burnt ships 1900

BURNT SHIPS
by: Henrik Ibsen

O skies that were brighter

Turned he his prows;

To gods that were lighter

Made he his vows.

 

The snow-land's mountains

Sank in the deep;

Sunnier fountains Lulled him to sleep.

                                                                   

He burns his vessels,                                               




The smoke flung forth

On blue cloud-trestles

A bridge to the north.

 

From the sun-warmed lowland

Each night that betides,

To the huts of the snow-land

A horseman rides.

snow haiku

Snow

Look up . . .

From bleakening hills

Blows down the light, first breath

Of wintry wind . . . look up, and scent

The snow!

JETPACK CAT [ANIMAL POEM]

I bought our cat a jetpack which I think she liked a lot. She strapped it on and instantly she took off like a shot. She zoomed around my bedroom then she blasted down the hall. She ricocheted off every piece of furniture and wall. Our dog freaked out and ran away. Our hamster squeaked and fled.                                                         I even saw my sister hiding underneath her bed. Our cat is so fired up I almost hate to break the news: She'll never catch our mouse; I bought him rocket powered shoes. --Kenn Nesbitt

SAD

sad its a bad filling,
sad its a filling of being un happy,
sad make you fill like you have being left all alone,
sad it a bad filling.

sad can make you think of bad ideals
sad can make you do wearied things
sad can make you hurt your self,
sad is a bad filling

Martha David

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

TO HIS LOVE

He's gone, and all our plans
Are useless indeed.
We'll walk no more on Cotswolds
Where the sheep feed
Quietly and take no heed.

His body that was so quick
Is not as you
Knew it, on Severn River
Under the blue
Driving our small boat through.

You would not know him now…
But still he died
Nobly, so cover him over
With violets of pride
Purple from Severn side.

Cover him, cover him soon!
And with thick-set
Masses of memoried flowers-
Hide that red wet
Thing I must somehow forget. 

MY DOG ATE MY HOMEWORK

My dog ate my homework.
That mischievous pup
got hold of my homework
and gobbled it up.

My dog ate my homework.
It's gonna be late.                                                                
I guess that the teacher
will just have to wait.

My dog ate my homework.
He swallowed it whole.
I shouldn't have mixed it
with food in his bowl.
--Kenn Nesbitt

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