Free Lovely Poem

Poetry Terminology

2009-07-13T00:18:00.000-07:00

Elements of Poetry

The following is a list of the elements of poetry. Take the time to reflect on how each element contributes to a poem's meaning, and then brainstorm ways in which you can use it to further illuminate your own piece's meaning.

POEM: a work of literature in verse that often, but not necessarily, employs meter, rhyme, or figurative language in an attempt to communicate an aesthetic experience or statement which cannot be fully paraphrased in prose.

Poetic Devices

Speaker- voice behind the poem establishing a point of view (can be a persona)

Situation- circumstances surrounding the poem

Diction- choice of words

Syntax- grammatical order of words

Imagery- verbal expression of a sensory detail (visual, auditory, tactile, gustatory, or olfactory)

Irony- contradiction of expectation (verbal, situational, or dramatic)

Symbolism- representation in which an object or action represents something beyond itself

Basic Terms

denotation: the dictionary meaning of a word

connotation: the implied or suggested meaning connected with a word

literal meaning: limited to the simplest, ordinary, most obvious meaning

figurative meaning: associative or connotative meaning; representational

meter: measured pattern of rhythmic accents in a line of verse

rhyme: correspondence of terminal sounds of words or of lines of verse

Figurative Language

apostrophe: a direct address of an inanimate object, abstract qualities, or a person not living or present.

Example: "Beware, O Asparagus, you've stalked my last meal."

hyperbole: exaggeration for emphasis (the opposite of understatement)

Example: "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

metaphor: comparison between essentially unlike things without using words OR application of a name or description to something to which it is not literally applicable

Example: "[Love] is an ever fixed mark, / that looks on tempests and is never shaken."

metonymy: a closely related term substituted for an object or idea

Example: "We have always remained loyal to the crown."

oxymoron: a combination of two words that appear to contradict each other

Example: bittersweet

paradox: a situation or phrase that appears to be contradictory but which contains a truth worth considering

Example: "In order to preserve peace, we must prepare for war."

personification: the endowment of inanimate objects or abstract concepts with animate or living qualities

Example: "Time let me play / and be golden in the mercy of his means"

pun: play on words OR a humorous use of a single word or sound with two or more implied meanings; quibble

Example: "They're called lessons . . . because they lessen from day to day."

simile: comparison between two essentially unlike things using words such as "like," as," or "as though"

Example: "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun"

Poetic Devices

irony: a contradiction of expectation between what is said and what is meant (verbal irony) or what is expected in a particular circumstance or behavior (situational), or when a character speaks in ignorance of a situation known to the audience or other characters (situational)

Example: "Time held me green and dying / Though I sang in my chains like the sea"

imagery: word or sequence of words representing a sensory experience (visual, auditory, olfactory, tactile, and gustatory)

Example: "bells knelling classes to a close" (auditory)

symbol: an object or action that stands for something beyond itself

Example: white = innocence, purity, hope

alliteration: the repetition of consonant sounds, particularly at the beginning of words

Example: ". . . like a wanderer white"

assonance: the repetition of similar vowel sounds

Example: "I rose and told him of my woe"

elision: the omission of an unstressed vowel or syllable to preserve the meter of a line of poetry

Example: "Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame"

onomatopoeia: the use of words to imitate the sounds they describe

Example: "crack" or "whir"

allusion: a reference to the person, event, or work outside the poem or literary piece

Example: "Shining, it was Adam and maiden"

Form

open: poetic form free from regularity and consistency in elements such as rhyme, line length, and metrical form

closed: poetic form subject to a fixed structure and pattern

stanza: unit of a poem often repeated in the same form throughout a poem; a unit of poetic lines ("verse paragraph")

blank verse: unrhymed iambic pentameter

free verse: lines with no prescribed pattern or structure

couplet: a pair of lines, usually rhymed

heroic couplet: a pair of rhymed lines is iambic pentameter (tradition of the heroic epic form)

quatrain: four-line stanza or grouping of four lines of verse

sonnet: fourteen line poem in iambic pentameter with a prescribed rhyme scheme; its subject is traditionally that of love

English (Shakespearean) Sonnet: A sonnet probably made popular by Shakespeare with the following rhyme scheme: abab cdcd efef gg

Italian (Petrarchan) Sonnet: A form of sonnet made popular by Petrarch with the following rhyme scheme: abbaabba cdecde OR cdcdcd

Its first octave generally presents a thought, picture, or emotion, while its final sestet presents an explanation, comment, or summary.

Meter

stress: greater amount of force used to pronounce one syllable over another

pause: (caesura) a pause for a beat in the rhythm of the verse (often indicated by a line break or a mark of punctuation)

rising meter: meter containing metrical feet that move from unstressed to stressed syllables

iambic (iamb): a metrical foot containing two syllables--the first is unstressed, while the second is stressed

anapestic (anapest): a metrical foot containing three syllables--the first two are unstressed, while the last is stressed

falling meter: meter containing metrical feet that move from stressed to unstressed syllables

trochaic (trochee): a metrical foot containing two syllables--the first is stressed, while the second is unstressed

dactylic (dactyl): a metrical foot containing three syllables--the first is stressed, while the last two are unstressed

spondee: an untraditional metrical foot in which two consecutive syllables are stressed

iambic pentameter: a traditional form of rising meter consisting of lines containing five iambic feet (and, thus, ten syllables)

http://www.nevnet.etzion.k12.il/english/poetry/terminology.htm

Biography of Li Bai

2009-07-13T00:04:00.000-07:00

Li Bai was born in the year of 701 during the Tang Dynasty. He died when he was 61 years old. The Tang Dynasty was the stongest era in Chinese history. Its economy was the strongest. China developed more advanced technologies than other nations. During this age, the most famous and talented Chinese poets emerged. Li Bai was one of them. Li Bai was in Gang Xiao Sheng, a territory of China. When he was five years old he followed his father to Sichuan. Maybe because he traveled around so much when he was little, he decided to keep traveling around the land when he was 25 years old. He wanted to learn more about nature and people, and kept journals. Li Bai's poems are varied. He wrote poems about the beautiful landscapes he saw in China. He wrote poems about people in the scenes which touched his heart. He expressed his feelings through the fantastic words in his poems. His poems are easy to understand with rhyming, alliteration and assonance, and beautiful imagery. All people love his poems. Even today people still read his poems, not only adults, but children too. In Chinese schools kids start to learn his poems when they are in the elementary grades. Li Bai is an important figure to the language of Chinese and to his people. He is just as important as William Shakespeare to the language of English. Li Bai and his poetry are one part of Chinese people's education because people really like his poems. They respect him as the "God of Poets." His poems will be taught in the future for hundreds of thousands of years

by Sukey from Flushing

Long Yearning

2009-07-13T00:02:00.001-07:00

Long yearning,
To be in Chang'an.
The grasshoppers weave their autumn song
by the golden railing of the well;
Frost coalesces on my bamboo mat,
changing its colour with cold.
My lonely lamp is not bright,
I’d like to end these thoughts;
I roll back the hanging, gaze at the moon,
and long sigh in vain.
The beautiful person's like a flower
beyond the edge of the clouds.
Above is the black night of heaven's height;
Below is the green water billowing on.
The sky is long, the road is far,
bitter flies my spirit;
The spirit I dream can't get through,
the mountain pass is hard.
Long yearning,
Breaks my heart.

Auguries of Innocence

2009-07-12T23:54:00.000-07:00

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus'd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear.
A Skylark wounded in the wing,
A Cherubim does cease to sing.
The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright.
Every Wolf's & Lion's howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here & there,
Keeps the Human Soul from Care.
The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife
And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that won't believe.
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belov'd by Men.
He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by Woman lov'd.
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spider's enmity.
He who torments the Chafer's sprite
Weaves a Bower in endless Night.
The Catterpillar on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,
For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat that sings his Summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the Snake & Newt
Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artist's Jealousy.
The Prince's Robes & Beggars' Rags
Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for Joy & Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Thro' the World we safely go.
Joy & Woe are woven fine,
A Clothing for the Soul divine;
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The Babe is more than swadling Bands;
Throughout all these Human Lands
Tools were made, & born were hands,
Every Farmer Understands.
Every Tear from Every Eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity.
This is caught by Females bright
And return'd to its own delight.
The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.
The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of death.
The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,
Does to Rags the Heavens tear.
The Soldier arm'd with Sword & Gun,
Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.
The poor Man's Farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.
One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands
Shall buy & sell the Miser's lands:
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole Nation sell & buy.
He who mocks the Infant's Faith
Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.
He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the Infant's faith
Triumph's over Hell & Death.
The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons
Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.
The Questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to Reply.
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.
The Strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.
Nought can deform the Human Race
Like the Armour's iron brace.
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.
A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry
Is to Doubt a fit Reply.
The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile
Make Lame Philosophy to smile.
He who Doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you Please.
If the Sun & Moon should doubt
They'd immediately Go out.
To be in a Passion you Good may do,
But no Good if a Passion is in you.
The Whore & Gambler, by the State
Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
The Harlot's cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet.
The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse,
Dance before dead England's Hearse.
Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn & every Night
Some are Born to sweet Delight.
Some ar Born to sweet Delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro' the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to Perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in the Night,
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day.

William Blake

Angel, The

2009-07-12T23:47:00.000-07:00

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!

And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart's delight.

So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten-thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.

William Blake

The Playground of Life XIX

2009-07-12T23:46:00.000-07:00

One hour devoted to the pursuit of Beauty

And Love is worth a full century of glory
Given by the frightened weak to the strong.

From that hour comes man's Truth; and
During that century Truth sleeps between
The restless arms of disturbing dreams.

In that hour the soul sees for herself
The Natural Law, and for that century she
Imprisons herself behind the law of man;
And she is shackled with irons of oppression.

That hour was the inspiration of the Songs
Of Solomon, an that century was the blind
Power which destroyed the temple of Baalbek.

That hour was the birth of the Sermon on the
Mount, and that century wrecked the castles of
Palmyra and the Tower of Babylon.

That hour was the Hegira of Mohammed and that
Century forgot Allah, Golgotha, and Sinai.

One hour devoted to mourning and lamenting the
Stolen equality of the weak is nobler than a
Century filled with greed and usurpation.

It is at that hour when the heart is
Purified by flaming sorrow and
Illuminated by the torch of Love.
And in that century, desires for Truth
Are buried in the bosom of the earth.
That hour is the root which must flourish.
That hour of meditation, the hour of
Prayer, and the hour of a new era of good.

And that century is a life of Nero spent
On self-investment taken solely from
Earthly substance.

This is life.
Portrayed on the stage for ages;
Recorded earthly for centuries;
Lived in strangeness for years;
Sung as a hymn for days;
Exalted but for an hour, but the
Hour is treasured by Eternity as a jewel.

Khalil Gibran

The Palace and the Hut XXIX

2009-07-12T23:45:00.000-07:00

Part One

As night fell and the light glittered in the great house, the servants stood at the massive door awaiting the coming of the guests; and upon their velvet garments shown golden buttons.

The magnificent carriages drew into the palace park and the nobles entered, dressed in gorgeous raiment and decorated with jewels. The instruments filled the air with pleasant melodies while the dignitaries danced to the soothing music.

At midnight the finest and most palatable foods were served on a beautiful table embellished with all kinds of the rarest flowers. The feasters dined and drank abundantly, until the sequence of the wine began to play its part. At dawn the throng dispersed boisterously, after spending a long night of intoxication and gluttony which hurried their worn bodies into their deep beds with unnatural sleep.

Part Two

At eventide, a man attired in the dress of heavy work stood before the door of his small house and knocked at the door. As it opened, he entered and greeted the occupants in a cheerful manner, and then sat between his children who were playing at the fireplace. In a short time, his wife had the meal prepared and they sat at a wooden table consuming their food. After eating they gathered around the oil lamp and talked of the day's events. When the early night had lapsed, all stood silently and surrendered themselves to the King of Slumber with a song of praise and a prayer of gratitude on their lips.

Khalil Gibran

The Life of Love XVI

2009-07-12T23:44:00.001-07:00

Spring

Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
Inspiration high above the cool green plains.

Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
the Night of Kedre.

The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.

Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.

Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.

Summer

Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
Are ripening the grain.
Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.
Let us fill our bins with the products of
Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.
Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
Upon pillows of soft hay.
Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
To the provoking murmur of the brook.

Autumn

Let us go and gather grapes in the vineyard
For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
Ages in eternal vessels.

Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
Have made pilgrimage to warmth and lest the chilled
Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
And myrtle have no more tears.

Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
Are drained of their copious weeping; and
Their cautious old hills have stored away
Their colorful garments.

Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
With quiet and contented melody.

Winter

Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter.

Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door.
Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.

Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.

Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
Reward in harvest.

Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.

You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
And how recent was the dawn!

Khalil Gibran

The House of Fortune III

2009-07-12T23:42:00.000-07:00

My wearied heart bade me farewell and left for the House of Fortune. As he reached that holy city which the soul had blessed and worshipped, he commenced wondering, for he could not find what he had always imagined would be there. The city was empty of power, money, and authority.

And my heart spoke to the daughter of Love saying, "Oh Love, where can I find Contentment? I heard that she had come here to join you."

And the daughter of Love responded, "Contentment has already gone to preach her gospel in the city, where greed and corruption are paramount; we are not in need of her."

Fortune craves not Contentment, for it is an earthly hope, and its desires are embraced by union with objects, while Contentment is naught but heartfelt.

The eternal soul is never contented; it ever seeks exaltation. Then my heart looked upon Life of Beauty and said: "Thou art all knowledge; enlighten me as to the mystery of Woman." And he answered, "Oh human heart, woman is your own reflection, and whatever you are, she is; wherever you live, she lives; she is like religion if not interpreted by the ignorant, and like a moon, if not veiled with clouds, and like a breeze, if not poisoned with impurities."

And my heart walked toward Knowledge, the daughter of Love and Beauty, and said, "Bestow upon me wisdom, that I might share it with the people." And she responded, "Say not wisdom, but rather fortune, for real fortune comes not from outside, but begins in the Holy of Holies of life. Share of thyself with the people."

Khalil Gibran

AKU

2009-07-12T23:39:00.000-07:00

If my time should come
I'd like no one to entice me
Not even you
No need for those sobs and cries
I am but a wild animal
Cut from its kind
Though bullets should pierce my skin
I shall still strike and march forth
Wounds and poison shall I take aflee. Aflee
'Til the pain and pang should disappear
And I should care even less
I want to live
for another thousand years

Biography of William Shakespeare

2009-07-12T23:29:00.000-07:00

by Amanda from Fredericksburg

In an era that marked some of the greatest achievements in entertainment, one man rose above the rest through his eternal notions and literary tongue. His work not only captured and motivated the hearts and souls of his time, but also inspired an epic movement in literature that has set a standard for writers throughout history. William Shakespeare was merely a man, but he will forever remain in the hearts of millions through his writing. The word, “hero,” cannot be defined by one person, nor does one person have every quality a hero may possess. Yet, it is within a person we place heroic qualities to both honor them for their lifetime achievements and give us someone to look up to and model ourselves after. Typically known for creating and writing about heroes rather than being considered one himself, William Shakespeare fulfills my ideas of a hero because of the timeless impact he left on the world through his famous literary works. No, Shakespeare did not risk his life for others, but he did dedicate his life to a cause, to his passion: to entertain the people. In doing so, William Shakespeare planted a seed in the heart of entertainment that would allow it to grow and evolve with time, while having deep roots tied to history. For being a popular figure studied in history, not much is known about Shakespeare’s life before he achieved greatness. He was born in Stratford-Upon-Avon in April of 1564, as the first of eight children of John Shakespeare, a glover, and Mary Arden, a land heiress. The date of his actual birth can only be approximated as the twenty-third, based on his date of baptism, April 26. Growing up, he was given only a basic education while attending Stratford Grammar School. He received no further extensive education and was thought to have taught himself other basic principles. November 28, 1582 marked a significant chapter in Shakespeare’s life, as he married Anne Hathaway, who was twenty-six at the time, making her eight years his senior. Their first daughter, Susanna, was born on May 26, 1583, which many believe was the reason for their quick marriage. Two years later, on February 2, 1585, Anne bore a set of twins, Hamnet and Judith. Unfortunately, Hamnet died at the age of 11 in 1596.

As a master playwright and avid poet, William Shakespeare wrote thirty-seven plays and compiled a total of one hundred and fifty-four sonnets. The numbers alone are astonishing, but the works themselves are even more impressive. Each of his plays falls under a category of comedic, tragic, historical, or a combination between two. Examples of his comedies include A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Much Ado About Nothing. His historical plays include those such as Henry VII. Shakespeare, however, was most renowned for his tragedies, which include Macbeth, Hamlet, Othello, and Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare, for the most part, used a specific rhyme scheme in writing his sonnets known as iambic pentameter. His sonnets range in topics, but he mainly focuses on love, loss, and preservation. “So long as men can breathe or eyes can see / so long lives this, and this gives life to thee” (Sonnet 18). Shakespeare knew that by writing these powerful masterpieces, he could make himself, or anyone he chooses, eternal.

Through his writing, Shakespeare left a legacy in the world of literature that has stood for almost four hundred years. Even more impressive is the fact that his works are still enjoyed by millions of people who study and read Shakespeare today. Almost half a century later, the powerful and nurturing words of Shakespeare continue to amaze and inspire people of a totally different time than his own. The reason being, that the focus of Shakespeare’s work turns towards love, passion, betrayal, sorrow, revenge, and heartbreak; themes that people of any time and age can relate to. His thoughts on entertainment were to involve the people, and to have them relate to the emotions expressed through characters in his plays, or words in his sonnets. In doing so, Shakespeare made an extraordinary advancement in entertainment that has shaped the meaning of the word today.

It is a true rarity when one person can make great advancements in a field that may affect people centuries later. It is for Shakespeare’s excellent literary intuitiveness, rather than his courage, that gives him the qualities of a hero in my eyes. Without the epic plays and sonnets of Shakespeare, the standards for literature would reach nowhere near the magnitude they are today. For it is William Shakespeare, the playwright and bard, not William Shakespeare, the man, who will be remembered throughout history, and for all time. In the words of Shakespeare himself, “I wish you well and so I take my leave, / I Pray you know me when we meet again" (http://www.quotationspage.com/quotes).

Poetry Reading Reception at The Rotterdam City Hall

2009-07-12T23:28:00.001-07:00

It was a long day at the Schiphol airport, 23 years ago
The summer sun faithfully sent its glare
Meadows were through radiating tulip shades
Street car wheels crunched, water rippled in Heerengracht
Rivers surmounting streets. The sea blockaded, country of wooden shoes
Rails spread out, over rhythm of precision
Flocks of Holstein Frisian, dove wings clapped over the Dam
The Queen’s Palace guard, the Round Table Conference halls
Giant harbour, godowns and wounds of War
Throng of people at the Rotterdam City Hall. A welcome reception
Various countries sent their poetry architects and engineers
Everybody laughing, all smiling, holding small glasses
Suddenly I remembered my great-great-great grandfather
From previous century. Five to six generations ago
Back from Mecca, along with his two best friends
And his disciple Peto Syarif from Bonjol, the brave one
Urging people to take arms to confront Dutch soldiers
They donned spotless garbs, white headgears
He was captured. Died hanging from the gallows
They hid his remains, his grave not announced
Dear Hadji Miskin, our great-great-great grandfather
Where were you buried
In which valley, which hill, which sea
Your remains hidden by colonial soldiers
Suddenly I woke up at the Rotterdam City Hall reception
One and a half centuries later
Everybody laughing, all smiling, holding small glasses
Whose hand did the knot on the gallows
To Hadji Miskin’s neck
In this reception everybody laughing, smiling, sipping
Whose hands, whose hands, whose hands
Perhaps, so I thought, great-great-great grandsons of the soldiers
Perhaps, one of them was present here
What if I made a small announcement
“Attentie, attentie,”
Clicking my small spoon to my glass
These people politely turned to me
“Excuse me, aaa, did your great-great-great grandfather
Come to my village last century
And join the Paderi War?”
Everybody was surprised and silent
“Pardon me, aaa, but my great-great-great grandfather
Was arrested and hung
In that war. His name was Hadji Miskin
His remains was not delivered to my family
Did your great-great-great grandfather told you about, aaa,
The hanging of a white garbed gentleman
His village was Pandai Sikek at the foot of Singgalang Mountain
White headdressed, and his grave unannounced?
Any information, at all?
My problem is, there had been no information whatsoever
From Koninklijk Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappe
None. I just would like to know the whereabout of his grave. That is all
I did not carry folded revenge card deep down in my wallet. None.”
The hall was very quiet like a deserted cemetery
In a scorching summer afternoon, two o’clock
It was so impolite, a guest of Rotterdam Kunststichting
To pose this sort of question. He was belated
For one and a half centuries.

1993

Coffee Spattering the Forest

2009-07-12T23:26:00.001-07:00

Three million hectares
of newspaper pages
to be eaten by flames
This morning’s edition
four fingers long
two straight and even columns
unloaded from the back of a pick-up
Dawn at the printers
piled on the asphalt
put in order by the sellers
before the sun is risen
thrown into front yards
picked up by the servants
placed on the dining table
looked at in passing
while straightening one’s tie
with the wife, tidying her hair
and the children running around
a morning full of things to do
Marmelade on finger tips
and bread clutched in one hand
Crossing one’s arms
coffee spills on the reading matter
spattering three million hectares of newspaper
two immensely long columns
The fire dies, the forest smoulders
The damp newspaper is folded four times
placed in the woven hard-plastic basket
and thrown away
that very morning
at precisely thirty past seven.

1988

Does the Sound of Pines

2009-07-12T23:25:00.001-07:00

for Ati

Does the sound of pines
Whistle and roar at you
Do you hear for one fleeting moment
The rustling of leaves coming loose

The lines of blue hills
Break out into a melody
Banks and ranks of cloud
Sparkle like gold jewelry

Does the sound of pines
Whistle and roar at you
Do the wide oceans of corn
Churn those waves of sound.

1973

Nine Sea Gulls of Tuan Yusuf

2009-07-12T23:21:00.000-07:00

Now imagine I was holding the fence
of Tuan Yusuf’s first grave
and had a close look of the earth
that once absorbed his corpse.
Then observe my exit from the mausoleum
visiting the next four graves with four parallel markers
no names engraved except 99 Adjectives of God.
Four remains lay parallel here
they might be Tuan Yusuf’s
ulama, field commanders
they might be from Makassar, Bugis or Banten

Now imagine a black cannon
pointing at Africa’s horizon.
Follow me stepping back three centuries
remembering the West Java battles
when Tuan Yusuf was chief commander

Listen to the Faure wind whining
coming from two oceans shaking hands
at the northernmost cape
or at the freezing South Pole

Look at the leaves drifting in autumn
around the reddish bay
whispering softly whenever colours come and go

Can we picture Tuan Yusuf the sufi
deep, zikr enveloping his soul
his thought flowed through bamboo split pens
in red and black ink
seeping into three languages

Fantasize bones of the brave one
in a coffin
sailing more than 10,000 kilometers through two oceans
the west wind slapping seven sails
at the Celebes shores threw anchor
and people sobbing, lowering Syeikh Yusuf solemnly
into Lakiung earth
close to the place where his mother Aminah
bleeding giving birth

It is burdensome for me
to draw the imaginary lines of your face
as photography did not belong to your century
no painter was ever assigned by the bureaucracy
to do your five colour acrilic portrait
but I just envision
the masculine face of a 65 years old,
penetrating and enlightening eyes
light beard, deep voice, slim physique
speaking fluent Makassar Bugis Arabic Dutch and Malay

Those Low Land people were scared of you
the Governor and managers
of the crooked VOC business
deep down respected you.
But they had to exile you to Batavia, Ceylon,
and further 10,000 kilometers to Africa
as they did not want to be distracted
collected gold coins
neatly catalogued in iron imperialist trunks

Syeikh Yusuf, what was the format and physiology
of your genius and fearlessness?

Now have a look at the fog turning into round clouds
slipping down the Table Mountain
gracefully
facing two oceans

I feel autumn winds saying
you enjoy freedom today because three centuries ago
Syeikh Yusuf trampled barbed bristling weeds
and conquered forests of rattan thorns
for you

I hear zikr flows
dissolved into seven sea gulls flying
their wings rippling and singing.

Cape Town, 26 April, 1993.

All the World's a Stage

2009-07-12T21:51:00.001-07:00

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

William Shakespeare

A Lover's Complaint

2009-07-12T21:48:00.000-07:00

FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.

So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age.

'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no love beside.

'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged and newly deified.

'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.

'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear:
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.

'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

'Well could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop
he makes!'
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.

'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:

'That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.

'Many there were that did his picture get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th' imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:

'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.

'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.

'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.'

'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.

''All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.

''Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.

''Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.

''The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.

''Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.

''Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.

''But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not strives,
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves?
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.

''O, pardon me, in that my boast is true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly:
Religious love put out Religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured.

''How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physic your cold breast.

''My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place:
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.

''When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear,law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,
'gainst shame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

''Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine;
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.'

'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue encloses.

'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.

'For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolved my reason into tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting; though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.

'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.

'That not a heart which in his level came
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity.

'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That th' unexperient gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.

'O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid!'

William Shakespeare

Pines in the Distance

2009-07-12T21:42:00.001-07:00

Pines scatter in the distance,
as day becomes night,
branches slap weakly at the window,
pushed by a sultry wind.
I’m now a person who can survive,
so long ago I left childhood behind,
though once there was something,
that now counts for nothing at all.
Life is but postponement of defeat,
a growing estrangement from youth’s unfettered love
a knowing there’s always something left unsaid,
before we finally acquiesce.
(1949)

Announcement

2009-07-12T21:41:00.001-07:00

To dictate is not my intent,
Fate is separate loneliness-es.
I choose you from among the rest, but
in a moment we are snared by loneliness once more.
There was a time I truly wanted you,
to be as children in crowning darkness,
and we kissed and fondled, not tiring.
I did not want to ever let you go.
Do not unite your life with mine,
for I cannot be with anyone for very long
I write now on a ship, in some nameless sea.
(1946)

No, Woman!

2009-07-12T21:40:00.001-07:00

No, woman! What lives in me
still easily evades your fevered and dark embrace,
intent on finding the greenness of another sea,
to be again on the ship where we first met,
surrendering the rudder to the wind,
our eyes fixed on waiting stars.
Something flapping its wings, again conveys
Tai Po and the secret of the Ambonese Sea.
Such is woman! A single vague line
is all I can write
in my flight towards her enigmatic smile.
(1945)

My Friend And I

2009-07-12T21:38:00.000-07:00

For L.K. Bohang

We share the same path, late at night
with the fog, penetrating
and the rain, drenching our bodies.
Ships freeze in the harbor.
My blood curdles. My mind congeals.
Who is it that speaks?
My friend is but a skeleton
scourged of his strength.
He asks the time!
It is so late.
All meaning has sunk and drowned
and motion has no purpose.
(1943)

Biography of Chairil Anwar

2009-07-12T21:31:00.000-07:00

Chairil Anwar: every Indonesian schoolchild knows his name. For this poet was one of the famed figures of the “1945 Generation,” that group of luminaries who brought heat and light to Indonesian literature in the formative years of the new nation.

Through his poetry, Chairil Anwar succeeded in infusing Indonesian verse with a new spirit and bringing a new enthusiasm to Indonesia’s cultural arena. He also provided friends and acquaintances with never-ending tales to tell of his personal eccentricities, including his hobby of stealing books from the shops, his tendency to plagiarize from foreign poets, his many lovers, his numerous ailments, and his bohemian lifestyle.

Born on July 22, 1922 in Medan, North Sumara, Chairil attended the Hollands Inlandsche School (HIS), a Dutch elementary school for “natives.” He then continued his education at the Meer Uitgebreid Lager Onderwijs, a Dutch junior high school, but he dropped out before graduating. At the age of nineteen, after the divorce of his parents, Chairil moved with his mother to Jakarta where he came in contact with the literary world. Despite his unfinished education, Chairil had an active command of English, Dutch and German, and he filled his hours by reading an international selection of authors, including Rainer M. Rilke, W.H. Auden, Archibald MacLeish, H. Marsman, J. Slaurhoff and Edgar du Perron. These writers became his references, directly influencing his own poetry and later helping him shift the gaze of Indonesian literature to fall upon Europe. This westward turn was one of the major differences between Chairil’s “1945 Generation” peers and the previous cohort of Indonesian writers, the “New Authors Generation” of the 1930s, who were more oriented toward traditional verse forms. Chairil’s poetry was not only topically fresh, it struggled with individual and existential issues, in contrast to the writers of the “New Authors Generation” who were more concerned with giving voice to nationalist enthusiasm.

Chairil began to gain recognition as a poet with the publication of “Nisan” (“Gravestone”) in 1942. At that time, he was only twenty years old. He had apparently been shocked by the death of his grandmother, which awakened him to the fact that death could at any moment tear one away from life. Most of the poems he wrote after this point referred, at least implicitly, to this awareness of death. All of his poems—the originals, the adaptations and those suspected of being plagiarisms—have been collected in three books: Deru Campur Debu (“Roar Mixed with Dust,” 1949); Kerikil Tajam Yang Terampas dan Yang Putus (“Sharp Pebbles The Seized and the Severed,” 1949); and Tiga Menguak Takdir (“Three Tear Open Fate,” 1950, a collection of poems with Asrul Sani and Rivai Apin).

Chairil’s poetic vitality was never in balance with his physical condition, which grew weaker as a result of his chaotic lifestyle. Before he could turn twenty-seven, he had already contracted a number of illnesses. In the last days of his life, he wrote a poem that read thus:

The Seized and the Severed

the darkness and passing wind overtake me
and the room where the one I long for shivers
with night’s penetration; trees stand like dead memorials

but in Karet, yes, Karet Cemetery – my future locale – there,

the wind howls, too

I put my room in order, and myself as well, in the chance that you might come
and I may once again unleash a new story for you;
but now it’s only my hands that move, emptily

my body is still and alone, as frozen stories and events pass by

On April 28, 1949, Chairil Anwar passed away at the CBZ Hospital (now R.S. Ciptomangunkusomo) in Jakarta. And indeed, he was buried at Karet Cemetery the next day. In memory of the words he left behind, April 28th is now celebrated as Literature Day in Indonesia.

A Fairy Song

2009-07-12T20:48:00.000-07:00

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

William Shakespeare

The biggest secret in the life

2009-07-12T20:10:00.000-07:00

Passing through this day with full of meaning. The meaning of love, knowledge, and faith.

In love with a beautiful life.

With the knowledge of life to be easy.

With faith and life become effective.

Before we complain

2009-07-12T20:06:00.000-07:00

1. Today before you say the words that are not good, think about someone who does not
can speak at all.

2. Before you complain about the taste of food, think about someone who does not
have anything to eat.

3. Before you complain does not have anything, think about someone who asks for alms in the
street.

4. Before you complain that your bad, think about someone who is on
level of the worst in his life.

5. Before you complain about your wife or husband, think about someone who invoke
to God to give life friend.

6. Today before you complain about your life, think about someone who died too
fast.

7. Before you complain about your children, think about someone who really want to
have children themselves but barren.

8 And the tired and you complain about your work, think about unemployment,
those disabled people who hope they have a job you like.

9 shows you the finger and blame other people, remember that no one who does not sin

There is no immortal

2009-07-12T20:04:00.000-07:00

My hand will not necessarily embrace you
This will not necessarily keep your body

As strain tap my heart
Not stand against time
All the beauty of the fade
Or who have been in love fade

No one is immortal
No one is immortal
No one is immortal
No one is immortal

Let me breathe a while
Before missing

Not just my hands forever embrace you
Not just this body forever keep mu
The old soul immediately go
Prepare the replacement

yunchun

2009-07-06T21:07:00.000-07:00

watashi hui dreaming only but i cant jien dhao ni or cang hua ken che ni

watashi dhai u in my dream but wo em sek tak lei hai wo dhe life
wo hui si huan ni but wo bu hui toch n have n cai wo dhe my live

nankuo
nakesehao wo bu sihuan ni
nakesehao wo pu likhai ni
and nakesahao wo bu renshe ni
but 2 day i think so realy2 nankuo coz wo cung i lei tanhai ne wo puhui renshe or sek tak ni

maybe 2day wo siihuan n siang ni
but maybe someday wo hui likahi ni
coz i know ni hai pingko..!!!

wo ce taho
pu kheneng

but i love lei the way u are

maybe bu she ni
maybe someday wo kinto yao yan pajao iayng ni

i pray n i hope 4 my chung meng n u

yunchun

GOD Said no

2009-07-06T21:01:00.000-07:00

I asked God to take away My habit.
God said, No.
It is not for me to take away,
But for you to give it up.
I asked God to make my handicapped child whole.
God said, No.
His spirit is whole, his body is only temporary.
I asked God to grant me patience.
God said, No.

Patience is a byproduct of tribulations; It isn't granted, it is learned.
I ask ed God to give me happiness.
God said, No.
I give you blessings;
Happiness is up to you.
I asked God to spare me pain.
God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from
Worldly cares and brings you closer to me.
I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said, No.

You must grow on your own, but I will prune you to make you fruitful.
I asked God for all things That I might enjoy life.
God said, No.
I will give you life, So that you may enjoy a ll things.
I asked God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me.
God said...Ahhhh,
Finally you have the idea.

Mother

2009-07-06T20:59:00.000-07:00

I'll be going out to Beg Mother Nature...

Mother,
I had plenty of Thoughts, here and there
But I had misplaced them somewhere
I lived and dreamt it but did not share
Only when you're crossing My Way, I was aware

Yes, you are clearly crossing My Way
As my jet black hairs becoming grey
I beg hopefully you'll spare me a say
I've been thru with mine, I want Your Way
I used to think I was walking My Way

When I'd decided, the Universe should obey
When I'd thought of it, the Truth would stay
So I was stumbling in so many holes, I thought okay
What was the Mystery behind this Play

Am I stubborn or foolish, which may?
Will I glimpse the True Way, before my Last Day?
Or shall I stick to yesterday, adding only the lines to Pray

I beg your help, Mother Nature!
Believing in Gods now, it's Premature or Postmature?

I beg your handwriting Message in my Eye
May be My Way was wrong, please tell me why
I want to supercede it with Your Way
You're the Mother of All Gods in the Milky Way