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    A Great-Grandpa To Me by Frank Greg This year would have been the first that you could gladly say how you'd become a great-grandpa who's more proud everyday. Though you've been gone for many years, still you're loved just the same. Now my son will be our legacy because he also shares your name. And as he grows he'll want to know just how you used to be. So I'll sob then smile all the while that

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    A Great-Grandpa To Me by Frank Greg This year would have been the first that you could gladly say how you'd become a great-grandpa who's more proud everyday. Though you've been gone for many years, still you're loved just the same. Now my son will be our legacy because he also shares your name. And as he grows he'll want to know just how you used to be. So I'll sob then smile all the while that

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    44 views13 pages

    Poems

    Uploaded by

    shyam das kharel
    A Great-Grandpa To Me by Frank Greg This year would have been the first that you could gladly say how you'd become a great-grandpa who's more proud everyday. Though you've been gone for many years, still you're loved just the same. Now my son will be our legacy because he also shares your name. And as he grows he'll want to know just how you used to be. So I'll sob then smile all the while that

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    Door To Decision by Robson Grant We come from a turbulent past To an info-age moving way to fast The fate of these

    lands Is now placed in our hands Will we bring destruction to an end Will we have the power to mend Save this fragile dreamland Wash away our footprints in the sand Global warming is causing weather changes right before our eyes But we still blacken our skies Sunrays take less time to burn our faces But we still destroy our rain forests and just leave empty spaces The men spill out of the factories everywhere Punching their time clocks basically unaware Dont realize what's happening to the big picture The massive devastation of the atmospheric mixture Every day go through their daily motions Waiting it out for measly promotions Distant stares and silent prayers Monday to Friday . . . say goodbye Our oceans are slicked with oil spills Our waterways full of toxic waste that kills We build our cities on mountains of pollution Without an environmental solution We live our lives in search of wealth In the process damage our good health Crime stories are found on every newspaper page People loosing control in an uncertain age The victims of greed are getting younger In a world that still allows their hunger Our petty problems make us hang down our heads While million's go unfed Desire unfolds the light of our day But we cannot give in to the subtle decay We must rise above the haze descending

    Toward mass action mending We must take control of our actions today or the children of tomorrow will be the one's to pay The new innkeepers shall soon take charge of the next generations voyage at large Trends are patterned and patterns trended But man's damage must be ended!

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    <p class="poemtitle">A Great-Grandpa To Me</DIV> <p class="byline">by Frank Greg</DIV> <TABLE class="poemtext PoemTextLeft "> <TBODY> <TR> <TD>This year would have been the first<BR>that you could gladly say<BR>how you'd become a Great-Grandpa<BR>who's more proud everyday.<BR>Though you've been gone<BR>for many years,<BR>still you're loved just the same.<BR>Now my son will be<BR>our legacy<BR>because he also shares your name.<BR>And as he grows<BR> he'll want to know<BR>just how you used to be.<BR>So I'll sob then smile<BR>all the while<BR>that he's upon my knee.<BR>I'll make it clear<BR>how very dear<BR>I hold your memory,<BR>And hide the pain<BR>as I explain<BR>what a great Grandpa you were to me... In this dark land where the sun can't be seen anymore yet there is still a faint light, In the darkest places,I hide. Running away, trying to survive </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>by Max

    being followed by creatures, Lurking in this dark night. Crawling near you,making no sound, so careful while moving, yet faster than light, they can hunt you down in no time, The most fearsome creatures you can ever find. I used to sleep in shelters and caves to cheat their sight Until I ran into this plain desert where,I find no place to hide. The smell of blood in the air, Crops are teared and thrown around, blood running like rivers, irrigating this moor land, growing plants of hatred, feeding their pure evil hearts. I am tired of being alone, trying to find some way out, following a rumor of a far land, where the sun rises and there is life though i looked every where and it was no where to be found. In this narrow cave,I stay and on this faint light, I write my story so somebody might find, I will write my last words tonight, and ready my guns for my last fight. My hideout will soon be found and my life will soon end, I paid for every sin I did I felt their presence and started to fire. My guns filled this darkness with light blinding my enemies, Giving me a chance to win the fight, but soon after,My bullets ran out and I shoot my last round. That was the last sound I heard

    They left me in darkness for a bit Suffering the fears I had inside At once they broke the silence, with one deadly hit,took my life and my breath. Tears of joy falling out of my eyes I was laughing inside,Cause I found it The land I looked for, was the heaven of the dead. This is my story, And that was my End.
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    Don't Tell Mother


    I thing I'm dying, Tom, old boy; I'm all broke up to-night ; I feel so sick at heart I wish I 'd never see the light ; For I 've done wrong, yes, very wrong ; I 've thrown myself aw r ay Oh ! if the old folks heard it, Tom, I wonder what they 'd say ! For when I left for Winnipeg my dear old mother said, ' My boy, do always what is right and never be afraid ; Don't drink, my boy, and keep away from those who do what 's wrong ; And every hour, I '11 pray to God to keep you brave and strong.' So if I die to-night, my boy, keep constant by my side, And never, never, never, Tom, tell mother how I died. Oh, Tom ; I so remember well the morn I came away ; The air was full of singing birds and sweet with scented hay;

    And through the rustling apple trees the wind came soft and slow, And by my side stood mother, dear Oh ! Tom she loved me so ; Her poor old hands held mine, dear Tom, her eyes were full of tears, And in her dear old loving heart there bubbled mystic fears ; For, Tom, you must remember I was her only son Oh ! God forgive me for the pain I 've caused that suffering one ! Oh, give me water, quick ! dear Tom, and stay here by my side, And if I die to-night, do n't tell my mother how I died. I kissed her lips and promised her I 'd try and do so well Oh ! curse the words that from my lips that summer morning fell ! For in my heart the serpent lay, for, hear me, Tom, just think I swore upon my bended knees I 'd never, never drink, And then I held her to my heart, and felt her blessing fall, And as I darted through the gate I heard my mother call: My boy ! my boy ! my only one ! my son, come back to me!' But I could never more come back ah ! that can never

    be, For when I said I 'd never drink the angel knew I lied ; But if I die to-night, dear Tom, do n't tell her how I died. I came and did my best, old boy, but I was weak and foiled, And every day the serpent's folds were 'round my reason coiled ; I tried to break the hideous bonds and choose a better fate; But I was feverish, weak and faint, and now I sob, 'Too late!' Too late! too late! Oh, God! too late! I heard my mother moan, And in my breast to-night, old boy, my heart lies like a stone. Come nearer, nearer, nearer, Tom, stay closer to my side And promise, Tom, you '11 never tell my mother how I died. Oh, keep your word, old boy, if you her poor old life would save ; The truth would bring her old gray hair in sorrow to the grave ; Oh, let her die and think that I was ever true and good, And that I always did the best, the very best I could I see her face, I feel her hand my burning brow upon ; I hear her whisper in my ear, and now, O God ! she 's

    gone ! I cannot see now, dear Tom, come nearer to my side, And as the God above 's your judge, don't tell her how I died.
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    If
    If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream---and not make dreams your master; If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute

    With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son! Rudyard Kipling
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    Television
    The most important thing we've learned, So far as children are concerned, Is never, NEVER, NEVER let Them near your television set -Or better still, just don't install The idiotic thing at all. In almost every house we've been, We've watched them gaping at the screen. They loll and slop and lounge about, And stare until their eyes pop out. (Last week in someone's place we saw A dozen eyeballs on the floor.) They sit and stare and stare and sit Until they're hypnotised by it, Until they're absolutely drunk With all that shocking ghastly junk. Oh yes, we know it keeps them still, They don't climb out the window sill, They never fight or kick or punch, They leave you free to cook the lunch And wash the dishes in the sink -But did you ever stop to think, To wonder just exactly what This does to your beloved tot? IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD! IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD! IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND! IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND! HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE! HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE! HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES! 'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say, 'But if we take the set away, What shall we do to entertain Our darling children? Please explain!'

    We'll answer this by asking you, 'What used the darling ones to do? 'How used they keep themselves contented Before this monster was invented?' Have you forgotten? Don't you know? We'll say it very loud and slow: THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ, AND READ and READ, and then proceed To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks! One half their lives was reading books! The nursery shelves held books galore! Books cluttered up the nursery floor! And in the bedroom, by the bed, More books were waiting to be read! Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales And treasure isles, and distant shores Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars, And pirates wearing purple pants, And sailing ships and elephants, And cannibals crouching 'round the pot, Stirring away at something hot. (It smells so good, what can it be? Good gracious, it's Penelope.) The younger ones had Beatrix Potter With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter, And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland, And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle andJust How The Camel Got His Hump, And How the Monkey Lost His Rump, And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul, There's Mr. Rat and Mr. MoleOh, books, what books they used to know, Those children living long ago! So please, oh please, we beg, we pray, Go throw your TV set away, And in its place you can install A lovely bookshelf on the wall. Then fill the shelves with lots of books, Ignoring all the dirty looks, The screams and yells, the bites and kicks, And children hitting you with sticksFear not, because we promise you That, in about a week or two Of having nothing else to do, They'll now begin to feel the need

    Of having something to read. And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy! You watch the slowly growing joy That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen They'll wonder what they'd ever seen In that ridiculous machine, That nauseating, foul, unclean, Repulsive television screen! And later, each and every kid Will love you more for what you did. Roald Dahl
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    I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings


    The free bird leaps on the back of the win and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and is tune is heard on the distant hillfor the caged bird sings of freedom The free bird thinks of another breeze an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

    his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. Maya Angelou
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    As I Grew Older
    It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun-My dream. And then the wall rose, Rose slowly, Slowly, Between me and my dream. Rose until it touched the sky-The wall. Shadow. I am black. I lie down in the shadow. No longer the light of my dream before me, Above me. Only the thick wall. Only the shadow. My hands! My dark hands! Break through the wall! Find my dream! Help me to shatter this darkness, To smash this night, To break this shadow Into a thousand lights of sun, Into a thousand whirling dreams

    Of sun! Langston Hughes Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


    eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

    All the World's a Stage


    All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

    William Shakespeare

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