Armies in the Fire

Here's a poignant poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, only too relevant in our times

The lamps now glitter down the street;
Faintly sound the falling feet;
And the blue even slowly falls
About the garden trees and walls.

Now in the falling of the gloom
The red fire paints the empty room:
And warmly on the roof it looks,
And flickers on the back of books.

Armies march by tower and spire
Of cities blazing, in the fire;
Till as I gaze with staring eyes,
The armies fall, the lustre dies.

Then once again the glow returns;
Again the phantom city burns;
And down the red-hot valley, lo!
The phantom armies marching go!

Blinking embers, tell me true
Where are those armies marching to,
And what the burning city is
That crumbles in your furnaces!

Fire and Ice

One good one by Robert Frost ...

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Have u really loved a woman?

Firstly I would really apologise to people who may think its a farce to put this up among all these classic poems.. Buti just couldnt help myself I just seem to like these lyrics so much...

To really love a woman
To understand her - you gotta know her deep inside
Hear every thought - see every dream
N’ give her wings - when she wants to fly
Then when you find yourself lyin’ helpless in her arms
Ya know ya really love a woman

When you love a woman you tell her
That she’s really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she’s the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
That it’s gonna last forever
So tell me have you ever really
- really really ever loved a woman?

To really love a woman
Let her hold you -
Til ya know how she needs to be touched
You’ve gotta breathe her - really taste her
Til you can feel her in your blood
N’ when you can see your unborn children in her eyes
Ya know ya really love a woman

When you love a woman
You tell her that she’s really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she’s the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
That you’ll always be together
So tell me have you ever really -
Really really ever loved a woman?

You got to give her some faith - hold her tight
A little tenderness - gotta treat her right
She will be there for you, takin’ good care of you
Ya really gotta love your woman...

Then when you find yourself lyin’ helpless in her arms
Ya know ya really love a woman
When you love a woman you tell her
That she’s really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she’s the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
That it’s gonna last forever
So tell me have you ever really
- really really ever loved a woman?

Just tell me have you ever really,
Really, really, ever loved a woman?
Just tell me have you ever really,
Really, really, ever loved a woman?

Phenomenal Woman

This poem by Maya Angelou surely has some attitude. And thats what impressed me about this poem... Just read it and u know it not how u look but how u feel that makes u pretty......

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies,
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't jump or shout about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
The palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

The Most Important Room

And on a lighter note....

In all libraries large or small
The most important room of all
Is not the paneled meeting hall,
But where one answers nature's call.

If you should doubt this, lock the door
Of every john on every floor
And see how long it takes before
You hear a loud collective roar.

For although books are really great,
There are some things that cannot wait
And one may only hesitate
So long before it grows too late.

How Did You Die?

The poem speaks for itself...

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it.
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down fiat,
But to lie there--that's digrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;
It's how did you fight and why?

And though you be done to death, what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only, how did you die?

Anonymous Gems

After my last post which was by an anonymous poet, I went looking for some poems which were written by people who wish to remain unknown or the ones the world chose to ignore. Their works remain by, to make us astonish who these poets could be....

The Wise Old Owl

A wise old owl sat in an oak,

The more he heard the less he spoke;

The less he spoke the more he heard.

Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?

The Busy Man

If you want to get a favor done
By some obliging friend,
And want a promise, safe and sure,
On which you may depend,
Don't go to him who always has
Much leisure time to plan,
But if you want your favor done,
Just ask the busy man.

The man with leisure never has
A moment he can spare,
He's always "putting off" until
His friends are in despair.
But he whose every waking hour
Is crowded full of work
Forgets the art of wasting time,
He cannot stop to shirk.

So when you want a favor done,
And want it right away,
Got to the man who constantly
Works twenty hours a day.
He'll find a moment, sure, somewhere,
That has no other use.
And help you, while the idle man
Is framing an excuse.

God and the Soldier

God and the soldier
All men adore
In time of trouble,
And no more;
For when war is over
And all things righted,
God is neglected--
The old soldier slighted.

I Sought My Soul

I sought my soul,
But my soul I could not see
I sought my God,
But my god eluded me.
I sought my brother,
And I found all three.

"Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Here's a piece of poetry that contradicts the popular belief that Software Engineers aren't creative enuff... A anonymous software pro in the poem below expresses his helplessness when faced with "Abort, Retry, Ignore?".. Enjoy

Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed sheets, still I sat there doing spreadsheets.
Having reached the bottom line I took a floppy from the drawer,
I then invoked the SAVE command and waited for the disk to store,
Only this and nothing more.

Deep into the monitor peering, long I sat there wond'ring, fearing,
Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more.
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.
"Save!" I said, "You cursed mother! Save my data from before!"
One thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more,
Just, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Was this some occult illusion, some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices undesired, ones I'd never faced before.
Carefully I weighed the choices as the disk made impish noises.
The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more.
Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more,
From "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

With fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee, timidly, I pressed a key.
But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before.
Ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore,
Saying "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

I tried to catch the chips off guard, and pressed again, but twice as hard.
I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore.
Now in mighty desperation, trying random combinations,
Still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before.
Cursor blinking, angrily winking, blinking nonsense as before.
Reading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted.
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw a dreadful sight: a lightning bolt cut through the night.
A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core.
The lightning zapped my previous data, lost and gone forevermore.
Not even, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

To this day I do not know the place to which lost data go.
What demonic nether world us wrought where lost data will be stored,
Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, into black holes?
But sure as there's C, Pascal, Lotus, Ashton-Tate and more,
You will be one day be left to wander, lost on some Plutonian shore,
Pleading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

>> The Tear <<

A beautiful poem by George Gordon, Lord Byron

When Friendship or Love
Our sympathies move;
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear:

Too oft is a smile
But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation, or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soultelling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear:

Mild Charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt,
Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear:

The man, doom'd to sail
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave
Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear;

The Soldier braves death
For a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe
When in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

If, with high-bounding pride,
He return to his bride!
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear;
All his toils are repaid
When, embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

Sweet scene of my youth!
Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Where Love chas'd each fast-fleeting year
Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,
For a last look I turn'd,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear:

Though my vows I can pour,
To my Mary no more,
My Mary, to Love once so dear,
In the shade of her bow'r,
I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

By another possest,
May she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:
With a sigh I resign,
What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

Ye friends of my heart,
Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:
If again we shall meet,
In this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

When my soul wings her flight
To the regions of night,
And my corse shall recline on its bier;
As ye pass by the tomb,
Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.

Opportunities

This is again written by Seema Kamath.. This was written by her, when I needed some confidence going, and I must say this poem did the trick..

Opportunities,

Seldom do they twice knock.

All the hindrances,

You must learn to sock

All your bashfulness,

Must you lock

Be self-assured,

Nobody will at you, mock

Just go for it man, I

'm sure you're gonna rock

Once your cofidence

You will meet

Every qualm of yours

You will beat

Take a chance

Be at your feet

Your Opponents

You will defeat

And then Victory

You will greet

Hey, that is where

I get my treat

Seema... again

Here are a few more poems... she wrote for me..... aint she good? :)

I often burden you
With my troubles’ heap

But never do you object
With an annoyed beep

You always kindly
Do my worries sweep

Your fondness
At all times, makes me leap

Out of happiness
Tears, from my eyes seep

You’d see sincere gratitude
Into my heart, if you peep

Hoping our relationship
In the same way does keep

And you forever remain
My chweet friend Sandeep

-Seema


Another one .....


To Sandeep, an adored pal of mine
In my heart, you always shine
You are a support; I’m a vine
Counting on you, I’m always fine

Do I talk; you are there to hear
Do I cry, you will wipe my tear
Hence, of grief, I no more fear
Coz I’m certain you will be there to cheer

You are someone I can easily confide in
I’m so happy, your friendship I could win
With my poem, my feelings do I pin
Purpose will be served if it makes you grin

If you too have any weal
That is hindering your zeal
Within yourself, don’t do them seal
Tell me, better I’ll try to make you feel

-Seema

From Seema ...

This is one poem I really really like..... the reason: It was written for me :)

This is written by a friend of mine Seema .... and is definetly one of the poems that has touched my heart...


To my cherished chat friend
Chatting with you is such a pleasure
All my chats with you
I delightfully treasure

Seeing you online
Makes me glad
But learning that you are busy
Makes me sad

Here I tell you
What I never told before
You are a person
I respect and value for sure

For you are
Unique in your own way
Trust me coz
Fact is what I say

Making me wait for your poem
My sleep of night did you steal
But even so
Special you made me feel

You can at all times count on me
When you are blue
Hope I’ll forever remain
Your friend so true


P.S: Word to Seema : I expect a few more poems from you that I can post up here... ;)

Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead

Simple yet touching poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
‘She must weep or she will die.’

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee—
Like summer tempest came her tears—
‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’

Ozymandias

Here's a poem i really like. Penned by Percy Bysshe Shelley, I came across this poem in school and has remained with me ever since ....

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

***

A Psalm of Life

A poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

'Life that shall send A challenge to its end, And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend.''

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real—life is earnest—

And the grave is not its goal:
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destin'd end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!


Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act—act in the glorious Present!

Heart within, and God o'er head!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us

Footsteps on the sands of time.


Footsteps, that, perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.


Let us then be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

Thoughts

Some of my creations... expressions of a wandered soul.....

If ...

If
by Rudyard Kipling

A beautiful poem indeed

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!

[**] My Friend [**]

====>>> You <<<=====

Another gem i found.... hope you like it

Dream.....

Hi people..... i would like to bring to you hence forth some of the poems I believe have the power to change...

So here goes.....

A dream is a seed

The seed of a tree

A tree full of life

And the things you can be

Your dreams are the windows

Through which you can see

A hint of your future

And the things you will be

Each night when you sleep

You're feeding the seed

The seed of the tree

Of who you will be...

I have tried to say the poem above in pictures.. and this is what i ended up with