Barter : Sara Teasdale

Life has loveliness to sell,

All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff, 
Soaring fire that sways and sings, 
And children's faces looking up 
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell, 
Music like a curve of gold, 
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold, 
And for your spirit's still delight, 
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness, 
Buy it and never count the cost; 
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost, 
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

A Freedom Song : Marjorie Oludhe-Macgoye

Atieno washes dishes,
Atieno plucks the chicken,
Atieno gets up early,
Beds her sacks down in the kitchen,
Atieno eight years old,
Atieno yo.

Since she is my sister’s child,
Atieno needs no pay.
While she works my wife can sit,
Sewing every sunny day:
With he earnings I support,
Atieno yo.

Atieno’ sly and jealous,
Bad example to the kids,
Since she minds them, like a schoolgirl,
Wants their dresses, shoes and beads,
Atieno ten years old,
Atieno yo.

Now my wife has gone to study,
Atieno is less free.
Don’t I keep her, school my own ones,
Pay the party, union fee,
All for progress! Aren't you grateful?
Atieno yo?

Visitors need much attention,
All the more when I work night.
That girl spends too long at market.
Who will teach her what is right?
Atieno rising fourteen,
Atieno yo.

Atieno’s had a baby,
So we know that she is bad.
Fifty fifty it may live,
And repeat the life she had,
Ending in post-partum bleeding,
Atieno yo.

Atieno’s soon replaced;
Meat and sugar more than all,
She ate in such a narrow life,
Were lavished at her funeral.
Atieno’s gone to glory,
Atineo yo.

I Knew a Man by Sight : Henry David Thoreau

I knew a man by sight,
A blameless wight,
Who, for a year or more,
Had daily passed my door,
Yet converse none had had with him.

I met him in a lane,
Him and his cane,
About three miles from home,
Where I had chanced to roam,
And volumes stared at him, and he at me.

In a more distant place
I glimpsed his face,
And bowed instinctively;
Starting he bowed to me,
Bowed simultaneously, and passed along.

Next, in a foreign land
I grasped his hand,
And had a social chat,
About this thing and that,
As I had known him well a thousand years.

Late in a wilderness
I shared his mess,
For he had hardships seen,
And I a wanderer been;
He was my bosom friend, and I was his.

And as, methinks, shall all,
Both great and small,
That ever lived on earth,
Early or late their birth,
Stranger and foe, one day each other know.

Be a Friend: Edgar Albert Guest

Be a friend. You don't need money;
Just a disposition sunny;
Just the wish to help another
Get along some way or other;
Just a kindly hand extended
Out to one who's unbefriended;
Just the will to give or lend,
This will make you someone's friend.

Be a friend. You don't need glory.
Friendship is a simple story.
Pass by trifling errors blindly,
Gaze on honest effort kindly,
Cheer the youth who's bravely trying,
Pity him who's sadly sighing;
Just a little labor spend
On the duties of a friend.

Be a friend. The pay is bigger
(Though not written by a figure)
Than is earned by people clever
In what's merely self-endeavor.
You'll have friends instead of neighbors
For the profits of your labors;
You'll be richer in the end
Than a prince, if you're a friend.

Ode to Friendships : Anonymous

They're the few people who accept silence over conversation;

A relationship like this denies silly promises and persuasion;

You don't feel the need to second guess thoughts or measure words;

Their love comes in wholes, not halves, not thirds;

They're the ones that guide you through when fate takes a turn;

Fights, small and large, end in forgiveness, never a burn;

You forget about first impressions and the feelings they brought;

You're grateful for who they are and you forgive 'em for what they're not.

Charity: Anonymous

For when the one great score comes,
to write against your name,
he writes not that you won or lost,
but how you played the game.

Think big. Talk small.
Love much. Laugh easily.
Work happily. Play fair.
Pay cash and be kind.

After a While : Victoria Shofstall

After a while,
you learn the subtle difference between,
holding a hand and charming a soul,
and you learn that love doesn't mean learning,
and company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn,
that kisses aren't contracts,
and presents aren't promises,
and you begin to accept your defeats,
with your head up and your eyes ahead,
with the grace of a woman,
not the grief of a child

And you learn,
to build all roads on today,
because tomorrow's ground is,
too uncertain for plans,
and futures have a way,
of falling down to mid flight.

And while you learn,
that even sunshine burns if you get too much,
so you plant your own garden,
and decorate your own soul,
instead of waiting,
for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn,
that you really can endure,
that you are really strong,
and you really do have worth,
and you learn and you learn,
with every good bye you learn.

Old and New: Anonmyous

She went up the mountain to pluck wild herbs;
She came down the mountain and met her former husband.
She knelt down and asked her former husband,
"What do you find your new wife like?"
"My new wife, although her talk is clever,
cannot charm me as my old wife could.
In beauty of face there is not much to choose,
But in usefulness they are not alike.
My new wife comes in from the road to meet me;
My old wife came down from her  tower.
My new wife is clever at embroidering silk;
My old wife is good at plain sewing.
Of old silk embroidery, one can do an inch a day;
Of plain sewing, more than five feet.
Putting her silks by the side of your sewing,
I see that the new will not compare with the old".

Reaching For The Infinite Heart: Bonnie Tyler

I know that somewhere there's a moment you and I will touch
We reach across the empty space that you and I can cross
When the love of a woman finds the love of a man,

The circle can not be broken,

The door is open for the time when your heart returns
In the silence of a kiss we will burn our heart
When the heat in a woman finds the heat in a man,

The flame burns forever,

There'll come a time, my love when the searching has to end
I'm on the wrong-way street I need more than just a friend
And I’m standing here, just trying to touch the stars
Nothing else to lose when you're reaching for the infinite heart,

There’s a story which is waiting for the heart to write
I’m going crazy here, just wanting you to close up the night
When the love in a woman finds the love in a man,

There’s nothing too precious to hold it,

The door is open for the time when your heart returns
In the silence of a kiss we will burn our heart
When the heat in a woman finds the heat in a man,

The flame burns forever,

There’ll come a time, my love when the searching has to end
I’m on the wrong-way street I need more than just a friend
And I’m standing here, just trying to touch the stars
Nothing else to lose when you’re reaching for the infinite heart,

We reach across the empty space.
Space that you and I can cross
When the love of a woman
Finds the love of a man,

There’ll come a time, my love when the searching has to end
I’m on the wrong-way street I need more than just a friend
And I’m standing here, just trying to touch the stars
Nothing else to lose when you’re reaching for the infinite heart.

So You Want To Be A Writer: Charles Bukowski

If it doesn't 't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything ,
don't do it .
Unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut ,
don't do it .
If you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your
typewriter searching for words ,
don't do it .
If you 're doing it for money or fame ,
don't do it .
If you 're doing it because you want women in your bed ,
don't do it .
If you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again,
don't do it .
If it 's hard work just thinking about doing it ,
don't do it .
If you 're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it .
If you have to wait for it to roar out of
you ,
then wait patiently .
If it never does roar out of you ,
do something else.

If you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all ,
you 're not ready.

Don't be like so many writers ,
don't be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers ,
don't be dull and boring and pretentious , don't be consumed with self  love .
the libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind .
Don't add to that.
Don't do it .
Unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket ,
unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder ,
don't do it .
Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut ,
don't do it .

When it is truly time ,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it,
until you die or it dies in you .

there is no other way.

and there never was.

If... : Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or , being lied about , don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good , nor talk too wise;

If you can dream and not make dreams your master;
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you 've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to , broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn - out tools ;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch- and- toss,
And lose , and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: " Hold on !"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue ,
Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you ,
If all men count with you , but none too much :
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run ,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it ,
And which is more : you 'll be a Man , my son !

To be in love : Gwendolyn Brooks

To be in love
Is to touch with a lighter hand.
In yourself you stretch, you are well.

You look at things
Through his eyes.
A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue.
Suddenly you know he knows too.

He is not there but
You know you are tasting together
The winter, or a light spring weather.
His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
Too much too bear.

You cannot look in his eyes
Because you repulse must not say
What must not be said.
When he, Shuts a door-
Is not there.

Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.

You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.

You remember and covet his mouth
To touch, to whisper on.

Oh when to declare
Is certain Death!
Oh when to apprise
Is to mesmerize,

To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
Into the commonest ash.

Too late have I loved you! : St. Augustine

Too late have I loved you,
O Beauty so ancient, O Beauty so new.
Too late have I loved you!
You were within me
but I was outside myself,
and there I sought you!
In my weakness I ran after
the beauty of  the things you have made.
You were with me, and I was not with you.
The things you have made kept me from you-
the things which would have no being
unless they existed in you!
You have called, you have cried,
and you have pierced my deafness.
You have radiated forth,
you have shined out brightly,
and you have dispelled my blindness.
You have sent forth your fragrance,
and I have breathed it in,
and I long for you,
I have tasted you,
and I hunger and thirst for you.
You have touched me,
and I ardently desire your peace.

I carry your heart with me: E.E Cummings

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart),

I am never without it (Anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,
my darling),

I fear no fate (For you are my fate,
my sweet),

I want no world (for beautiful you
are my world, my true),

And it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant,

And whatever a sun will always sing is you.

Here is the deepest secret,

Nobody knows,
(Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a
tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide),

And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart.

I carry your heart (i carry it
in my heart)

Life's Tragedy : Paul Lawrence Dunbar

It may be a misery not to sing at all,
and to go silent through the brimming day;
it may be a misery never to be loved,
but deeper griefs than these beset the way.

To sing a perfect song,
and by half-tone lost key,
there the potent sorrow, there the grief,
there the pale, sad staring of Life's Tragedy.

To have come near to the perfect love,
not the hot passion of untempered youth,
but that which lies aside its vanity,
and gives for thy, for thy trusting worship, truth.

This indeed, this to be accursed,
for if we mortals love, or if we sing,
we count our joys not of what we have,
but by what kept us from that perfect thing.

Love Sonnet 40 : William Shakespeare

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest,
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

Your children: Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seem to make them like you. For life goes not backwards nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The Archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness; for even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He also loves the bow that is stable.

How do I love thee? : Elizabeth Barret Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways,
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height,
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight,
For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's,
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use,
In my old grief, and in my childhood's faith.
I love thee with love I seemed to lose,
With my lost saints,...I love thee with the breadth,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! ...and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Dreams : Langston Hughes

Hold onto dreams,
for if dreams die,
life is like a broken-winged bird,
that cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams,
for when dreams go,
life is a barren field,
frozen with snow.

A Poem of Friendship: Nikki Giovanni

We are not lovers,
because of the love,
we make,
but the love,
we have.

We are not friends,
because of the laughs,
we spend,
but the tears,
we save.

I will never miss you,
because of what we do,
but what we are,
together.