Like Esop’s fellow-slaves, O Mercury,
Which could do all things, thy faith is ; and I
Like Esop’s self, which nothing. I confess
I should have had more faith, if thou hadst less.
Thy credit lost thy credit. ‘Tis sin to do,
In this case, as thou wouldst be done unto,
To believe all. Change thy name ; thou art
O Lord my God
I have been too silly on you
Walked away when I need you most
Deceiving myself that I don’t need you
When did I become childish
And bent to remain childish
When you have not created me childish?
O Lord I am very sorry
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o’er his heart a shadow—
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
Blue diaphane, tobacco smoke
Serpentine on wet film and wood glaze,
Mutes chrome, wreathes velvet drapes,
Dims the cave of mirrors. Ghost fingers
Comb seaweed hair, stroke acquamarine veins
Of marooned mariners, captives
Of Circe’s sultry notes. The barman
Dispenses igneous potions ?
Somnabulist, the band plays on.
Cocktail mixer, silvery fish
Dances for limpet clients.
Applause is steeped in lassitude,
I SAW the Connaught Rangers when they were passing by,
On a spring day, a good day, with gold rifts in the sky.
Themselves were marching steadily along the Liffey quay
An’ I see the young proud look of them as if it were to-day!
The bright lads, the right lads, I have them in my mind,
With the green
Aromatic or stinky folds,
Customary is the game.
On velvety linen or dirty sheets,
Love is all the same.
Freeze the event in your mind,
In a tale or poetry,
Canvas it or sculpt it,
Choreograph, song or melody.
Down earth, love is need,
A primal instinct ready to claw,
The inevitable event of seclusion,
When hands become the paw.
Hello dear moon
Aged long sitting on a lush soil
And gentle like a breath of life.
Send me your content
That wield children firmly to grandma’s tales
And stick adults to gourds of palm wine.
Yesterday you are absence
I kept you pounded yam and vegetable bush meat soup
But you didn’t come home to eat them.
They put the screens around his bed;
a crumpled heap I saw him lie,
White counterpane and rough dark head,
those screens – they showed that he would die.
The put the screens about his bed;
We might not play the gramophone,
And so we played at cards instead
And left him dying there alone.
The covers on the screens are red,<br
O, twice the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red; She blushes in the Spring-time, When aroused from Winter’s sleep, She finds herself all naked And the gaping world apeep, O, then the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red. Once again the maple blushes, blushes rosy, rosy red; She blushes in the Autumn, When she lays her robes aside For the
Ukwa killed Nwaka Dimkpolo
E-e Nwaka Dimkpolo!
Who will punish this Ukwa for me?
E-e Nwaka Dimkpolo!
Matchet will cut up this Ukwa for me?
E-e Nwaka Dimkpolo!
Who will punish this Matchet for me?
E-e Nwaka Dimkpolo!
Blacksmith will hammer it for me?
E-e Nwaka Dimkpolo!
Who will punish this Blacksmith for me?
E-e Nwaka Dimkpolo!
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn’d,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d,
Since first
Be nobody’s darling;
Be an outcast.
Take the contradictions
Of your life
And wrap around
You like a shawl,
To parry stones
To keep you warm.
Watch the people succumb
To madness
With ample cheer;
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with
Drum of war is still and silent like coma,
Tears mob the land and rent homes apart,
The velocity of their echoes
Travelled far beyond the seas,
Our heroes, the conquerors of many wars,
Returned home and silence like grave.
Masquerades amuse the day
With their best dancing steps,
Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame,
Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be;
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could
I came back home and retired to my couch
Walking on a deviant road
Which seemed exciting but weary like a long voyage
I saw one imp spiteful like an inferno
That suddenly changed into three dragons
Their eyes were frightened and anxious like lion claws
I appeased the land with three white doves
And struck the ground with my staff<br
Verse 1
Tell me where is fancy bred, {he}
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourishèd? [nour-ish-ed]
Reply, reply.
It is engender’d in the eyes, {she}
With gazing fed;
and fancy dies, and fancy dies {together}
In the cradle where it lies.
Heinrich, bring us three bottles of wine —
What shall it be, boys? Sherry or port?
Cheers for old Bacchus, god of the vine,
Jolly old rounder, the Greeks report.
Sherry, sherry, bring us sherry,
Fill the glasses, don’t be chary.
Bolt the door on frowning care,
Draw the cork and tilt your chair;
Drink and sing the night away
Mammy’s baby, go ter sleep,
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my honey;
Cross de hyarf de cricket creep,
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my honey.
Hoot owl callin’ f’um de ol’ sycamo’
‘Way down yon’er in de holler;
While de whip-po’-will an’ de li’l’ screech owl
Dey des try dey bes’ ter foller.
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my deah,
Hush-er-by, hush-er-by, my honey;
Shet yo’ eyes an’ drap
Bright star, would I were stedfast 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 priestlike 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 stedfast,
