Best Publications Poems
It is so difficult to measure,
any metaphysical treasure.
One can only glean,
Its riches in stream,
By absorbing it at one’s leisure.
I’m speaking of poetry that hovers,
Levitating between it’s covers,
just waiting to be read,
nothing left to be said,
Literature for life and lovers.
Tribute to Elizabeth Wesley’s
new book …
“Polished Stones”
Author House publications.
It has been a long, long time since I have read anything that
has arrested my attention long enough for me to stop and smell
the roses as has this book "Polished Stones" by Elizabeth Wesley.
Thank you Elizabeth.
tribute written by
Robert A. Dufresne
3/08/2012
Eyes of an Eagle
If I had the eyes of an eagle,
And the strength of wings to
fly,
I'd put a camera on my proud
chest,
And off to DC, I would fly.
My fuel is my rage against
all out to destroy this great nation,
With breaking news, hideous
lies and false allegations...
America!! Berated daily in
international publications!
Against all God believing men and women,
Using that meaningless term,
"Conversation", as some universal justification.
It's a word to validate all things unethical.
Like infanticide, simply twisted, to mean....
"Oh, it's just medical."
A murdered child's warm blood splashing~
on the icy cold, gleaming marble floor.
Her tiny fists clenched in rage as Mommy
walks out the butcher's door!
I cry, "no more, no more!"
Panagiota Romios
2/28//2019
[This poem first appeared in the anthology, "The Soul and the Singer," Young Publications, c. 1968. It was reprinted in my first poetry chapbook "The Lady in the Pink Hat," Candor Press, 1969.]
God rises from that distant hill
And surveys His wonder in silence still
Without reproach or bitter muse
For mankind's hostile subterfuge.
Not yet incensed with holy wrath
Against the impoverished aftermath
Of beauty laid in ruthless stubble
Amid earth's bent and broken rubble.
The mount remains in glory crowned
Majestic height is capped and gowned
And quietly repairs the ravaged simple
Chosen for the Almighty's temple
God rises from that distant hill
To frame the noble triune will
Responding to inhuman guise
With piercing but loving emerald eyes.
[From the note at the beginning, this poem was written sometime during 1967. I was twenty-six years old, at the time, but I had been writing poems since I was in elementary school. Most of them have been lost over the years.
This particular poem was always one of my favorites, and I was delighted to have it appear in an anthology by Young Publications, 1968.]
FIRST PLACE WINNER
for "The Throwback Challenge" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
March 8, 2022
Sin is a revelation. It is God who shows us OUR sin. He also points to the BLOOD OF JESUS as the antidote. Sin is only seen to be SIN - against God - when He reveals it. Otherwise WE just talk of it as a wrong against a sibling. Or sin as an antisocial act, or an inconvenience, or a disability, or some such thing. I feed that is often the extent of the message if a ' social gosoel' - to be rid of sin as a hindrance to human relationships and progress. When God shows us sin we see how far we are from His values, His canon, His standards.
This is not a life of morbid self-examination. We do NOT walk WITH sin but we walk with JESUS. A scwe walk with Jesus in childlike faith and fellowship with Him, we can reverse the Cup that stopped running over for us. He who is LIGHT, with whom we are walking, will clearly show us what hi dering sin affects the flow into our Cups of Life.
God does not speak in terms of general condemnation, toward despair ... He speaks in simple, specific terms of actual sin/s in the PRESENT MOMENT (not past, future, etc). He speaks of that sin/s that is hi dering the inner witness of His Spirit in us.
I am using words of Norman Grubb, CONTINUOUS REVIVAL (CLC Publications, 1997. Pages 31 - 32). The poem I wrote about Kind David and Psalm 51 ( his repenting for adultery with Bathsheba) is the good news. God is ready to take us back in his arms, from the begging to any end, once we change our inclination to sin. David did, Peter did; Satan and Judas did not. ThanX Readers, shalom Shalom in Jesus the CHRIST. Amen
Listen listen respected MAA
Forget my all mistakes
If I die for my nation
Open windows all the gates
So that soul of mine could enter
Could see father and you MAA
And sit down on lap MOM
To re feed your milk my MAA
And could ask all you
To forget my all evils
And forget my presence symbol
As I return to crush the perils
I remember early awakening
And remember glassful milk
I remember your calling
To wearing Kurta made of silk
Believe Believe and trust me MAA
I will return to serve the nation
Will rejoin beloved army
I remember milk your taken
* MAA (Hind) = Mother
Composed by :(c) Hariom Sharma, CFA
Source Book : Keep Smiling
Publisher: PJH Publications
E-MAIL : [email protected]
For more poems please search "hariomsharmapoetry" on facebook
where lakh of poetry lover meet daily and scroll the page. Hare Ram.
https://www.facebook.com/hariomsharmapoetry/
Whenever and whatever
Enter into our mind
Apply always filter there
To stop garbage any kind
Control quality hug quality
Of thoughts enter there
Keep busy mind always
In valued stuff where ever
Powerful thoughts if in
And mindset always there
Get energy and thoughts positive
Which keep always care
Always keep eye on that
Like Arjun on bird's eye
No issue or situation in
Feed healthy pie pie
* Pie (Hindi) = 1.A pie (abbreviated as Ps) was a unit of currency in India until 1947. It was the smallest currency unit, equal to 1/3 of a paisa or 1/192 of a rupee.
Book Source : Keep Smiling
Publisher: PJH Publications
Composed by :(c) Hariom Sharma, CFA
Source Book : Keep Smiling
E-MAIL : [email protected]
For more poems please search "hariomsharmapoetry" on facebook
where lakh of poetry lover meet daily and scroll the page. Hare Ram.
I can feel MAA within me
How it all began
It's as fast as
Sun rays can run
Everlasting miles
Keep us near and apart
Still your presence
Sitting in heart
As time passes
Love for you find exponent
I have you, feel you
Whatever happened
I feel your presence
Past today tomorrow
I feel my existence
Only because of thou
I'll cherish these times
Till I grow old
As the time will pass
You make me bold
And if it's okay
You bless, to find that time
You will make easy
My VIVEK to shine
* VIVEK (Hindi) = Discretion, Prudence, Wisdom
* MAA (Hind) = Mother
Composed by :(c) Hariom Sharma, CFA
Source Book : Keep Smiling
Publisher: PJH Publications
E-MAIL : [email protected]
For more poems please search "hariomsharmapoetry" on facebook
where lakh of poetry lover meet daily and scroll the page. Hare Ram.
He who see's everything
And does' nothing...
Set's Him-self to the path
- Of -
Indignant, arrogant superiority
Where as it is to He
Who seek to embrace
Condemnation and indignation
It is a Worldly thing'
Gary Fields
Poet/Author
Featured: "The Cross" book #106627
Xlibris Publications
Rev. (NOV2013)
(Bal-e-Jibril-151) Javed Iqbal Ke Naam:
(On receiving first letter of Javed Iqbal(Late Son of Dr Allama Iqbal) in London)
https://youtu.be/jGv1lCDjHEk
Senior Justice Javed Iqbal (5 October 1924 – 3 October 2015) was a Pakistani philosopher and senior justice of the Supreme Court of Pakistan. He was internationally known for his acclaimed publications on philosophy of law and modern Islamic philosophy in international and national journals.
He was the son of the poet-philosopher Dr. Muhammad Allama Iqbal, who inspired the Pakistan Movement. Javed authored various books on Pakistan's nationalism movement and political ideology. Apart from philosophy, Javed had a prolific career in the Judiciary of Pakistan and was a former Chief Justice of the Lahore High Court before being elevated to the Supreme Court. He received the Hilal-i-Imtiaz Award in 2004.
1.Diyar-e-Ishq Mein Apna Maqam Paida Kar
Naya Zamana, Naye Subah-o-Sham Paida Kar
Build in love’s empire your hearth and your home;
Build Time a new, a new dawn, a new eve!
2.Khuda Agar Dil-e-Fitrat Shanas De Tujh Ko
Sakoot-e-Lala-o-Gul Se Kalaam Paida Kar
Your speech, if God give you the friendship of Nature,
From the rose and tulip’s long silence weave.
3.Utha Na Sheesha Garan-e-Farang Ke Ehsan
Sifal-e-Hind Se Meena-o-Jaam Paida Kar
No gifts of the Franks’ clever glass-bowers ask!
From India’s own clay mould your cup and your flask.
4.Main Shakh-e-Taak Hun, Meri Ghazal Hai Mera Samar
Mere Samar Se Mai-e-Lala Faam Paida Kar
My songs are the grapes on the spray of my vine;
Distil from their clusters the poppy-red wine!
5.Mera Tareeq Ameeri Nahin, Faqeeri Hai
Khudi Na Baich, Ghareebi Mein Naam Paida Kar!
The way of the hermit, not fortune, is mine;
Sell not your soul! In a beggar’s rags shine.
Kalam e Iqbal(Answer to First Letter of Son of Dr. Allama Iqbal By Himself).
Translated by Aliza Kashmala Kiran.
He, who question's
His Own
Intensity....
Perceives' His own
Destiny
-And -
Reverts' to that
Simple
Classical nothing - Ness
Gary Fields
Poet/Author
Featured: "The Cross" book #106627
Xlibris Publications
Rev. (NOV2013)
for Thirugnanamoorthy
Remorseful, the noonday sun
Frizzles with the stealthy wind
Under the rubbery mountain green.
A calmness has come to rest
From having tossed in its sleep.
The forest has taken leave
Of the hunted horn and drum.
No more the tapper late of nap
Scurries to the haven of a nest.
No more the rattle whisper fades
To nothingness in a lonesome rest.
No more, no more, for the heavens
Sleep and all the troops sleep too.
The sinewy python stretched past
Clumsily the ragged rock and branch.
The Owl has called its reveille at last.
And the forest sleeps with the wind
Gently fanning some whisper closer
And closer, every wave, a venomous flick
Of a serpent, a kiss of rest.
(Letter describing the situation in Malaya and denouncing
treachery, written in 1952 to Thirugnanamoorthy who was banished
by a British magistrate to Ceylon in March 1952. The letter never
reached him.)
© T. Wignesan, Seremban, 1952. Pub. in Tracks of a Tramp : a
first collection of poems, 1951-1961. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore :
Rayirath Publications, 1961.
Story of Afghanistan
The barren land of my birthplace
Green at times but screening a rocky face
Known for thousands of years for its warrior race
Let me tell you the truth,
No one really wanted this “space”.
Up until two lions began prying around
Initially, just fooling around
Afterwards, casting off their cannon sound
Resembling the 6th night of an infant’s fête
Building their castles, and so began the burial grounds.
The lions pledged to crush the other
With a master plan
Dividing the blood brothers
Such was the instruction of the queen mother
As the clans clashed and killed one another.
The chiefs were swallowed by the promise of gold
The mullahs were swapped for the hollow soul
The seniors by the fire recounted and foretold
The purpose for the lion’s vehemence
This story definitely in time will unfold.
The old grew timeworn
Waiting for their young ones to return home
The teenagers free born
Screamed out of their mosques’ domes
Come and join us in this struggle
Faced with the crusaders of the Church of Rome,
But little did they know,
No one will return but the maimed men to a funeral home.
The sturdier lion won the combat
But what has become of my Afghanistan
The wolf in a sheep’s disguise
Has spoiled my jade paradise
My heart denies it but I may have bombed my youthful chums,
This is now a global land-dwelling for bums and slums!
The lion wishes to be unveiled this time
So he promises to take the last dime
After all it pays to cooperate in war crimes!
He roars in a deafening cry
I bring Democracy to this land
With loads of cash in one hand
A whip in the back hand--forgetting the long years of perfidy
I now declare and demand
This is the new Promised Land.
A woman of this realm is exposed with a promise
She is liberated by democracy
Famous on national publications like the story of Pocahontas
She’s affirmed independent and agreed to arise out of the darkness
As the saga is read to the United States Congress
She exhales
And anticipates the lion’s hunger
Waiting for the day when she will be veiled, unveiled, and then veiled again
Not by ordinary men
But by inscription of law.
Thank you for sealing the decree!
"Johnny Appleseed" is a children's song, sung to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the
Republic".
Oh, do you know the story of Old Johnny Appleseed?
He gave appleseeds to everyone that he thought was in need,
And the people planted them and watched the trees grow tall.
Thanks to Johnny we have juicy apples every fall!
Johnny Appleseed trivia: Johnny Appleseed was a missionary. Along with
appleseeds, he distributed publications for the Swedenborgian Church.
Bonus activity: Johnny Appleseed thought it was important to nourish the body-and
the spirit. Ask children to think of ways that one might feed the spirit.
Blushing
rouge complexion,
wearing a crimson robe;
bathing in cool fountain of youth-
fresh dew.
Date : 10/03/2016
Published in an anthology 'Poetry of Flowers' by Lost Tower Publications.
Poe was always revising his prose between publications. Here are the longest extended versions of sentences he shortened for their final publication in his lifetime:
"We loved each other with a love that was more than love, more love than fit in an empty grotes bag, more than the love of worms if you were a hungry, hungry catfish."
"I became insane, with long intervals of sanity, then more insanity, then sane for a while, then my brain got all twisted up and went mad, then I got better. I've lost track."
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream, within another dream, within a rusty tubular tin box of sewing needles made into the handle of a doll's hairbrush."
"Believe only half of what you see, nothing of what you hear, three quarters of what you taste, one-tenth of what you feel, but the entirety of what you smell."
"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night, as for example bats, yes bats, did you know you could leave the cage door open in the bright of day and your bats will go nowhere."
"Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them, also the neighbor's nippy little dog, egads I hate that dog."
"If you wish to forget anything on the Spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered, then tie it to Spot's collar, and turn him loose in some terrible neighborhood where people eat dogs."
"To elevate the soul, poetry is necessary, also those little candy root beer barrels."
"I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow, but it was Catterina that farted."
"I fell violently on my face, rolled to my side, grunted horrible grunts of gruntlyness, then flopped onto my back and waved my arms all about, still grunting."
"Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all, while Catterina licked her paws and I felt around in my pocket for my last dime but all I found was a raggedy little hole."