is unafraid,
blazing with adamantine fire
it cannot be buffeted by gales!
Reflecting the universe's purpose
unstoppable flowing creation.
Empty becomes full!
The heart that is untrue fears!
Creating ghosts and foes,
out of step with the natural flow
Dispersing life's energy in illusions
Breaking sacred bridges of trust!
Full becomes empty!
Somwang (Book of poems 2)
22 March, 2018
Bright star,
"Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priest like task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors
No, yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever - or else swoon to death."
John Keats
21 March, 2018
20 March, 2018
19 March, 2018
18 March, 2018
17 March, 2018
15 March, 2018
13 March, 2018
12 March, 2018
A Day Will Come
"A day will come in every life,
When appreciation is rendered.
And this should be taken seriously,
And given with love and tender.
Anyone who deserves appreciation,
Must have done something great.
So share with them the way you feel,
And always treat them right.
But keep in mind that appreciation,
Should be given again and again.
If you truly appreciate,
You'll remind them how great they've been.
Do something special to thank the ones,
Who've made a difference to you.
But don't forget to thank them again,
For everything they do."
Julie Herbert
11 March, 2018
10 March, 2018
Anthem...
"What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty horisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds."
Wilfred Owen
07 March, 2018
05 March, 2018
03 March, 2018
02 March, 2018
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