Carefree Poets Cove

An Adventure Learning Initiative

Carefree Poets

Welcome to the Carefree Poets Cove, a creative project ideas initiative. We invite you to take an imaginative adventure as you amble through these pages where poets rule!

Wander through the carefree poets cove
and enjoy this little treasure trove
of literary de Bonaire
and imaginative poetic flare.

With the modern poet voices
You have so many, many choices.

Poems by some famous poets
Who could forget those old oats.

So wander read and dream a while,
And let the words broaden your smile.

Simply Love
the Simple Life Carefree Poets
in our little Poets Cove

Modern Poet Voices

Female Poets of the Fall


I wish I could find the words right now
To tell you how
I feel inside
On this cold and icy winter’s night

I lie awake in my warm and cosy bed
With a solid roof above my head
While many people brace the biting cold
And hope they had someone to simply hold

Fathers’, mothers’, children, babies’, entire families
Have been divided into such distinctive categories
Searching for love and peace, that is all that they chase
Love and peace may still exist in another time and place

Running through the streets,
the rhythm of their hearts quiver amidst the mess
They try so hard to break out of their little worlds,
but it is all so
Down in the gutter now, they watch as life passes them by
I see how hate and ignorance can make a grown man cry
All their dreams, all their hopes destroyed in the twinkling of an eye

Everyone whom they knew has turned the other cheek,
no one seems to care
Thrown into shelters, some will survive, some will be forced to bare
The pain and the loss in silence as their cries fall on deaf ears
The peace and love that they are searching for may still
take a few more years

Every beat of their heart, tears them further apart
From the place they have called home
They are lost and alone in the dark
It is hard to believe that some of us are forced to attack
It shows in the actions, that is all that counts, this is a fact
Losing all faith, they have no more belief in luck

They are going home to a place where a life for them does not exist
For in this land of ours, it may be difficult to subsist
Some are going to places they have never been to before
They have no choice, they must leave or be forever insecure
We have a choice, we must choose to love, to come to their aid
Hate is a burden to big to bear, it is time our dues are paid

A poem in response to Xenophobic attacks in South Africa May 2008
by Fatima Coovadia
One of the Poets Cove Female Poets of the Fall

All Poems Copyright © 2008 Fatima Coovadia and Adventure Learning Initiatives
All rights reserved

Modern Poet Voices

A Carefree Poets Cove Initiative

To Walk the Roman Road

I had seen a picture
Of a Roman road
Crossing quiet fields.
It appealed to the romantic
In me
So I wanted
To walk it.

My Italian was just good enough
To grasp the directions she gave
And the sign had just enough paint
To be read.
The road was too rough for the car
So we walked wondering
When this artifact would appear.
We saw
Structures carved into the cliff.
A couple appeared
And took us with them
Along a track
Down a steep ravine
And up into
An ancient world.

So there
I walked
Where history had swept
The feet of ages
And sensed the strange silence
Even in ancient times
Of the tombs that lined the road.
There I joined the throng
For my own brief
Moment in history.

A poem of history
by Michael Corcoran
One of the Poets Cove Carefree Poets

All Poems Copyright © 2008 Michael Corcoran and Adventure Learning Initiatives
All rights reserved

Poems by Famous Poets

Free Poets Cove Poetry Archive

you shall above all things...

you shall above all things be glad and young
For if you're young, whatever life you wear

it will become you; and if you are glad
whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need:
i can entirely her only love

whose any mystery makes every man's
flesh put space on; and his mind take off time

that you should ever think, may god forbid
and (in his mercy) your true lover spare:
for that way knowledge lies, the foetal grave
called progress, and negation's dead undoom.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance

ee cummings

this is the garden: colours come and go

this is the garden: colours come and go,
frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing
strong silent greens serenely lingering,
absolute lights like baths of golden snow.
This is the garden: pursed lips do blow
upon cool flutes within wide glooms, and sing
(of harps celestial to the quivering string)
invisible faces hauntingly and slow.

This is the garden. Time shall surely reap
and on Death's blade lie many a flower curled,
in other lands where other songs be sung;
yet stand They here enraptured, as among
The slow deep trees perpetual of sleep
some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.

ee cummings

may my heart always be open to little

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

ee cummings

somewhere i have never traveled

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

ee cummings

when faces called flowers float out of the ground

when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
-it's april (yes, april; my darling) it's spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together)

when every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving-
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
-alive; we're alive, dear: it's (kiss me now) spring!
now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
now the little fish quiver so you and so i
(now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

when more than was lost has been found has been found
and having is giving and giving is living-
but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
-it's spring (all our night becomes day) o, it's spring!
all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
(all the mountains are dancing; are dancing)

ee cummings

Enter the Magic Theatre...

We hope you enjoyed the Poets Cove. The Poets Cove is an Adventure Learning Initiative. We pay it forward with various forums for you to exhibit your art and share by mentoring...

Only Love
The Adventure Learning Poetesses and Poets

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Submit your poetry to the Poets Cove

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