The field is wet with sunshine,
Ripe grasses green and high;
With a reaper in the meadow,
And a bird flies in the sky.
There's a nest with little babies,
With three beaks opened wide;
A reaper's in the meadow,
And a song hangs in the sky.
The meadow's ripe with summer,
And a tragedy passes by;
With a scythe in the meadow,
And a song up in the sky.
To see her blog, adorned with pastel tones
Widens the gap that pervades my bones
For now we eat her passing meal of plain white rice
Leaving us all alone, without much needed fashion advice
The red light district has lost an inductee
For I would have love to be involved in her naked party
Yet for now we must all be content
With the debauched path she hath went.
Sadness invades a binary world
Where tweeters and bloggers hearts have curled
Bringing back memories of Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’
Her fashion advice precise like a mastoplexic surgeon
I remember the fervour when you were followed by Kath Kidston
A similar experience when I had my first Jar of Branston
Yet when you found out the intensity with which I was following you
You wanted to change species and become a Gnu
You learnt to accept my frequent outpourings of love
When you finally spoke to me, I felt as free as a pure white dove
But upon your departure I feel pathetic and hollowed
The best I can hope for is the number of one of the hot bloggers you followed
She was always my muse, my intimate inspiration
No-one can cause such an outpouring of personal perspiration
My heart now yearns to see her type a special tweet
One that would make Mr Sexton act like a dog on heat
Now the world mourns the passing of Lily Fulvio-Mason
I can still see her face reflected in my wash basin
With every heart beat, every full blooded pulse
My sadness streaked blood makes my body convulse
But now it’s time to go, my heart says goodbye
The pain eats my nipples like the Syrphid Fly
I can finally see your body laid in an eternal rest
And now I can now finally uncover your breast.
The song starts to play and I start to cry
How can so much hurt come from a song like that?
Once upon a time it used to bring me happiness and laughs
Now all it brings me is sorrow
You were my world and the song was ours
Now you're gone leaving me with nothing but a broken heart
It isn't easy to forget about everything
That song meant so much to me and now it's all been taken away
I had a dream that the song was going to bring us together again
But now, I don't want to listen to the song anymore
The song is a constant reminder of our tragedy and it will always hurt
I've tried to forget but nothing seems to work
I'll listen to that song a million times more
Until the day we are reunited, together forever
my song is gone
my lips cannot speak
my tongue’s tied
my head’s turn’d bald o’er-night
my people what do you say?
death’s a grinding machine
show me the house
that receives her blow
& stands firm!
In my cradle,
My tiny body was cradled
In my mothers arms.
My gem among gems,
I remember when I cried
You comforted me with
your soothing words.
Your re-assuring hands
Secured me till Death's
Cold hands snatched you
From me,a sucker I was
That needed you most.
Adieu! Sweet mum till
We cross paths again!
Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu
Sing a song of Taj Mahal
A landmark of lovers
And a lover's edifice
With medieval bowers
Tis a mecca for tourists
Tis sensational, tis exceptional,
tis truly a touristy place
Watch the shine and shimmer
of its magnificent marbled
By the glimmer of moonlight
or sunlight, it's imperial chrome
So it's ironical then
that though Indian I am
I haven't yet been to this
It is truly as they must say, a
A place where hearts tend to
They find it steamy
I find it dreamy
Oh I've to see for myself this
Each of the marbled minarets
conceal some romantic secrets
For lovers to silently explore
To admire and to adore
A place few lovers could ignore
Ah, you've got to visit this
Two famed lovers lie in the
legendary vault below
and the stream too has a
A lover's haven, a paradise on
Even dead passions there
undergo a new rebirth
Ah rekindle my love in this
Extol I may this awesome
A greed for pure love is
perhaps better than avarice
So sing a song of Taj Mahal
A nice nazm or a great ghazal
So forever we have this
Ah take me my love to this
WHO WILL DRY MY TEARS
Farewell to the father,
Rolling up our long days dream,
This is the road u always pass through in April,
Thou has ever, always returning successfully,
Out looking for those greener pastures,
Thy abundant descendant to feed,
Will that be a crash cruise?
What has happened to thy spinal cord?
Cry not but my lingering tears drops,
Like a water fall,
Is this the end of the road?
The road thou promise to take me,
Sticking to your song of praise for hope,
Pouring praises to His foot in your state,
To have your soul & thy faith like a rock,
Until the third survival of night fall,
I stood head up to watch his majestic exit,
Oh death has caused me greater harm,
It has broken the branch on which I perch.
Thou have posed thy duty for me,
This song we sang to pass over our sorrowful joy,
To thou, I swear I be no prodigal,
As the has chosen to make merry,
Of thy sweat in grave,
My quest for knowledge lying in waste,
Who will send me to the fountain of knowledge?
As thou promise me of this,
This cross, I will carry for you,
Who will dry my tears?
As death as hindered your journey.
Weep not, rest and sleep,
Till His second arrival,
And there with Him we will live forever,
And death will part us no more.
Because I have so little time,
I only hope, for what is mine--
in my blood so dark and hot
is a bright and fevered spot--
O let me be, to sing again
without the penalty of pain,
lest I, before my time, be torn
from life, and to the grave be borne--
my nostrils full of soil, my ears
stopp'd by grave and ritual tears--
O let me be, lest they will tread
--my children-- on their mother's head
before my song for them is done,
before my course on earth is run,
before they learn the song I sing:
that love can conquer
this poem is written in the shape of a funereal urn
“I am a song that needs to be sung.”
Words by John Denver inscribed in Aspen.
While walking the path alongside the Rio Grande
A circle of stones in memory of John Denver does stand.
Inscribed on the rocks are the words of his songs.
They moved me deeply as I strolled along.
Realizing that I was in Aspen because I did spy
A tribute to John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High.
It sparked a desire to experience Aspen for myself.
Now here I am encircled with John Denver’s wealth.
I wasn’t a huge fan, but I did enjoy his songs.
His words stand tall beyond being written in stone.
I moved along the trail into an evergreen forest
Dwarfed by the pines as the river flows toward us.
Emotional connectivity with Aspen’s sheer mountain beauty.
Sitting on a rock in the river my only duty.
Feeling inspired to move again on the trail
An energy spoke to me; no words were entailed.
You are a song that needs to be sung
You are a bell that needs to be rung.
You are the newness of fresh mountain air
You are the energy of spring’s budding stare.
You are the eagle resting in its high nest
Ready to soar through the sky when the time is best.
You are the Rocky Mountain High
Colorado is the place for you to sigh.
Heave out the energy that is stored within
Sing your own song with a loving spin.
In gratitude I salute John Denver’s soul.
In the beauty of the Rockies, he continues his role.
Inspiring people to greater heights through his words.
Thank you, John Denver, for my heartfire heard.