Poems!! I like these...

I love poems!! I'd always thought that if I kept a memoire of my thoughts and reflections, it will be filled with poems, because they always get me down the thought lane...and I like to reflect on them. I have tried my hand at a number of poems in the past...but I'm not about to embarass myself by posting them on here!!:-) I was encouraged to try writing by a friend of mine, Amugun, who writes really beautiful poems himself. Anyway, enough of reminiscing. Below, I have three great ones for you. Oh...by the way, they are not mine:-) The authors are listed below the poems.

The one titled "Casabianca" is pretty intriguing. It is talking about a boy who is obeying his father's orders to stay on the ship until his father tells him otherwise. This obedience ends up costing him his life. I don't claim to know the meaning of the poem, but let me at least tell you what I think of it. It makes me wonder exactly how much obedience to command is wise? Is there a point at which you draw the line; where you start to question? This poem seems to tell me that you shouldn't always blindly follow orders. In every aspect of life, once you are old enough to understand the effects of your actions, whether you have direct orders from superiors or parents, if the outcome is clearly disastrious and ir-retractable, then maybe you should think for yourself and not blindly obey. I know that in some situations the reason you are being asked to do something strange isn't immediately apparent to you, but there are some things that are as clear as day, and there you have no excuse when you don't use your God-given brains and instinct. Anyway....returning to the poem... I believe that if the boy's father were alive, he'd have said "Jump into the sea. Save yourself!!!". But then again, I think that the poem is allowing for an intepretation far beyond just a boy in danger... Well, read for yourself.

CASBIANCA ~

The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle’s wreck
Shone round him o’er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud though childlike form.

The flames rolled on – he would not go
Without his father’s word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud, “Say, father, say
If yet my task is done?”
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

“Speak, father!” once again he cried,
“If I may yet be gone!”
And but the blooming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving heir;
And looked from that lone post of death,
In still, yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud
“My father! must I stay?”
While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child
Like banners in the sky.

Then came a burst of thunder sound –
The boy – oh! where was he?
-Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strew the sea;

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part –
But the noblest thing that perished there
Was that young, faithful heart.

-Felicia Hemans.

The second poem by Wordsworth titled "Fidelity" is just a beautiful tale of devotion. I have watched movies and read books that tell of a dog's devotion to its owner. It never ceases to amaze me. We had a dog too back home in Cameroon, Gilly was her name; she was with us 12 years and gave birth to many a beautiful puppy. I can't wait to own a dog here when it becomes possible.

FIDELITY ~

A barking sound the Shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox;
He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks;
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
and instantly a Dog is seen,
Glancing through the covert green.

The Dog is not of mountain breed;
It's motions, too, are wild and shy;
With something, as the Shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry:
Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;
What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below!
Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land;
From trace of human foot or hand.

There sometimes does a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely chear;
The crags repeat the raven's croak,
In symphony austere;
Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud;
And mists that spread the flying shroud;
And sunbeams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past,
But that enormous barrier binds it fast.

Not knowing what to think, a while
The Shepherd stood: then makes his way
Towards the Dog, o'er rocks and stones,
As quickly as he may;
Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground,
The appalled discoverer with a sigh
Looks round, to learn the history.

From those abrupt and perilous rocks,
The Man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the Shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear:
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day
On which the traveller passed this way.

But hear a wonder, for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell!
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.
The Dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This Dog had been through three months' space
A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain that since the day
When this ill-fated traveller died
The Dog had watched about the spot,
Or by his master's side:
How nourished here through such long time
He knows, who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate.

-William Wordsworth

And the third poem, isn't it just beautiful?? I don't need to say anything because it pretty much speaks for itself. I love the lines; Such as "..but to act that each to-morrow, finds us farther than to-day."

A PSALM OF LIFE

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)