Om

Some more old poems from my past. I do not claim they are any good! And they're very old, so be careful with them.


[SIZE="3"][B](1) To think of the reader,

To think of the reader,
And write a whole poem.
Halfway there,
"How do they see me?
"Am I a whole poem?"

(2) The jungle, where animals meet

The jungle where animals meet,
And dance around,
And sing.

They stamp their feet in pale moon light,
And sing "The Jungle's" refrain:

"Wonderful -- that great blue ship
That sails around the mighty sun,
And joy to everyone that rides along."

(3) There are notebooks in a corner

There are note books in a corner,
And there are notebooks by the side of my bed;
Notebooks that fill the imagination,
With stories, and poems;
Literature, and art, that fills the mind,
For something to be read;
It gives my soul purpose
To write.

(4) whatever you choose to do

Whatever you choose to do,
Do it with a full hand.
If you set to writing,
Think it through.
If you take a stand,
You'd best know what you're fighting.

(5) a leave taking

Journals, come with me, we're leaving.
All's wrong, and there is no use,
I tried to share you, but met with abuse,
There is no use in grieving,
Come now, it's time to leave.

Journals, come with me, they're dying.
This place is all wrong, there is no breath
Here, all about me, there is only death.
There is no use in trying,
Come now, and let them die.

Songs, take leave with me, they're boring.
They do not speak nor can they sing,
Here, for us, there is nothing,
Let us leave the snoring,
We mustn't bore.

Breath, come with me, stop trying.
They will not hear you, nor make reply,
To mimc your breath, that's earth, and sky,
And winds and water,
They insist on dying,
Breath,
Come now, and no more try.

Journals, come now, and do not cry.
It's time to shake hands, and say goodbye.
All ever we tried all we could do,
To help, though it did not help,
And only vexed them, so now,
For the last night we have cried;
Journals, come with me, we're leaving,
And no more crying.

(6) will i find these notebooks useful?

Will I find these notebooks again,
And will I find them useful?
Perhaps, one day at college,
The sunlight slinking in,
Would they make me dull?
Or would they give me an edge?

It will be the seventeenth of December,
I can picture myself now--
Studying for some exam.
The facts are not hard to remember,
I know most of them now,
So I'll never have to cram.

I can picture it all so clear,
My room will be neat and clean.
What will I have? Clothes and books?
It will not be hard to keep near,
The notebooks in which I write to-day,
Forever, my journals to stay.

Perhaps I'll study psychology.
Or cognitive, psycho-epistemology.
Or study religion, and be blessed,
Become a monk, of the one I like the best.
I do not think I'd like your wine,
But thank you, thank you, for your time.

To-day, I'm dust, and to-morrow,
What will I be?

To-day, you're lust, and to-morrow?

Certain things never,
I wish to lose.
Always I wish to be dust.

(7) let it all fade

Let it all fade.
May it all turn to dust..
Nothing you say
Means anything to us.

In this way,
We're sacred..
Be silent around us,
Be alone, even when with us.

Do not involve us,
Or engage.
Please, be silent, like us,
It is in this way you show respect.

We do not exist,
We do not expire,
We are Maya,
And when we are still,
We are full.
We are dust. [/B][/SIZE]