All Poems
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To H.
© Sukasah Syahdan
Thank you so much,
I cant thank you all enough
for this most beautiful epitaph:
To a Friend, on the Death of a Relative.
© Mather Byles
I.
Great GOD, thy Works our Wonder raise,
To thee our swelling Notes belong;
While Skies, and Winds, and Rocks, and Seas,
Around shall echo to our Song.
An Ode To The Hills
© Archibald Lampman
AEons ago ye were,
Before the struggling changeful race of man
A Friday Prayer
© Sukasah Syahdan
Before the midnoon sermon was a starter
He had sat quietly on the corner,
His mien dripping with wudhu water
His all seeing eyes observe in glister
The Tryst Of The Sachems Daughter
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
In the far green depths of the forest glade,
Where the hunters footsteps but rarely strayed,
Was a darksome dell, possessed, twas said,
By an evil spirit, dark and dread,
Whose weird voice spoke in the whisperings low
Of that haunted wood, and the torrents flow.
You Gotta be Kidding
© Sukasah Syahdan
So you think God
soliloquizes to Himself
(or Herself, Itself, or Godself
for that matter)
in front of the Bathroom Mirror?
Mathematics
© Friedrich von Schlegel
Mathematics is, as it were, a sensuous logic, and relates to philosophy as do the arts, music, and plastic art to poetry.
To the Author of a Poem Entitled Succession
© Alexander Pope
Begone, ye Critics, and restrain your spite,
Codrus writes on, and will for ever write,
Convention
© Sukasah Syahdan
(To Grandma)Convention will fail us, grandma dear
One of these days, as another birthday is drawing nearI hope I can manage with a proper wish
on something you no longer cherishAnd if I cant help wishing you
a happy birthday anywayJust look at me in the eyes
"I Sometimes Think"
© Thomas Hardy
I sometimes think as here I sit
Of things I have done,
Which seemed in doing not unfit
To face the sun:
Yet never a soul has paused a whit
On such-not one.
After School
© Sukasah Syahdan
tell me one good thing
you did to yourself todayand tell me another
that you did to otherslet us check our lives
with these questions, daugther for as many tomorrows
That Flesh is Grass is Now as Clear as Day...
© Thomas Hood
That flesh is grass is now as clear as day,
To any but the merest purblind pup,
Death cuts it down, and then, to make her hay,
My Lady B-- comes and rakes it up.
A Confession
© Sukasah Syahdan
To: I at the risk of being customary
I wish to make a confessionnot that it may be true
they do not love that do not show itbut because its true
that to deny it is to argue with reality
