Deep Ties

 ZINNIAS AND TEA RANDALL DAVIS BARFIELD                                                                Pinterest I shall see after death with the happiest eyes The dark they now bear Will have ceased Their days they now bear Full of zinnias and tea Their aromatic nights Of gardenias.                                                             Amazon.in I shall sport after death Two new acute ears The silence they now bear Will have ceased Their days will be festive Many booms, many pops Their nights of the sweetest Cricketry. After death I shall throw The mellowest  voice My audience will travel Many miles by choice The days will be rich And mellifluous The nights harmonious And lush. The Poet: Randall Davis Barfield  Randall Davis Barfield is a contemporary American writer who lives in Columbia. He is an Academic who teaches classes for IELTS, EFL and TOEFL. He also works as a proof reader. An author at authorsden, he has written many short plays that have been staged.  His poem, '

 YOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM LEWIS CARROLL                                                                    Literawiki  - Fandom "You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head - Do you think, at your age, it is right?" "In my youth," Father William replied to his son,  "I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I am perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again." "You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, And you have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door - Pray what is the reason for that?" "In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, "I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment - one shilling a box - Allow me to sell you a couple?" "You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher

 WE WEAR THE MASK PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR                                                             Pixels We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, - This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and eyes? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask.                                                                      Open Culture We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries, To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but O, the clay is vile Beneath  our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!                                                         VCU News - Virginia Commonwealth The Poet: Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872 - 1906) Paul Laurence Dunbar is a black American writer with an impressive repertoire of writing, consisting of short stories, novels essays and poetry. He is known for having

 X Jean Valentine "I have decorated this banner to honor my brother. Our parents did not want his name used publicly." --- from an unnamed child's banner in the AIDS Memorial Quilt.                                                                                                                                         depositphotos The boat pond, broken off, looks back at the sky. I remember looking at you, X, this way, taking in your red hair, your eyes' light, and I miss you so. I know, you are you, and real, standing there in the doorway, whether dead or whether living, real.  --- then Y said, " Who will remember me three years after I die? What is there for my eye to read then?" The lamb should not have given his wool. He was so small. At the end, X, you were so small.  Playing with a stone On your bedspread at the end of the ocean.                                                 Jean Valentine The Poet: Jean Valentine (1934 - 2020) New York State Laureate

 VOCATION RABINDRANATH TAGORE When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our lane, Every morning I meet the hawker crying, "Bangles, crystal bangles!" There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no road he must take, no place he must go to, no time when he must come home. I wish I were a hawker, spending my day in the road, crying, "Bangles, crystal bangles!"                                                                                   IndiaMart When at four in the afternoon I come back from the school,  I can see through the gate of that house the gardener digging the ground. He does what he likes with his spade, he soils his clothes with dust, nobody takes him to task if he gets baked in the sun or gets wet. I wish I were a gardener digging away at the garden with nobody to stop me from digging. Just as it gets dark in the evening and my mother sends me to bed, I can see through my open  window the watchman walking up and down. The lane is

 ULTIMATUM DOROTHY PARKER                                     I am wearied of wearying love, my friend, Of worry, and strain, and doubt; Before we begin, let us view the end, And maybe I'll do without. There's never the pang that was worth the tear, And toss in the night I won't -  So either you do or you don't, my dear, Either you do or you don't. The table is ready, so lay your cards And if they should augur pain, I'll tender you ever my kind regards And run for the fastest train. I haven't the will to be spent and sad; My heart's to be gay and true - Then either you don't or you do, my lad, Either you don't or you do!                                                                     Amazon.in The Poet: Dorothy Parker (1893 - 1967) American writer, Dorothy Parker, is best known for her biting wit and scintillating sense of humour. Her pieces often mocked the foibles of modern society. Some of her poems were set to music much after her time. H

 THE ARROW AND THE SONG HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW                                                                   Brad Jacobsen I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight.                                                                    Hannah Spuler I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song?                                                                     Prezi Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend. The Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 -1882) HW Longfellow, the American poet, is known for his lyrical poems which abound in themes imbued in legend and mythology. He experimented with free verse, often working painstakingly on the form of the poem because he believed that writers wa

  STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING ROBERT FROST                                                  Sunset Wings - Bandcamp  Whose woods are these I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.                                                                      AllPosters.com My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.                                                                Obvious State The Poet: Robert Frost (1874 -1963) Recently I read somewhere that for many American students, Frost's two most popular poems - Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Eveni

 REMEMBER CHRISTINA ROSETTI                                                    GoodFon.com                                                       Internet Archive Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far that you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.                                                                          CoolINSmart                                                                          The Poet: Christina Rosetti (1830 - 1894) Christina Rosetti was seen as one of the finest poets of the Victorian Age,