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Best Famous Kai Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Kai poems. This is a select list of the best famous Kai poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Kai poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of kai poems.

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Written by Allen Ginsberg | Create an image from this poem

CIA Dope Calypso

 In nineteen hundred forty-nine
China was won by Mao Tse-tung
Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away
They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday

Supported by the CIA
Pushing junk down Thailand way

First they stole from the Meo Tribes
Up in the hills they started taking bribes
Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
Collecting opium to send to The Man

Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
Supported by the CIA

Brought their jam on mule trains down
To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town
Sold it next to the police chief brain
He took it to town on the choochoo train

Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
Supported by the CIA

The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
He peddled dope grand scale and how
Chief of border customs paid
By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D.

The whole operation, Newspapers say
Supported by the CIA

He got so sloppy & peddled so loose
He busted himself & cooked his own goose
Took the reward for an opium load
Seizing his own haul which same he resold

Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
Working for the CIA

Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
A big fat man liked to dine & wench
Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
Till opium flowed through the land like a flood

Communists came and chased the French away
So Touby took a job with the CIA

The whole operation fell in to chaos
Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos
I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan

All them Princes in a power play
But Phoumi was the man for the CIA

And his best friend General Vang Pao
Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars

It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
Clandestine secret army of the CIA

All through the Sixties the Dope flew free
Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky
Air America followed through
Transporting confiture for President Thieu

All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA

Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby
Saw Marshal Ky fly opium Mr. Mustard told me
Indochina desk he was Chief of Dirty Tricks
"Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix

Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away
Till Colby was the head of the CIA


 January 1972


Written by Gary Snyder | Create an image from this poem

Axe Handles

 One afternoon the last week in April
Showing Kai how to throw a hatchet
One-half turn and it sticks in a stump.
He recalls the hatchet-head
Without a handle, in the shop
And go gets it, and wants it for his own.
A broken-off axe handle behind the door
Is long enough for a hatchet,
We cut it to length and take it
With the hatchet head
And working hatchet, to the wood block.
There I begin to shape the old handle
With the hatchet, and the phrase 
First learned from Ezra Pound
Rings in my ears!
"When making an axe handle
 the pattern is not far off."
And I say this to Kai
"Look: We'll shape the handle
By checking the handle
Of the axe we cut with—"
And he sees. And I hear it again:
It's in Lu Ji's We Fu, fourth century
A.D. "Essay on Literature" - in the
Preface: "In making the handle 
Of an axe
By cutting wood with an axe
The model is indeed near at hand."
My teacher Shih-hsiang Chen
Translated that and taught it years ago
And I see: Pound was an axe,
Chen was an axe, I am an axe
And my son a handle, soon
To be shaping again, model
And tool, craft of culture,
How we go on.
Written by Omar Khayyam | Create an image from this poem

I saw a bird perched on the walls of Tus,

I saw a bird perched on the walls of Tus,
Before him lay the skull of Kai Kawus,
And thus he made his moan, «Alas, poor king!
Thy drums are hushed, thy 'larums have rung truce.»
Written by Omar Khayyam | Create an image from this poem

Ah, potter, stay thine hand' with ruthless art

Ah, potter, stay thine hand' with ruthless art
Put not to such base use man's mortal part!
See, thou art mangling on thy cruel wheel
Faridun's fingers, and Kai Khosrau's heart!
Written by Algernon Charles Swinburne | Create an image from this poem

The Last Oracle

 eipate toi basilei, xamai pese daidalos aula. 
ouketi PHoibos exei kaluban, ou mantida daphnen, 
ou pagan laleousan . apesbeto kai lalon udor. 

Years have risen and fallen in darkness or in twilight, 
Ages waxed and waned that knew not thee nor thine, 
While the world sought light by night and sought not thy light, 
Since the sad last pilgrim left thy dark mid shrine. 
Dark the shrine and dumb the fount of song thence welling, 
Save for words more sad than tears of blood, that said: 
Tell the king, on earth has fallen the glorious dwelling, 
And the watersprings that spake are quenched and dead. 
Not a cell is left the God, no roof, no cover 
In his hand the prophet laurel flowers no more.
And the great king's high sad heart, thy true last lover, 
Felt thine answer pierce and cleave it to the core. 
And he bowed down his hopeless head 
In the drift of the wild world's tide, 
And dying, Thou hast conquered, he said, 
Galilean; he said it, and died. 
And the world that was thine and was ours 
When the Graces took hands with the Hours 
Grew cold as a winter wave 
In the wind from a wide-mouthed grave, 
As a gulf wide open to swallow 
The light that the world held dear. 
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, 
Destroyer and healer, hear! 

Age on age thy mouth was mute, thy face was hidden, 
And the lips and eyes that loved thee blind and dumb; 
Song forsook their tongues that held thy name forbidden, 
Light their eyes that saw the strange God's kingdom come. 
Fire for light and hell for heaven and psalms for pæans 
Filled the clearest eyes and lips most sweet of song, 
When for chant of Greeks the wail of Galileans 
Made the whole world moan with hymns of wrath and wrong. 
Yea, not yet we see thee, father, as they saw thee, 
They that worshipped when the world was theirs and thine, 
They whose words had power by thine own power to draw thee 
Down from heaven till earth seemed more than heaven divine. 
For the shades are about us that hover 
When darkness is half withdrawn 
And the skirts of the dead night cover 
The face of the live new dawn. 
For the past is not utterly past 
Though the word on its lips be the last, 
And the time be gone by with its creed 
When men were as beasts that bleed, 
As sheep or as swine that wallow, 
In the shambles of faith and of fear. 
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, 
Destroyer and healer, hear! 

Yet it may be, lord and father, could we know it, 
We that love thee for our darkness shall have light 
More than ever prophet hailed of old or poet 
Standing crowned and robed and sovereign in thy sight. 
To the likeness of one God their dreams enthralled thee, 
Who wast greater than all Gods that waned and grew; 
Son of God the shining son of Time they called thee, 
Who wast older, O our father, than they knew. 
For no thought of man made Gods to love or honour 
Ere the song within the silent soul began, 
Nor might earth in dream or deed take heaven upon her 
Till the word was clothed with speech by lips of man. 
And the word and the life wast thou, 
The spirit of man and the breath; 
And before thee the Gods that bow 
Take life at thine hands and death. 
For these are as ghosts that wane, 
That are gone in an age or twain; 
Harsh, merciful, passionate, pure, 
They perish, but thou shalt endure; 
Be their flight with the swan or the swallow, 
They pass as the flight of a year. 
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, 
Destroyer and healer, hear! 

Thou the word, the light, the life, the breath, the glory, 
Strong to help and heal, to lighten and to slay, 
Thine is all the song of man, the world's whole story; 
Not of morning and of evening is thy day. 
Old and younger Gods are buried or begotten 
From uprising to downsetting of thy sun, 
Risen from eastward, fallen to westward and forgotten, 
And their springs are many, but their end is one. 
Divers births of godheads find one death appointed, 
As the soul whence each was born makes room for each; 
God by God goes out, discrowned and disanointed, 
But the soul stands fast that gave them shape and speech. 
Is the sun yet cast out of heaven? 
Is the song yet cast out of man? 
Life that had song for its leaven 
To quicken the blood that ran 
Through the veins of the songless years 
More bitter and cold than tears, 
Heaven that had thee for its one 
Light, life, word, witness, O sun, 
Are they soundless and sightless and hollow, 
Without eye, without speech, without ear? 
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, 
Destroyer and healer, hear! 

Time arose and smote thee silent at his warning, 
Change and darkness fell on men that fell from thee; 
Dark thou satest, veiled with light, behind the morning, 
Till the soul of man should lift up eyes and see. 
Till the blind mute soul get speech again and eyesight, 
Man may worship not the light of life within; 
In his sight the stars whose fires grow dark in thy sight 
Shine as sunbeams on the night of death and sin. 
Time again is risen with mightier word of warning, 
Change hath blown again a blast of louder breath; 
Clothed with clouds and stars and dreams that melt in morning, 
Lo, the Gods that ruled by grace of sin and death! 
They are conquered, they break, they are stricken, 
Whose might made the whole world pale; 
They are dust that shall rise not or quicken 
Though the world for their death's sake wail. 
As a hound on a wild beast's trace, 
So time has their godhead in chase; 
As wolves when the hunt makes head, 
They are scattered, they fly, they are fled; 
They are fled beyond hail, beyond hollo, 
And the cry of the chase, and the cheer. 
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, 
Destroyer and healer, hear! 

Day by day thy shadow shines in heaven beholden, 
Even the sun, the shining shadow of thy face: 
King, the ways of heaven before thy feet grow golden; 
God, the soul of earth is kindled with thy grace. 
In thy lips the speech of man whence Gods were fashioned, 
In thy soul the thought that makes them and unmakes; 
By thy light and heat incarnate and impassioned, 
Soul to soul of man gives light for light and takes. 
As they knew thy name of old time could we know it, 
Healer called of sickness, slayer invoked of wrong, 
Light of eyes that saw thy light, God, king, priest, poet, 
Song should bring thee back to heal us with thy song. 
For thy kingdom is past not away, 
Nor thy power from the place thereof hurled; 
Out of heaven they shall cast not the day, 
They shall cast not out song from the world. 
By the song and the light they give 
We know thy works that they live; 
With the gift thou hast given us of speech 
We praise, we adore, we beseech, 
We arise at thy bidding and follow, 
We cry to thee, answer, appear, 
O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, 
Destroyer and healer, hear!


Written by Omar Khayyam | Create an image from this poem

A mouthful of old wine is of more worth than a new

A mouthful of old wine is of more worth than a new
empire. The wise man will reject all that is not wine.
A cup of this nectar is a hundred times preferable to
the kingdom of Feridoun. The lid which covers the wine-jar
is more precious than the diadem of Kai-Khosrou.
Written by Omar Khayyam | Create an image from this poem

O potter! be attentive, if thou possessest sound reason!

O potter! be attentive, if thou possessest sound reason!
How long wilt thou abase man in moulding his clay? It
is the finger of Feridoun, the hand of Kai-Khosrou which
you thus put upon your wheel.
Written by Omar Khayyam | Create an image from this poem

Here is the noise of the morning, O idol, whose coming

Here is the noise of the morning, O idol, whose coming
brings happiness! Chant the refrain and bring the wine;
for [you know it], the constant sequence of these months
of Tir and Di have overturned upon the earth a thousand
potentates like Djem, a hundred thousand like to Kai.
Written by Omar Khayyam | Create an image from this poem

Let us sell the diadem of Khan, the crown of Kai, let

Let us sell the diadem of Khan, the crown of Kai, let
us sell it and buy the sound of a flute let us sell the
turban and the silken cassock, yea, for a cup of wine let
us sell the chaplet which in itself contains naught but
hypocrisy.
Written by Omar Khayyam | Create an image from this poem

I saw on the walls of the city of Thous a bird hovering

I saw on the walls of the city of Thous a bird hovering
before the skull of Kai-Kawous. The bird said to
the skull: Alas! what has become of the noise of thy
glory and the sound of the clarion?

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry