Tower Of Babel

Annabel Lee

Is the name on the label,
Reckon it ought to be

Tower of Babel
,

For there ain't a lingo
That's spoke or swore in
From San Domingo
To Tuti-
cor
-in,

From the Pole or near it
To Pernambuker
But what you'll 'ear it
On board this 'ooker.

[...] Read more

poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Nduom

My love for you is like River Offin and,
My past is banished and exiled because of you;
But it is very pathetic when the wind blows you to the past.

Nduom, my love for you will never cease,
For i am the Swedish Lady next door;
And your love to me is like a Diploma in Solo singing.

You are always on my mind like,
The melting ice at both the Artic and the Antarctic circles;
But like each child on a horse,
I will always be there for you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Spring in Sweden

Spring has finally reached Sweden too
warm rays of sun shining over me and you

Snowbells and bluebells in bloom
buttercupps, and tulips soon

Over half a year of winter is gone
half a year with no light, nothing shone

Grass turns slowly from brown to green
so does the trees, now they are seen

By us who wanders in the woods
weather too hot for our hoods

Blessed be the spring so sweet
blessed be the spring so neat

poem by Lisa thecountrygirl Timmermand
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On The Farm

There was Dai Puw. He was no good.
They put him in the fields to dock swedes,
And took the knife from him, when he came home
At late evening with a grin
Like the slash of a knife on his face.

There was Llew Puw, and he was no good.
Every evening after the ploughing
With the big tractor he would sit in his chair,
And stare into the tangled fire garden,
Opening his slow lips like a snail.

There was Huw Puw, too. What shall I say?
I have heard him whistling in the hedges
On and on, as though winter
Would never again leave those fields,
And all the trees were deformed.

And lastly there was the girl:
Beauty under some spell of the beast.

[...] Read more

poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
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Countries Supposedly Civilized Democratic Pillars Of Freedom

ah US hotel honey pot plot worked well shamed IMF man?
hooker maid was good ploy until exposed past in kangaroo court?
countries supposedly civilized democratic pillars of freedom
dropp the ball in big picture persecute prime intelligence threat?

use all tax payer powers of a powerful state against an unarmed
Australian courageous individual is not a script to be proud of?
Britain studies PLO raid plans to storm Ecuadorean embassy?
To support US political motivated Swedish trumped up charges?

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Call Not The Royal Swede Unfortunate

CALL not the royal Swede unfortunate,
Who never did to Fortune bend the knee;
Who slighted fear; rejected steadfastly
Temptation; and whose kingly name and state
Have 'perished by his choice, and not his fate!'
Hence lives He, to his inner self endeared;
And hence, wherever virtue is revered,
He sits a more exalted Potentate,
Throned in the hearts of men. Should Heaven ordain
That this great Servant of a righteous cause
Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure,
Yet may a sympathising spirit pause,
Admonished by these truths, and quench all pain
In thankful joy and gratulation pure.

poem by William Wordsworth
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Tale of Tiger Tail?

Tiger's dazed and feelin' kinda frail!
Incredibly tryin' to late night drive by braille?
Gosh darn fire hydrant and tree!
Escalade crumpled - and now all over the tv!
Rescued by his fearless missus?

Wantonly swingin' a nine iron midst Swedish heroic hisses?
Oh - that Tiger had such luck?
Only next time - he should remember to duck?
Don't drive to play that dangerous nocturnal 19th hole?
Simply forget it - and go with Elin for a long stroll?

He reaches for his wood?
Then, she reaches for her iron?

poem by Hubert Wilson
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The King Of Sweden

THE Voice of song from distant lands shall call
To that great King; shall hail the crowned Youth
Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth,
By one example hath set forth to all
How they with dignity may stand; or fall,
If fall they must. Now, whither doth it tend?
And what to him and his shall be the end?
That thought is one which neither can appal
Nor cheer him; for the illustrious Swede hath done
The thing which ought to be; is raised 'above'
All consequences: work he hath begun
Of fortitude, and piety, and love,
Which all his glorious ancestors approve:
The heroes bless him, him their rightful son.

poem by William Wordsworth
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Sonnet 21

XXI

Cyriac, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounced and in his volumes taught our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
Today deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

poem by John Milton
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Sonnet: For a Spider

O spider, thou with legs so hairy
So innocent, ugly-cute and scary
As I ponder wonderingly
What you would have lived to see

But your life, cut short with tragic blow
Far from your sun’s warm native glow
In Sweden, trapped from tropic skies
Finding comfort in a shower, ‘til your demise

Smashed body streaking down the wall
No longer soft round fuzzy ball
Legs furry stuck to wall and book
Out of respect for the dead, I did not look

Closer at the slimy goo
Instead this sonnet I write for you.

poem by Heidi Kristine
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Cyriack, Whose Grandsire

Cyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause,
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench,
Today deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

poem by John Milton
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Sonnet 18

XVIII

Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounc't and in his volumes taught our Lawes,
Which others at their Barr so often wrench:
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting drawes;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

poem by John Milton
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To Cyriack Skinner

Cyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause,
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench,
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

poem by John Milton
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The Poetry of A Root Crop

Underneath their eider-robe
Russet swede and golden globe,
Feathered carrot, burrowing deep,
Steadfast wait in charmed sleep;
Treasure-houses wherein lie,
Locked by angels' alchemy,
Milk and hair, and blood, and bone,
Children of the barren stone;
Children of the flaming Air,
With his blue eye keen and bare,
Spirit-peopled smiling down
On frozen field and toiling town-
Toiling town that will not heed
God His voice for rage and greed;
Frozen fields that surpliced lie,
Gazing patient at the sky;
Like some marble carven nun,
With folded hands when work is done,
Who mute upon her tomb doth pray,
Till the resurrection day.

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Kingsley
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The Town Marshal

The Prohibitionists made me Town Marshal
When the saloons were voted out,
Because when I was a drinking man,
Before I joined the church, I killed a Swede
At the saw-mill near Maple Grove.
And they wanted a terrible man,
Grim, righteous, strong, courageous,
And a hater of saloons and drinkers,
To keep law and order in the village.
And they presented me with a loaded cane
With which I struck Jack McGuire
Before he drew the gun with which he killed me.
The Prohibitionists spent their money in vain
To hang him, for in a dream
I appeared to one of the twelve jurymen
And told him the whole secret story.
Fourteen years were enough for killing me.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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As Planned

After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don't you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?

Anonymous submission.

poem by Frank O'Hara
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Midsummer day

In Sweden people today celebrate
a pagan feast
on the midsummer day
and snaps and beer,
are taken from early on
as one of the rites of May.

Unmarried girls sleep
with bouquets of seven different flowers
under their pillows
and hope to dream,
of their future spouse
or lover.

It is thought that magic
is at its most powerful today
and tonight rituals are performed,
to look into the future
.
a Pole is raised

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Odd Desire

I wish to be born next
In Sweden
In a hustle free tiny hamlet
Deep into the woods, besides a rivulet
Not far from the Arctic ice

No noise, smoke or horn
Animal drawn cart is my mobile wagon
Living with nature by grazing the cattle
Enough for my needs, without any dreams
Resting as I please, devoid of tensions

Wood and glass cottages, with poking chimneys
Snowy raining, fur coats and warmth of champagne
Dead silence outside, still-picture landscape
Far from the politics and religious discourses
Meditating alone, into fine inner emptiness

poem by Santhana Louis
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Find Satan

Forging a mail has in this world a finder,
A remark so foul that lords and ladies shall arrive.

In that border is a line or a wall,
And evil is the good of this wall.

Why does the Cocoon be strong to crack,
And then Sweden shall award a million?

A book is written of divine beauty,
It carried a solitude of ugly levers.

Hounds of distress are bent towards the stars up above,
Wolves of stone and ice, that dwell among the night.

Their boundaries are now immediate
And their entrails are foul.
Strength is the criminal feed, it is Satan!

poem by Naveed Akram
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Jabberwocky Redux

After reading too much Aquinas

Would an aphid reside in an onager's ear
if the onager's master spoke Twi?
Or a Gascony scop with a leper elope
if a civet leapt out of a tree?
You doubt it? Read Thomas and see.

Would an addax in Denmark gyrate
if an emu in Sweden bore freight?
Or an eland in Chile complain
if jerboas in Goa refrain?
You doubt it? Read Thomas and see.

For really I thought ‘twas the onager taught
the aphid the tenor of Twi, and that
Gascony scops with Norwegians eloped
when Danes had lepers to tea.
You doubt it? Read Thomas and see.

poem by Donal Mahoney
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