dreams – Robin’s Nest

The armed militias

by Naji Almurisi Yemeni poet The armed militias Plant gunpowder in gardens And harvest the holes on the streets Crushing dreams Robbing smiles Spreading pains Everywhere Here Dove of peace Looking for peace Here The olive branch An arrow Dripping with bloods Here All flowers Smelling of crying Here The truth becomes a kind ofContinue reading “The armed militias”

Amidst the Noisy Ball . . .

by Aleksander Pushkin 1799-1837 Amidst the noisy ball, in Hell Of everyday distress, I’ve seen you, but the secret’s veil Was covering your face. Your fair eyes were sad and bright, And voice was so sweet, As sound of a pipe apart Or murmur of the sea. I’ve liked your fine and slender waist, AndContinue reading “Amidst the Noisy Ball . . .”

The Poet As Hero

by Siegfried Sassoon You’ve heard me, scornful, harsh, and discontented, Mocking and loathing War: you’ve asked me why Of my old, silly sweetness I’ve repented– My ecstasies changed to an ugly cry. You are aware that once I sought the Grail, Riding in armour bright, serene and strong; And it was told that through myContinue reading “The Poet As Hero”

The Kiss

by Edith Nesbit The snow is white on wood and wold, The wind is in the firs, So dead my heart is with the cold, No pulse within it stirs, Even to see your face, my dear, Your face that was sun; There is no spring this bitter year, And summer’s dreams are done. TheContinue reading “The Kiss”

All roads don’t lead to Rome – most of them end up at the seaside

Do you have a special place you love which is not real? I don’t mean like Billy Liar with his imaginary country of Ambrosia where he is the benevolent, but brave, leader, guiding both his country’s development and armed forces. I mean the sort of place Peter Pan would call a “happy place” where youContinue reading “All roads don’t lead to Rome – most of them end up at the seaside”

Dawn

by Isaac Rosenberg (1890-1918) O tender first cold flush of rose, O budded dawn, wake dreamily; Your dim lips as your lids unclose Murmur your own sad threnody. O as the soft and frail lights break Upon your eyelids, and your eyes Wider and wider grow and wake, The old pale glory dies. And then,Continue reading “Dawn”

Volcano that sleeps

by Emmanuel George Cefai (b. 1955) When the volcano sleeps The clouds gather round like hawks on the face Of a frowning heaven. The volcano sleeps And dreams Of lava red and scalding And smokes from vents All spurting. And it was night And above circled high The night-stars Frightened The bats flew, now andContinue reading “Volcano that sleeps”