Life

I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!

Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.

When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove’s door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!

-Emily Dickinson.

Here’s a short explanation for all the categories that i have so far created for my posts…

Golden-step

Golden-step is a yahoo group that i moderate. It is a small group dedicated to poetry. And hence, this category would contain poems or other pieces that I have published in golden-step and feel like sharing on this blog too.

Doodlings

These are just free wandering of the mind that I am apt to indulge in. You can read them if you just wat to while away the moments in somehting light and tension free. These little pieces would have no meaning, or very little at best, but they are a good stress busters!

Articles

Prose peices of my own creation or those that I have read and found worth sharing here.

Poems

I love poems, and in this category i would stow away all the lovely poems that i come across and consider worth tresuring.

Musings

Okay, personal thoughts, basically. But i wonder if there would be many posts in this category. I dont quite fancy the idea of shouting out my personal thoughts and feelings to the world. Not yet, anyway.

My Webpages

MY Favourite Poems

Golden-Smiles-n-Tears-of-Eternal-Poetry

Success

from “The Ladder of Saint Augustine”

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We have not wings, we cannot soar;

But we have feet to scale and climb

By slow degrees, by more and more,

The cloudy summits of our time.

The mighty pyramids of stone

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,

When nearer seen, and better known,

Are but gigantic flights of stairs.

The distant mountains, that uprear

Their solid bastions to the skies,

Are crossed by pathways, that appear

As we to higher levels rise.

The heights by great men reached and kept

Were not attained by sudden flight,

But they, while their companions slept,

Were toiling upward in the night.

Note from Joe: These days, the following parody might be more appropriate:

The heights that great men reached and kept

Were not attained with much exertion;

For they, while their companions worked,

Were contacting the proper person.

He who in adversity grieves not;

He who is without fear;

He who falls not in the snare of sensuality;

Who has no greed for gold, knowing it is like dust;

He who does not slander people when their backs are turned;

Nor flatters them to their faces;

He who has neither gluttony in his heart;

Nor vanity, nor attachment to

worldly things;

He whom nothing moves;

Neither good fortune nor ill;

Who cares not for worldly applause;

Nor its censure;

Who ignores every wishful fantasy;

And accepts what comes his way at it comes;

He whom lust cannot lure;

Nor anger command;

In such a one lives God himself;

On such a one God’s Grace descends;

For he knows the righteous path;

O Nanak, his soul mingles with the Lord;

As water mingles with water.

GURU TEG BAHADUR

(Transalated by Khushwant Singh)

May all I do today

begin with you, O Lord.

Plant dreams and hopes

within my soul,

revive my tired spirit:

be with me today.

May all I do today

continue with your help, O Lord.

Be at my side

and walk with me:

Be my support today.

May all I do today

reach far and wide, O Lord.

My thoughts, my work, my life:

make them blessings

for your kingdom;

let them go beyond today,

O God.

**********************

I have a mission…

I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.

God has not created me for naught… Therefore I will trust him.

Whatever, wherever I am, I can never be thrown away.

God does nothing in vain.

He knows what he is about.

– J. H. Newman

Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire,

Unuttered or expressed;

The motion of a hidden fire

That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,

The falling of a tear

The upward glancing of an eye,

When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech

That infant lips can try;

Prayer the sublimest strains that reach

The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice,

Returning from his ways,

While angels in their songs rejoice

And cry, "Behold, he prays!"

Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath,

The Christian’s native air,

Our watchword at the gates of death;

We enter heaven with prayer.

The saints in prayer appear as one

In word and deed and mind,

While with the Father and the Son

Sweet fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made by man alone,

The Holy Spirit pleads,

And Jesus on the eternal throne

For sinners intercedes.

O Thou, by Whom we come to God,

The Life, the Truth, the Way;

The path of prayer Thyself hast trod:

Lord, teach us how to pray!

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;

Enjoying one moment at a time;

Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

Taking, as He did, this sinful world

as it is, not as I would have it;

Trusting that He will make all things right

if I surrender to His Will;

That I may be reasonably happy in this life

and supremely happy with Him

Forever in the next.

Amen.

it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street

I used to get drunk

and throw the radio through the window

while it was playing, and, of course,

it would break the glass in the window

and the radio would sit there on the roof

still playing

and I’d tell my woman,

"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"

the next morning I’d take the window

off the hinges

and carry it down the street

to the glass man

who would put in another pane.

I kept throwing that radio through the window

each time I got drunk

and it would sit there on the roof

still playing-

a magic radio

a radio with guts,

and each morning I’d take the window

back to the glass man.

I don’t remember how it ended exactly

though I do remember

we finally moved out.

there was a woman downstairs who worked in

the garden in her bathing suit,

she really dug with that trowel

and she put her behind up in the air

and I used to sit in the window

and watch the sun shine all over that thing

while the music played.

from my bed

I watch

3 birds

on a telephone

wire.

one flies

off.

then

another.

one is left,

then

it too

is gone.

my typewriter is

tombstone

still.

and I am

reduced to bird

watching.

just thought I’d

let you

know,

fucker.

~*~ 16-bit-intel-8088-chip~*~

By: – Charles Bukowski

with an Apple Macintosh

you can’t run Radio Shack programs

in its disc drive.

nor can a Commodore 64

drive read a file

you have created on an

IBM Personal Computer.

both Kaypro and Osborne computers use

the CP/M operating system

but can’t read each other’s

handwriting

for they format (write

on) discs in different

ways.

the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but

can’t use most programs produced for

the IBM Personal Computer

unless certain

bits and bytes are

altered

but the wind still blows over

Savannah

and in the Spring

the turkey buzzard struts and

flounces before his

hens

A Dream Within A Dream

by ~ Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow-

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand-

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep- while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream

~*~ BUT NOT TO ME~*~

By: – Sarah Teasdale (1884-1933)

The April night is still and sweet

With flowers on every tree;

Peace comes to them on quiet feet,

But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast

Where I shall never be;

Love comes to-night to all the rest,

But not to me.

******

~*~ April Song ~*~

By: – Sarah Teasdale (1884-1933)

Willow, in your April gown

Delicate and gleaming,

Do you mind in years gone by

All my dreaming?

Spring was like a call to me

That I could not answer,

I was chained to loneliness,

I, the dancer.

Willow, twinkling in the sun,

Still your leaves and hear me,

I can answer spring at last,

Love is near me!

 

******

~*~ Oh day of fire and sun~*~

By: – Sarah Teasdale (1884-1933)

Oh day of fire and sun,

Pure as a naked flame,

Blue sea, blue sky and dun

Sands where he spoke my name;

Laughter and hearts so high

That the spirit flew off free,

Lifting into the sky

Diving into the sea;

Oh day of fire and sun

Like a crystal burning,

Slow days go one by one,

But you have no returning.