James Baldwin – The Giver (for Berdis) – A Poem

If the hope of giving
is to love the living,
the giver risks madness
in the act of giving.

Some such lesson I seemed to see
in the faces that surrounded me.

Needy and blind, unhopeful, unlifted,
what gift would give them the gift to be gifted?

The giver is no less adrift
than those who are clamouring for the gift.

If they cannot claim it, if it is not there,
if their empty fingers beat the empty air
and the giver goes down on his knees in prayer
knows that all of his giving has been for naught
and that nothing was ever what he thought
and turns in his guilty bed to stare
at the starving multitudes standing there

and rises from bed to curse at heaven,
he must yet understand that to whom much is given
much will be taken, and justly so:
I cannot tell how much I owe.

 

Written by: James Baldwin

Credit: PoemHunter.com

Do Not Weep For Me – A Poem

 

Thomas Dekker – ‘Golden Slumbers’ – A Poem

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby …

Credit:Interestinglitrature.com & Yahoo.com/images

My Grandchildren – A Poem Written by: Diane Klauck

What a lovely poem about Grandchildren.  I have 7 myself and have so much love for each of them, and enjoy watching them at work and play. Each having their very own personality leaves my heart with such a warm smile when they are in my presence. They may wear grandparents out, but it is a love that is worth being worn out for.

My Grandchildren

My grandchildren
Their putter-patter in my life;
They bring much happiness
To all pains and strife.

Just a little smile
And a hug will do;
It says so much
When they hug you!

A little tear may fall
You wipe them all away;
Comforting a broken heart
As they begin to play.

My grandchildren
Fill me with so much joy;
They give me love
Each girl and each boy.

I can’t see my life
Without them, it would not be real;
I love to spend time with them
The joys they bring, the love I feel.

Source: https://allpoetry.com/Diane_klauck

 

The Art of Rain – A Poem by Mitchell D. Wilson

Here’s another poem about Rain.  Is it raining in your neck of the woods?  It’s raining in mine, and I hope each of you stays safe and enjoys this poem!

         The Art of Rain

Falling Down, pooling up,
Out of the sky, into my cup.

What is this wet that comes from above,
That some call disaster and others find love.

The harder it falls, the less it is nice,
The colder it falls the harder the ice.

The rain has an art that I may not get,
So I stand still here and get soaking wet.

http://www.poetryinnature.com

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Your Sweet Wet Lips – A Poem – Written by: Nizamettin Esen Haymanali

As rain continues to pound its way into the forecast in many states. Let’s sit back and enjoy this poem about rain.

Your languorous glances
Whisper their longing
For me always gently
To my yearning ears
Through all my dreams

Those wonderful words of love
Hidden under the lingering
Shadow of your rainbow
Colored eloquently
Pretty lips

Fall in rosettes
Of wet and warm kisses
Towards my cloudy dreams

Source: http://www.poetryinnature.com

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Just Because – A Poem Written by Angie M. Flores—Teen Poets Who Inspire!

This is a straight forward poem by Angie a teenager who wants people to understand that just because she is doing all she can to make something out of herself, and doesn’t want to partake in some of the things the other young teens are partaking in, doesn’t make her any different than they are, nor does it make her better. I really love this poem.

Here is a little background on Angie:

I am a girl with a deep passion for writing, my mind can go on and on. My goal in life is to complete my own autobiography. Give me a pen and sheet of paper and leave me to my thoughts. The quiet ones are always the ones who have plenty to say.

 

                                           Just Because

Just because I have never done drugs, doesn’t mean I’m not cool.
Just because I am a virgin, doesn’t make me lame.
Just because I’m not a fighter, doesn’t mean I’m weak.
Just because I am not a party girl, doesn’t mean I can’t hang.
Just because I get good grades, doesn’t mean I’m a nerd.
Just because teachers like me, doesn’t mean I am a teacher’s pet.
Just because I am not a rebel, doesn’t mean I’m scared.
Just because I am quiet, doesn’t mean I don’t speak up for what I believe in.
Just because I have morals, doesn’t make me a goody two shoes.
Just because I walk away from trouble, doesn’t make me a pushover.
Just because I think before I act, doesn’t make me a loser.

I am who I am, and this is who I shall forever be.
I do not care what others think of me.
Like me or not, that is your choice.
Accept me for who I am.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com

God’s Special Creation – A Poem By Lenora McWhorter

I love the words of this poem, they give such inspiration to the many hats a mother wears while caring for her family and finding time to decorate and turn her house into a home. I wasn’t able to find a bio on this author, but she is or was an amazing writer.

  God’s Special Creation

The hand that rocks the cradle
also makes the house a home.
It is the prayers of the mother
that keeps the family strong.

Mother rises early in the morning
and bathes her day in prayer.
She talks to God about her family
and places them in His care.   

Mother communicates her love
in a thousand different ways.
When there’s a need, she is there,
whether it is night or day.

Mother seasons life with love
and gives so much of herself.
God placed in her the best He had
and made her unlike anyone else.

When challenges come our way
and when trials block our view,
Mother kneels down beside her bed
and prays the family through.

Mother is God’s special creation.
She is a light shining in the dark,
illuminating the path for her family
and pointing them toward God.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com

“Mother” – A Poem Written by Nikita Gill

This is a lovely poem describing a baby’s journey into this world, and all the mother did to help her child grow.  

Here’s a little background on this Poet: 

Nikita Gill is a poet and writer. She has written and curated six volumes of poetry. She uses social media to engage her audience and she has 617,000 followers on Instagram with just over 370 posts. She has been described as one of the most successful Instapoets, and ‘one of the most exciting young writers working today.

Gill was born in Belfast to Indian parents who had been temporarily living in Ireland. Her father was in the merchant navy. The family moved back to New Delhi when Gill was a few months old, and she grew up and was educated there. Gill studied Design at a university in New Delhi, and she completed a master’s degree at the University for the Creative Arts. She worked as a cleaner and a carer after her education.

Gill’s work was first published when she was twelve years old. Her work was rejected 137 times for publication. Gill has published six volumes of poetry, including Your Soul Is A River (2016), Wild Embers: Poems of rebellion, fire, and beauty (2017), Fierce Fairytales: & Other Stories to Stir Your Soul (2018), Great Goddesses: Life lessons from myths and monsters (2019), Your Heart Is The Sea (2019), and The Girl and the Goddess (2020). Her work offers reflections on love, and feminist retellings of fairytales and Greek myths. She has been inspired by the works of Sylvia Plath, Dr. Maya Angelou, and Robert Frost.

She has written short stories, and she is currently working on a novel. She wrote and performed her debut work for the stage, Maidens, Myths, and Monsters. She is an ambassador for National Poetry Day. Gill regularly appears on the BBC, contributing to Woman’s Hour on Radio Four, Free Thinking on Radio Three, and BBC Asian Network.

 

                        “Mother”

The water of her womb, your first home.

The body she pulled apart to welcome you to the world.

The spirit in you she helped grow with all she knew.

The heart that she gave you when yours fell apart.

You are her soft miracle.

So she gave you her eyes to see the best in the worst.

You carry your mother in your eyes.

Make her proud of all she watches you do.

A Dream – A Poem by Rabindranath Tagore (English Translation)

This is such a sweet, gentle, yet romantic poem. I read it twice and both times it was like I was there bearing witness to everything the author wrote about. I could see the beauty of the red that the woman he loved was dressed in, I could almost hear the anklets jingling on her feet. I envisioned the flower in her hair, the two mango trees, and so on and so forth. What a nice poem.  I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!

Here’s some background on the Author:

Rabindranath Tagore (7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941), was a Bengali poet, novelist, musician, painter, and playwright who reshaped Bengali literature and music. As the author of Gitanjali with its profoundly sensitive, fresh, and beautiful verse, he was the first non-European and the only Indian to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913. His poetry in translation was viewed as spiritual, and this together with his mesmerizing persona gave him a prophet-like aura in the west. His elegant prose and magical poetry still remain largely unknown outside the confines of Bengal.

             A Dream

I had once gone to Ujjaini
On the banks of the river Shipra
Far far away in that land of dreams
To seek the first love of my former life.
She had Lodha* powder on her face
A lotus she playfully held in her hand
She stuck buds of Kunda in her ears
And kurubak flower in her hair
Her slim body she dressed in red
With a knot at her waist
Anklets gently jingled on her feet.
It was on a day in spring
To find my way I had to travel long
In that unknown land.
In the temple of Mahakal
The evening prayer bell rang
The crowded roads were now empty
The dusk was falling
And the rooftops were glowing
With the rays of the setting sun.
My beloved’s home
On a lonely narrow serpentine street
Was difficult to reach.
On the door was painted
A conchshell and a discus
On either side of its entrance
Grew two young mango trees
Like two beloved sons
On a white pillar at the gate
The statue of a lion stood.
Her pigeons had returned home
And on a golden bar
Her peacock had gone to sleep
With a lamp in her hand
My Malabika slowly came down.
She descended the stairs like a goddess
Holding an evening star in her hand.
The scent of flowers and her body
Fell on me like warm breaths
Her half-slipped dress
Revealed her left breast
Painted in chandan paste.
Seeing me my beloved
Put down the lamp on the stairs
And stood before me.
She held my hand
And silently asked with her anxious eyes,
‘How are you, my friend?’
Looking at her I tried to reply
But no words came.
I had forgotten her language
Both of us tried hard
But failed to remember our names.
Only silent tears
Trickled down our eyes.
Sitting under the tree
We thought and thought
As a bird seeks its nest at the day’s end
Her hands sought mine
Like a lotus bending on its stem
She slowly bent her head on my breast
And our warm eager breaths
Silently mingled.
In the darkness of night
Ujjaini was lost
At the gate
The lamp went out
In the temple
On the banks of Shipra
The prayers stopped.

Credit: https://www.best-poems.net

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