Writer William Ernest Henley
a little known poet was he
'Invictus' * his claim to fame
inspiration** the name of the game(s)
A stoic due to illness & hospitalisation his poem *(s) & (life)became an inspirational name for the 'games' ,Mandela,RL Stevenson& Butterworth the composer..William's (born 1849 died 1903)Invictus' verse ,four abab quatrains, was written in 1875.
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
We seek ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ my friends -
That dawn should find us every day
Some ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ on our way.
The ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ sleep ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ and take ¦¦¦¦¦ rest.
The ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ priest and people slumber ¦¦¦¦¦
We ¦¦¦ are early ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ far and near.
So peacefully their rest they take,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ first awake!
- Strong heart! ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ seek the day;
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
A thousand seekers seek the light.
(Blackout of Stout Marches Lead To Certain Ends by Robert Louis Stevenson)
The life I was once gave
made me the strong, wise woman I am today.
I am Makayla Stevenson, and you will know my name.
Through storms that tried to break me,
I learned how to dance inside the rain.
Every scar became a lesson,
every loss became my gain.
I was built from silent battles
no one else could truly see,
yet I carried every burden
and still became me.
I am Makayla Stevenson, and you will know my name,
not from whispers in the darkness
but from the fire I became.
I turned pain into power,
tears into gold,
and wrote my own story
before the world was told.
I am a living testimony
proof that God still heals,
still restores broken hearts,
and turns wounds into something real.
I say Iam a living testimony,
shaped by faith, not fear,
and every step I take today
is proof that God was here.
I am Makayla stevenson
no longer bound by yesterday—
just the child who found the strength
to finally break free.
Remember this poem
Remember my testimony...
Mary found a dinosaur egg
in her closet
The stork was the latest victim
Of rye bread and corned beef we speak
dancing in the everglades
A pale moon worshiped the morning sky
Trauma aboard the toy boat in the bathtub
incestuous conversation in the lobby
Golden pianos warm up the soup
Flying ninjas escalate the fight over
landfill’s gold reserves
Barf is, too, a clinical term
Jasmine Crockett, not Davy
Larry Bird, not Admiral
Eisenhower, Stevenson and Kennedy
Three Flyways
Computers yield to the abacus
tummy ache, all better
Suburban lawnmowers on the prowl, daddy
Ship’s mast
at last.
Home is the sailor; home from the sea …
~Robert Louis Stevenson
In an old-time real-book-with-pages feel in his day,
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote 'Treasure Island',
in his own inimitable way,
and tho' I know I may be wrong,
he could not have been pulling Long John Silver's leg,
as John would not have had a leg to stand on,
for, with his crutch (plus parrot), and I quote,
'He had still a foot in either camp.'
is that which, in 1883, Stevenson of Silver wrote.
Was it black (spot) humour to write of Long John so,
as I dearly need to know,
and it clearly goes to show,
we need much more input,
with that said, putting my best one forward,
it begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
The piano tuner
there used to be a greengrocer on the ground floor
except for potatoes, there was not much call for
another vegetable, the shop closed a piano tuner rented
the space and partly white-washed the windows
he didn't like to be seen by passers-by
I sat on the gate into our yard pretending to be a cowboy
when he asked me to help him in the shop, yes, I was glad
to help got boring being a cowboy
He sat me on a piano stool, opened up my fly, began
playing with my innocent , with his right hand he
wanked himself, I was too petrified in fear I didn't
run away; when he ejaculated, he dried himself with a hanky
in his pocket and, in a brusque manner, told me to leave
Outside, it took me a while to realize this man was a pig
but I was too ashamed to tell anyone and instead went
up to our flat opened a book by Robert Louis Stevenson
and began reading about islands and bright light
Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by
the seeds that you plant. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
When sowing in a fallow field
A bumper crop you'll hope to yield
For many folks, do a good deed
Think of others when planting seed
Share your harvest and you will find
Daily blessings for being kind
Don't desire avarice or greed
Think of others when planting seed
Do not have a bad attitude
For everything show gratitude
Tomorrow you just might succeed
Think of others when planting seed
May your garden be filled with sprouts
And your days not be plagued by doubts
Do not allow contempt to breed
Think of others when planting seed
Your days will bear sweet ripened fruit
And grow when love has taken root
Keep your field free of tangled weeds
Think of others when planting seeds
"I find my peace in Jesus' name"
"In the eye of the storm" waiting
Wondering when's the next battle
When a chat turns to tittle-tattle
I hope never again, pray, then
"I find my peace in Jesus' name"
I know, "when the storm is raging"
I can come to You in prayer
You will answer, take away every care
"When my flesh is failing", its then
"I find my peace in Jesus' name"
Praise and honor go just to Him
"He lets me rest in green meadows"
In my mind a gentle breeze blows
Satan no longer my soul claims
"I find my peace in Jesus' name"
"In The Eye Of The Storm" Ryan Stevenson
Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap
but by the seeds that you plant.
—Robert Louis Stevenson
A HANDFUL OF SEEDS-RLS
Plenipotentiary plea,
A handful of seeds; on bent knee.
Tilling the soil of the deceased,
As the sun rises in the East.
Before elements feed the seeds,
Praising Christ, plucking up the weeds,
Taking the win against the beast,
As the sun rises in the East.
Smiles, friendships, with sweat and tears,
Sprinkled with hope, warmth pioneers.
Thinking of Christ, helping the least,
As the sun rises in the East.
Prizing the kids, right from the start.
Rich, full of life ~ they are the heart.
All that are Christ’s will join the feast,
As the sun rises in the East.
Happy World Poetry Day Dear Poet!
You're a blessing, and this special day must show it
Your heart and mind just radiate
Through pen and ink, we'll celebrate
Delicious morsels from heart's pen makes
Sweeter things than cookies, cakes!
Shakespeare's pen, and Dickenson, Stevenson
And every one........
The poet's pen of yesteryears
The joy, the rant, the hopes or tears
And you! The poet reading this
Pen your words in faithfulness
You're honored, 'cross the globe, hurray!
Oh, Happy World Poetry Day!
“You must suffer me to go my own dark way.”
Robert Louis Stevenson, Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde
TEAR-SHAPED BEAKER
the tear-shaped beaker,
an amalgamation of Hyde & Jeckyll
all the rage
simpering smiles
a London chill
the fog, the rafter, the edge of night
& diurnal pain
i want to break the glass, like a madman
but don’t know the effects -
where i might stay in animated suspense
…breaking other people’s hearts
7/13/2022
Sponsor: Brian Strand
It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men’s hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanation from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Beneath the lofty canopy of ancient white oaks,
luminous beams of moonlight were dancing.
Their rhythmic cadence observed by amber eyes,
a pack of hunters, roaming the woodlands.
Myriads of stars were quickly fading from view
as ashen skies paled to blue across the horizon.
Dawn bathed the land in soft morning light,
embellishing the rolling hills. A new day was born.
The first rays of sunlight gilded droplets of dew,
and upon beds of moss, night creatures slept.
March 8, 2022
Form I - Imagism - New Poem Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
My Quiet Time
By: Miracle Man
2;10 am 3/5/2021
As an early riser,
I feel the breeze that whispers through dry grass,
and I’m surrounded by God’s peace.
Still none the wiser,
the world around me wakes and what I hear, in mass,
are wagon wheels, bone-dry of grease.
“In quiet places reason abounds.”
Adali Stevenson
The Universe provides
Zemblanity
Not to punish us,
But to remind us
our rose coloured glasses are opaque.
- Mockingbird Stevenson xx
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