One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever came to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way.
quote by Vincent Van Gogh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever come to sit by it. Passersby see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on the way.
quote by Vincent Van Gogh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.
quote by Vincent Van Gogh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There may be a great fire in our hearts, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.
quote by Vincent Van Gogh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I would rather see smoke from my own chimney than the fire on another's hearth.
Smoke
smoke from the chimney
rises to the sky
and then gone
like us, did you not notice?
we are from here
this heart and then in pain
we rise up
we mix in space
there, do you see still us?
i do not see me anymore
i am fog dissolving in the morning
i am mist dissipating on glass
i am smoke
rising to the sky from the chimney
and then gone....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cold Of The Day
A wisp of smoke from a chimney
drifts high up in the sky.
A small bird wings it south
through a cloudy sky.
A pale sun smiles
through the cold of the day
as people walk around
wishing they were far away,
lying on some warm
sun kissed isle.
Where palm trees sway
instead of walking around
on a cold winter’s day.
poem by David Harris
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What The Chimney Sang
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Woman stopped, as her babe she tossed,
And thought of the one she had long since lost,
And said, as her teardrops back she forced,
'I hate the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Children said, as they closer drew,
'`Tis some witch that is cleaving the black night through,
`Tis a fairy trumpet that just then blew,
And we fear the wind in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
And the Man, as he sat on his hearth below,
Said to himself, 'It will surely snow,
And fuel is dear and wages low,
And I`ll stop the leak in the chimney.'
Over the chimney the night-wind sang
And chanted a melody no one knew;
But the Poet listened and smiled, for he
Was Man and Woman and Child, all three,
And said, 'It is God`s own harmony,
This wind we hear in the chimney.'
poem by Francis Bret Harte
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When The Smoke Comes Out
when the smoke comes out
they are there to say that there is fire
on the chimney
when the smoke is black
they all say i have decided
when the smoke is white
they keep on praying since
no one is chosen
to lead the lost flock
without their grazing ground
during winter time
what if the smoke comes out
from my eyes and the smoke is black
and there is no fire in my heart?
what if i am lost? shall you care?
please don't. I must tell you i am happier
when left alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Flash of Life
I don't remember those days
That room has been re-painted
So many times since then
In so many different ways
She just vanished in the air
Like a wisp of smoke circling
Swirling, then gone forever
I never thought I would care
Her smile was all too fleeting
It became a speck of dust
Landing somewhere on the floor
The proof was my heart beating
Then I peeked into that room
There was no paint on those walls
A wisp became her in flesh
And she smiled at me, her groom
A snap and seventy years
I never saw her again
Anywhere or anytime
She left me with just my tears
poem by Paul H Nelson
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Wisp of love
O' wisp of love
so delicate,
barely
discernable
burgeoning cautiously
perhaps
predetermined
by fate
O' wisp of love
cries out
to be heard
regardless of
it's destiny,
irrational as it may be
O' wisp of love
refuses to be still
ever stirring within us
which ever way it befalls
it will be....
it must be.
T. Labbe`
A Child
Little wisp of wonderment,
All the world your doll!
Hugging it in huge content,
Little wisp of wonderment;
Life has only laughter sent—
Everything is droll:
Little wisp of wonderment,
All the world your doll.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Hidden smoke is a friend indeed
'If they pick I have some words for a country sad song.
Yes, If they sing I hear quietly.'
A rising smoke from a cottage chimney whispers to the barren sky.
'They burn the happiness and it turns into smoke.
Where do I go nobody knows?
But don't be frightened
I never pollute the sky and I promise you to bring rain for your crops to smile
And feed you in a severe drought.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Dispossessed
Tender and tremulous green of leaves
Turned up by the wind,
Twanging among the vines -
Wind in the grass
Blowing a clear path
For the new-stripped soul to pass…
The naked soul in the sunlight…
Like a wisp of smoke in the sunlight
On the hill-side shimmering.
Dance light on the wind, little soul,
Like a thistle-down floating
Over the butterflies
And the lumbering bees…
Come away from that tree
And its shadow grey as a stone…
Bathe in the pools of light
On the hillside shimmering -
Shining and wetted and warm in the sun-spray falling like golden rain -
But do not linger and look
At that bleak thing under the tree.
poem by Lola Ridge
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That Smoke!
you smell like skin,
rain damp fresh plowed earth.
the ball in the glove,
the hammer strikes the nail.
and i know about fire,
love cries and hot wetness.
the frenzied clutch of fingers,
the gasp and the tremor.
the old wood stove,
in the corner radiates,
you feed it logs,
split by time's axe.
till drunk with sleep,
both dreamless and forgotten.
you turn your back
to a final wisp of smoke...
i am that smoke!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wil-O-the-Wisp
Enchanted Wil-O-The Wisp Wanderer
You cannot escape his sea-blue
Eyes View
For set in water they are
Upon this beautiful form
Of You
Cladden In White Chantilly Lace
A flowing gown of floral crochet
But somewhat sheer in certain light
Seen in his eye near the bay
You walk along the sands O' time
Upon the shorelines
Passing Scene
O' enchanted Wil-O-The-Wisp Wanderer
You are the woman of his dreams
His sea of blue eyes come calling
Beckoning you away from the shore
Perhaps, anew, A Mermaid borne
And a Wil -O- The- Wisp Wanderer
No More
poem by Theodora Onken
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Gifts For The Soul
a poet is only an ear,
and a naked pen...
becomes less,
when he has a name,
even less a title.
the best lay down
their pens and
pick up shovels,
turning the earth in
stillness, season by season.
open the windows
and doors to the heart,
and sweep out the trash.
leaving gifts for the soul,
the tiny droppings of birds,
that just took flight...
a small mound of ashes,
a tiny wisp of smoke!
the imprint of a kiss
on lips long grown cold!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Authors want their names down in history; I want to keep the smoke coming out of the chimney.
quote by Mickey Spillane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A wayfarer seeks his ancestors in a tombless graveyard
Poverty ornamental brewing soul walks in the Pepper tree lane
And a far away tall chimney carries off smoke to the wistful sky
Like his wistful thinking.
Hardly he got into an omnipotent bus that goes to an unreal destiny.
I would like this to be windswept, if I know the whereabouts of the songbird Susie.Gharib?
*[ They have pierced my hands and my feet, they have counted all my bones.]
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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November still day
Peaceful chimney smoke shimmer
Fox spoors on new snow
haiku by Oskar Hansen
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Recovery Disc
i know what you are up to.
i know that you do not forget pain and i know that that pain is still there and no matter how you hide it
it comes like smoke from an old
dirty chimney
and at winter time it shows all the black soot
the gray smoke from the house
to the sky
i know that when you invite me you do not really mean to please me.
you just want to show the changes in the house
the rearrangement of the furniture
it no longer the rose in the vase but
a carnation
that you say is loved by another
but not you
i know what you are up to but i have already prepared myself for that
in my heart i must tell you
pain has no bed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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