There Was a Man of Double Deed

There was a man of double deed,
Who sowed his garden full of seed;
When the seed began to grow,
'Twas like a garden full of snow;
When the snow began to melt,
'Twas like a ship without a belt;
When the ship began to sail,
'Twas like a bird without a tail;
When the bird began to fly,
'Twas like an eagle in the sky;
When the sky began to roar,
'Twas like a lion at my door;
When my door began to crack,
'Twas like a stick across my back;
When my back began to smart,
'Twas like a penknife in my heart;
And when my heart began to bleed,
'Twas death, and death, and death indeed.

                                                          —Anonymous

Nobody Knows Who Made These Sculptures . . .

They were delivered secretly. Click through to see more . . .

To Recent Arrivals

by Anonymous

Is our land still the same
As we dimly recall
With plenty of room
For the great and the small?
Has there been any change
From the old, well-loved scenes
In the Bronx, or in Brooklyn,
Long Island or Queens?

Does the water still sing
‘Mid the rocks and the rills
Of the tiny trout streams in the clean Berkshire hills?
Does the draftee’s step drag
With a touch of the blues
As each juke box in Natchez
Blares forth “Born to Lose”?

Do the geese flying south
Rend the dawn with their call?
Did they crown a new “Ice King”
Up there in St. Paul?
Do the trains whistle yet,
Clear and sweet as a flute
As they speed thru the darkness
Towards Billings and Butte?

Do the stockmen still stroll
In a tight little clan
With their boots striking sparks
In the streets of Cheyenne?
Do the gay lights of Frisco
Make sport of the dark
As you gaze over town
From the “top of the Mark”?

Is our land just the same
As it was long ago?
Please tell us, compadres,
We’re wanting to know.

In "Easter 1916," William Butler Yeats said:

"Too long a sacrifice

Can make a stone of the heart.

O when may it suffice?'

from: Easter 1916, 

by W.B.Yeats

AN IRISH LAMENT
by ?

If this is peace then what, I ask, is war?
What difference does it make to folk like me?
We've heard it all, and suffered it, before.
Is this the way it always has to be?

How many years before this island's free
Of violence and death, of blood and gore?
What do we have to do to make them see?
If this is peace then what, I ask, is war?

The priests and politicians all deplore
The bombing, and appeal for unity.
I want to know, what's that Agreement for?
What difference does it make to folk like me?

Much good it's done us that they all “agree”!
Some haven't stopped the killing they foreswore,
Death haunts our streets, and truth’s a refugee.
We've heard it all, and suffered it, before.

Does Irish air bring out some fatal flaw,
A latent fault in all humanity?
Must troubles mar our lives for evermore?
Is this the way it always has to be?

What's done is done, and no-one can restore
This bomb-scarred town to what it used to be.
So is jaw-jaw much better than war-war?
There’s not much in it, far as I can see,
If this is peace.