Κατηγορία: Poems

October Leaves – Poem by Richard Lackman

As I look out upon October leaves
And brown grass weathered by the Autumn sun
I see the shafts of light a bare branch cleaves
And so much of creation now undone

I feel the sorrow of a world defeated
And wonder if my life reflects the same
Cycle of life’s consciousness depleted
Like a picture that has fallen from its frame

I bare my heart to painful introspection
Regarding simple pleasures never found
Like finding images of one’s reflection
In a fleeting pool of water ever bound

Where now are all the promises of Spring
That light and warmth and flowers would repair
What now do winter wind and shadows bring
But dower images and dark despair

And yet as I recall from years gone by
That following the darkness and the cold
If I can my own darker moods defy
Will then the flowers of spring at last unfold

And so it goes and so my life repeats
The cycles of the seasons in my mind
And so my memory at last deletes
The darker side of life I often find

A Prayer In Spring – Poem by Robert Frost


Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.

IF by Rudyard Kipling

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