First Love by “john Clare”

First Love

I ne’er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet.
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower  
And stole my heart away complete.  
 
My face turned pale, a deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked what could I ail
My life and all seemed turned to clay.  
 
And then my blood rushed to my face  
And took my eyesight quite away.
The trees and bushes round the place  
Seemed midnight at noonday. 
 
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start.
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.  
 
Are flowers the winter’s choice
Is love’s bed always snow
She seemed to hear my silent voice  
Not love appeals to know. 
 
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling place
And can return no more.

– John Clare

About John Clare

John Clare was born to a poor labouring family in Northamptonshire. His education did not extend much beyond basic reading and writing, and he had to start work herding animals at the age of seven. This was not a promising start for a future writer, but in his early teens he discovered The Seasons by James Thomson and began writing poems himself.

His first love, Mary Joyce, was the daughter of a wealthy farmer; their separation caused Clare great pain, and it contributed to the sense of loss which pervades much of his poetry

In 1820 he married Martha Turner and published his first book of poems. He was described as ‘John Clare, a Northampton Peasant’ on the title-page, and the current fashion for ‘rural poetry’ brought him some celebrity in London. He made friends with Charles Lamb and other literary figures, and was granted the sum of £45 a year by wealthy patrons.

Life Amid The Reaper ,A GUEST POETRY BY “Michael Carlino (Mr.Chilio Lane)”

https://mrchiliolane.wordpress.com/

Life Amid The Reaper 

I took a nap amid the rose
Only to wake, by a tickle of the nose
My eye caught the grace of the scarlet flower
So there I dozed for one more hour

I took a nap amid the bomb
Praying to sing just one more song
My ear rang, the screeching sound of death
I woke to find nothing left

I fell asleep amid my love
Within my arms she fit snug
My heart thumbed, an alluring beat
Then I heard a voice so sweet:

“Each day you live, you must reach higher
Soon enough this life will expire
Strive until there’s nothing left
Persist until you’ve lost your breath”

Some sit in chairs, pondering thoughts
Others open bags to see what they bought
You chose the path that suits you proper
So why not choose gold, instead of copper

I searched the depths for something deeper
Then closed my eyes amid the reaper

by: Michael Carlino

TIPS FOR WRITING A GOOD POETRY…

TIPS FOR WRITING A GOOD POETRY

I am not saying that I am very Big poet,…but I can just say..that I have a Tremendous experience of writing.so on the basis of that..I am elaborating few TIPS…

1.MEANINGFUL:-while writing any sher (poetry) we should not only concentrate to make last words similar or Rythematic ,but also on making our creation meaningful or message giving.In order to just complete ur sher,don’t use such words which may be rythematic/similar but senseless or meaningless.this will no doubt complete ur sher in a minimum time,but will produce a non effective or non Interesting sher.

so always concentrate on making ur sher MEANINGFUL

2.DEEP THNINKING:-Think as Deep as u can,while writing. Any SHER/GHAZAL/NAZM will be much more effective,if it has been written after Deep thinking.

3.HEART TOUCHING:-Do not write with pen but write with ur Heart..means feel it first spiritually/emotionally & then write.A poet can be called a poet only if his poetries reaches to the HEART of his listeners & Readers(this thing I have mentioned in my book also)
Your language of Urdu may be easy or hard but the THEME of ur poetry should be such that It may create “VIBRATIONS” in the HEART of a Reader/listener.

so,follow these 3 tips of poetry writing & give ur Readers a BEAUTIFUL POETRY.

SYED SABAH UR REHMAN-“Aatif”

TIPS FOR WRITING POETRY