Religion poems
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Communism and Imperialism
© Allama Muhammad Iqbal
The soul of both of them is impatient and restless,
Both of them know not God, and deceive mankind.
His Prayer To Ben Jonson
© Robert Herrick
When I a verse shall make,
Know I have pray'd thee,
For old religion's sake,
Saint Ben to aid me.
A Poem, Addressed to the Lord Privy Seal, on the Prospect of Peace
© Thomas Tickell
To The Lord Privy SealContending kings, and fields of death, too long,Have been the subject of the British song
The Secret
© Studdert Kennedy Geoffrey Anketell
You were askin' 'ow we sticks it, Sticks this blarsted rain and mud,'Ow it is we keeps on smilin' When the place runs red wi' blood
My Amoeba Is Unaware
© Scott Francis Reginald
of this poem in its favour, though it sharesin my totality
When I am Old --
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
When I am old and drenched in worlds of sadness, And wear a lacy cap upon my head;When, looking past the future's singing gladness, I linger, wistful, in the years long dead
Flight into Reality
© Rowley Rosemarie
Dedicated to the memory of my best friend Georgina, (1942-74)and to her husband Alex Burns and their childrenNulles laides amours ne belles prison -Lord Herbert of Cherbury
A Satire, in Imitation of the Third of Juvenal
© John Oldham
Though much concern'd to leave my dear old friend,I must however his design commendOf fixing in the country: for were IAs free to choose my residence, as he;The Peak, the Fens, the Hundreds, or Land's End,I would prefer to Fleet Street, or the Strand
Song for a Fishing Party near Burlington, on the Delaware, in 1776
© Odell Jonathan
How sweet is the season, the sky how serene;On Delaware's banks how delightful the scene;The Prince of the Rivers, his waves all asleep,In silence majestic glides on to the Deep.
The Erotic Civilization
© Moritz Albert Frank
The infinite erotic civilization we createdis declining now. Breast and penis wag in publicas in primitive times, when nothing was erotic but the gods,
We Live in a Rickety House
© McLachlan Alexander
We live in a rickety house, In a dirty dismal street,Where the naked hide from day, And thieves and drunkards meet.
Flint and Feather
© Emily Pauline Johnson
Ojistoh1.2Of him whose name breathes bravery and life1.3And courage to the tribe that calls him chief.1.4I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he1.5Is land, and lake, and sky--and soul to me.
Jim Bludso, of the Praire Belle
© John Hay
Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, Becase he don't live, you see;Leastways, he's got out of the habit Of livin' like you and me
