Dulce Et Decorum Est; Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!– An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.–
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

God bless and remember be wary of deception, my precious avids.

We’ll Get Through This; Joanna Fuchs

Lord, our troubles
Are so great,
We don’t know what to do;
The price for our
Iniquity
Is finally coming due.

The world is crumbling
All about;
No safe place can be found.
Right is wrong,
Wrong is right;
The change is quite profound.

Lord, we need
Your guiding light
To lead us out of here;
We’ll focus on
Your Word, and prayer,
To take away our fear.

Temptations of
This dying world
We’ll rule out and let go;
Give our burdens
All to you,
Shed all worldly woe.

That’s how we’ll
Get through this, Lord,
Fixed on heaven above,
Assured of your
protection, help,
And everlasting love.

God bless you, all my darling avids

Before Sleep by Ezra Pound.

The lateral vibrations caress me,
They leap and caress me,
They work pathetically in my favour,
They seek my financial good.

She of the spear stands present.
The gods of the underworld attend me, O Annubis,
These are they of thy company.
With a pathetic solicitude they attend me;
Undulant,
Their realm is the lateral courses.

Light!
I am up to follow thee, Pallas.
Up and out of their caresses.
You were gone up as a rocket,
Bending your passages from right to left and from left to right
In the flat projection of a spiral.
The gods of drugged sleep attend me,
Wishing me well;
I am up to follow thee, Pallas.

Sleep well, my precious Avids. 🙂

Poetry Reading by Charles Bukowski

poetry readings have to be some of the saddest
damned things ever,
the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies,
week after week, month after month, year

after year,
getting old together,
reading on to tiny gatherings,
still hoping their genius will be
discovered,
making tapes together, discs together,
sweating for applause
they read basically to and for
each other,
they can’t find a New York publisher
or one
within miles,
but they read on and on
in the poetry holes of America,
never daunted,
never considering the possibility that
their talent might be
thin, almost invisible,
they read on and on
before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands,
their wives, their friends, the other poets
and the handful of idiots who have wandered
in
from nowhere.

I am ashamed for them,
I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other,
I am ashamed for their lisping egos,
their lack of guts.

if these are our creators,
please, please give me something else:

a drunken plumber at a bowling alley,
a prelim boy in a four rounder,
a jock guiding his horse through along the
rail,
a bartender on last call,
a waitress pouring me a coffee,
a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway,
a dog munching a dry bone,
an elephant’s fart in a circus tent,
a 6 p.m. freeway crush,
the mailman telling a dirty joke

anything
anything
but
these.

Poems for a Rainy Day

The Rainy Day; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

Spring Storm; William Carlos Williams

The sky has given over
its bitterness.
Out of the dark change
all day long
rain falls and falls
as if it would never end.
Still the snow keeps
its hold on the ground.
But water, water
from a thousand runnels!
It collects swiftly,
dappled with black
cuts a way for itself
through green ice in the gutters.
Drop after drop it falls
from the withered grass-stems
of the overhanging embankment.

By the Rivers of Babylon We Sat Down and Wept; Lord Byron.

We sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem’s high places his prey;
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!

On the willow that harp is suspended,
Oh Salem! Its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were
ended
But left me that token of thee:
And ne’er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me!

Auld Lang Syne; Robert Burns

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

Chorus:

For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I’ll be mine,
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne!

Chorus:

We twa hae ran about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine,
But we’ve wander’d monie a weary fit
Sin’ auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine,
And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught
For auld lang syne!

English

For days long ago, my dear,
For days long ago
We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet
For days long ago.

And surely you’ll have your pint tankard
And surely I’ll have mine.
And we’ll drink a cup of kindness yet
For days long ago.

And surely you’ll have your pint tankard
And surely I’ll have mine.
And we’ll drink a cup of kindness yet
For days long ago.

We two have run about the hills
And pulled the daisies fine
But we’ve wandered many a weary mile
Since the days long ago.

And here’s my hand, my trusty friend,
And give me your hand too,
And we will take an excellent good-will drink
For the days of long ago.

Bonds of Friendship; Craig Burkholder.

From the day that I first knew you,
Your heart was pure and kind;
Your smile was sweet and innocent,
Your wit was well refined.

The sparkle in your eyes was keen,
Your friendship fast and real;
Soft words were your virtue,
And humor your appeal.

We grew as friends together,
We laughed and shared our dreams;
Along the way crush or two,
Went unrevealed, it seems.

As years rolled on, our paths were split,
Our roads went separate ways;
We each pursued our interests,
That occupied our days.

We soon forgot our youthful bliss,
Of tender carefree years;
We didn’t talk or keep in touch,
Throughout life’s pain and tears.

Then my darkest hour came,
And tried me to my core;
To save my heart from ruin,
I closed and locked the door.

Then out of every nowhere,
With precise directed cue;
An old familiar smile,
Came slowly into view.

Although much time was gone,
And the die of fate long cast;
It was as if we hadn’t missed,
A second of the past.

You listened with attentive care,
And reassured my mind;
That loving hearts are still alive,
With purpose and design.

Deep inside I’ve locked way,
Emotions yet untold;
As time goes on, and bonds grow strong,
They will all unfold.

So thank you, friend, for taking time,
To demonstrate your love;
It’s yet another blessing that,
I’m undeserving of.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/bonds-of-friendship

My Personal Quest; Pat A. Fleming

For most of my life, I’ve been on a quest
To discover just who I might be,
Earnestly searching, day after day,
So desperate to recognize me.

I’ve felt moments of utter fulfillment
And moments I couldn’t go on,
But I knew for the sake of my heart and my soul,
To succeed, I would have to be strong.

But the people around me seemed so lost themselves
That I feared I might be on my own.
But then there’d be someone who would reach out and help
And remind me I wasn’t alone.

I’ve wanted so much to be happy,
To know what it was to feel peace,
And I thought if I finally felt sure of myself,
Then the pain and the struggles would cease.

But I’ve learned that this journey is endless;
The discoveries are fresh every day,
And no matter how much I might know of myself,
They’ll be times I will still lose my way.

And as I’ve grown older, I truly believe
I may never know all I can be.
But the answers are not waiting out in the world
But have always laid right inside me.

We’re all on this quest to discover ourselves,
Together but through our own ways,
Overcoming whatever might get in our paths,
So we can feel better someday.

But always remember not to stray far
From what matters and what’s really true.
In this life you don’t have to be perfect.
In the end, you just have to be you.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/my-personal-quest

We are all on this path together. Hold each others hands and walk together knowing you can be brave when you are not alone.

God bless all of you, my precious avids 💖😇

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesnt interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.