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Why didn't Ya Say so Before
© Burke Johnny
One night feelin' gay sure I went to a play,Fell in love with a girl in the pit
Loss of the S.S. Regulus
© Burke Johnny
Ye daring sons of Newfoundland, That fear not storm or seaPlease hearken for a moment And attention give to me,While I explain in language plain, That filled hearts with dismay,Of how the Regulus got lost In Petty Harbor Bay
The Rubaiyat of Omar Cayenne
© Gelett Burgess
WAKE! For the Hack can scatter into flightShakespere and Dante in a single Night! The Penny-a-liner is Abroad, and strikesOur Modern Literature with blithering Blight.
Geert
© Buckton Alice Mary
They brought him in at midnight, Across the saddle-bow --Geert of the ripe and chestnut hair, Geert of the sunny brow!
The Pied Piper of Hamelin: A Child's Story
© Robert Browning
(Written for, and inscribed to, W. M. the Younger)
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXV
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchangeAnd be all to me? Shall I never missHome-talk and blessing and the common kissThat comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,When I look up, to drop on a new rangeOf walls and floors, another home than this?Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which isFilled by dead eyes too tender to know change?That's hardest
The Caicos Islands, West Indies
© Brooke Gilbert E.
O salt-laden land, with your rocks and your thatch trees,How oft have I toiled through your tropical wildernessThough only returning to jaws of Charybdis --Ephemeral structure, culicidal, chiggeral --Despite protestation
The land I came thro' last was dumb with night
© Christopher John Brennan
The land I came thro' last was dumb with night,a limbo of defeated glory, a ghost:for wreck of constellations flicker'd perishingscarce sustain'd in the mortuary air,and on the ground and out of livid poolswreck of old swords and crowns glimmer'd at whiles;I seem'd at home in some old dream of kingship:now it is clear grey day and the road is plain,I am the wanderer of many yearswho cannot tell if ever he was kingor if ever kingdoms were: I know I amthe wanderer of the ways of all the worlds,to whom the sunshine and the rain are oneand one to stay or hasten, because he knowsno ending of the way, no home, no goal,and phantom night and the grey day alikewithhold the heart where all my dreams and daysmight faint in soft fire and delicious death:and saying this to myself as a simple thingI feel a peace fall in the heart of the windsand a clear dusk settle, somewhere, far in me
I cry to you as I pass your windows in the dusk
© Christopher John Brennan
I cry to you as I pass your windows in the dusk;
I am shut out of mine own heart
© Christopher John Brennan
I am shut out of mine own heartbecause my love is far from me,nor in the wonders have I partthat fill its hidden empery:
Each day I see the long ships coming into port
© Christopher John Brennan
Each day I see the long ships coming into portand the people crowding to their rail, glad of the shore:because to have been alone with the sea and not to have knownof anything happening in any crowded way,and to have heard no other voice than the crooning sea'shas charmed away the old rancours, and the great windshave search'd and swept their hearts of the old irksome thoughts:so, to their freshen'd gaze, each land smiles a good home
1908
© Christopher John Brennan
The droning tram swings westward: shrillthe wire sings overhead, and chillmidwinter draughts rattle the glassthat shows the dusking way I passto yon four-turreted square towerthat still exalts the golden hourwhere youth, initiate once, endearsa treasure richer with the years
The Photographer
© Bramer Shannon
What it means to carry a camerais to speak out of the emptyframe seeing God, Sky, Road, her returnand faith in the perfection of deserts
I Love Corned Beef
© Bowen A. P.
I LOVE corned beef -- I never knewHow good the stuff COULD taste in stew!I love it WET, I love it DRY,I love it baked and called MEAT PIE
The Execution of Karla Faye
© Boughn Michael
Of course they've been cheering death forever, askLorca or Antigone, an execution a day in the USthey say, something to work for, that guy in the Stop 'N' Gowhen they bombed Gaddafi's kid, cheering atthe thought of pain, but that's the neighbourhood'sdark end anyway, get used to it, light your candlesmarch around the lake, don't lose sight of Amelia(how they ever could have thought that smile lessthan all their clutching--Wordsworth had that downalright--then here we are, maybe that's what they hopeto drown out cheering the news she died when the statewhatever the hell that is plunged or pulled whatever technéecstasis extension holding it to crucial distance, still somewhereflesh touches some thing, and we'd better be preparedfor the whole bloody mess because even if homeof ourselves is a rumoured infrapsychisme from whichundisputed program is accessible to, say, rejig the worksthru poem's possible modulations, there's still northof that, south, east, west and when you get homeguess who's waiting
