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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 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

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 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: Reflection on the Important Things