There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons-- That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes--
quote by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There's a certain Slant of light (258)
There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us--
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are--
None may teach it--Any--
'Tis the Seal Despair--
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air--
When it comes, the Landscape listens--
Shadows--hold their breath--
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death--
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Oppressionist
There’s a man who oppresses
You can tell by the way he dresses
That he cleans up all of his messes
Whenever he oppresses
Prejudice is what he does
Against all mankind who isn’t like him
The same skin color or bite size
He’s the man who oppresses
And he never makes second guesses
About who he oppresses
They call him the oppressionist
The man who commits
Prejudice
That’s what he does to live
And there’s not one day that he won’t miss
Of being an oppressionist
He’ll yell at you if your hair’s not like his
He’ll persecute you if you aren’t perfect
For this oppressionist
Will disregard anyone who’s not like him
poem by Alex Fischer
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Passion
The keys to notes play tunes of loss,
Tunes of longing, tunes of blues.
'Til metal enshrouding the air does trump with
Tunes of longing, tunes of blues.
Wood and string provide a base for
Tunes of longing, tunes of blues.
Encased in brass belong the bones of
Tunes of longing, tunes of blues.
Emblems and traps do kick and swear by
Tunes of longing, tunes of blues.
Until laughter disturbs this sweet eden,
My tortured soul lies bare.
I leave my emotions encapsulated
In sonic vibrations of air.
The tunes of longing and tunes of blues
Are played until the eve
When players no longer respect their tears
And thus, themselves, deceive.
poem by Liam O'Brien
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Ode on Winter
The Whispering wind blows beside me,
And the chirping birds softly sing their song,
The living leaves of Gaia no longer we see,
As winter has come and it seeks to live long.
The tunes of winter sung by wolves,
And its liveliness’ shown by fog,
The dance of winter preformed by ghouls,
Oh winter, thy shall now have thy own synagogue.
poem by Aditya Mudbhary
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For All The Words Dished Up - Two For Emily Dickinson
1
For all the words dished up,
A plate without meat. Maybe, bone.
No love fattened you,
never used your flesh.
Green as grass you stayed.
Dauntless, no narrow fellow passed.
2
This talk of death, dear Emily,
I know it intimately - plain talk
describes it best, as you know,
this Mystery grotesque -
concreteness like tombs hard in
the eye or that slant of light
obscured by a fly.
OK. It's done now. And ever will be,
for all the words in green
afternoons cannot evade mortality -
and soul no more than that butterfly be,
I laugh to call it Eternity that waits
beneath this plank, that other room
where a coach kindly stopped,
dropped you, yellow wing, still and
dark, now daunted and alone.
poem by Warren Falcon
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Cathedral Close for Friend Ben Gieske
When night falls on Cathedral Close.
The square is thronged by quiet ghosts
Who line the square on every side
their graves left empty yawning wide.
What is it that they hope to find?
Some salve to give them peace of mind
Why do they stand in silent ranks?
and seek to clear their memory banks.
The sins which will not let them sleep
the guilty secrets which they keep,
weigh on the conscience heavily.
and won’t be rid of easily.
When twilight falls the dead arise.
Each from the grave he occupies
and gather in Cathedral Close.
They seek forgiveness I suppose.
When morning breaks they flee in fright
they fear the coming of the light.
Cathedral close lit by the sun
is quite empty the ghosts have gone.
Back to their graves where they must wait
and in the darkness meditate.
Upon the sins they won’t confess
In agonising sleeplessness.
If only they would realise
within themselves forgiveness lies.
They do not need to stand in rows
When night falls on Cathedral Close.
Triumphantly they could take flight
and wing their way towards the light.
They should have done so long ago
. But guilt refused to let them go.
Why do they stay when they are free
to me it is a mystery
Why do they haunt Cathedral close?
They know no better I suppose.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sunday Afternoons
I sit at home
at my desk alone
as I used to do
on many sunday afternoons
when you came back to me,
your arms ached for me,
and your arms would close me in
though they smelled of other women.
I think of you
on Sunday afternoons.
Your sweet head would bow,
like a child somehow,
down to me -
and your hair and your eyes were wild.
We would embrace on the floor-
You see my back´s still sore.
You knew how easily I bruised,
It´s a soreness I would never lose.
I think of you
on Sunday afternoons.
poem by Erica Jong
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I do very few standards. Hardly any. Other people's tunes that I do are usually obscure tunes, for the most part, although I do a couple of Duke Ellington tunes that are well known.
quote by Mose Allison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Winter Message
A flake of snow in flurry thro’ the air
Had landed as a kiss upon my cheek:
A secret message, just for me to share;
To take to heart but never dare to speak
About or presuppose to other eyes
Your open feelings – distant though they are.
And so, upon your lips, my OWN surprise:
A flake of snow returned from me afar.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
winter winter winter winter icy winter
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Cathedral Spires
They have blown away the daylight hours we had
Left a leagcy, a deadly aftermath
We cannot exist in godforsaken lands
As we spiral down into oblivion
Breathing the fumes of fires that they ignite
Losing ground and we are all just losing sight
We shall never see another setting sun
Time to rise up and ascend, the end has come
No more willpower
Choked by hell fire
Darkness above
Blackening out the sun
Gripped by steel claws
Corrosion eating us
So before were all devoured
Time to rise up and retire
In cathedral spires
Watching as the world expires
From up amongst the clouds
In cathedral spires
No names
No graves
No prayers
Can save us
Ashes to dust
Doomsdays upon us now
It cannot be stopped
Genocide all is lost
Oh! were so tired
Time to rise up and conspire
In cathedral spires
Watching as our world expires
From up above the clouds
In cathedral spires
Jaws of corruption
Swallow us as one
Consuming every nation
Evoke resistance getting none
Complete disintegration
No good to defend
There can be but one outcome
We are no more - ascend
Vaporized fury
Offers no sanctuary
Oh! were so tired
Time to rise up and retire
In cathedral spires
Watching as the world expires
From up amongst the clouds
In cathedral
In cathedral spires
Oh! were so tired
Watching the world expire
Time that we retire
Up in cathedral spires
Oh! were so tired
Watching the world expire
Time that we retire
Up in cathedral spires
Oh! were so tired
Watching the world expire
Time that we retire
Up in cathedral spires
Oh! were so tired
Watching the world expire
Time that we retire
Up in cathedral spires
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hidden Dreams
It's awesome
The summer brings perpetual light.
The birds are around all the time
singing their pretty tunes.
All summer through the flowers bloom.
The garden veggies grow huge.
In winter, when it's dark,
there are the Northern Lights
dancing across the sky
in a rainbow of colour;
our sweet delights.
The snow cover is beautiful.
You can relax and enjoy its peacefulness.
The dark of winter doesn't bother me at all
nor does the daylight of summer.
Alaska! Hidden dreams.
poem by Ruth Walters
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16 (From, Picture Poems 5)
Frail season
returning
winter's fingers
running through
those gray eyes
lovely afternoons
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Soft White
When the sea is as grey as her eyes
On these days for sure &nb sp;the soft white
mist blown in from the ocean &n bsp;the town dissolving
It all adds up ;her bare shoulders
Nakedness ; rolling in from the sea
on winter afternoons - a fine rain
looking down on the sand &nb sp;& shingle
the waves breaking on the shore &n bsp;& white
It is impossible to deny what
taken by surprise ; then wonder
the many details of her body
to be held first now &nbs p;then later
In body & mind &nb sp;the fine rain outside
on winter afternoons &nb sp; the nakedness
of her bare shoulders &nbs p; as grey as her eyes
the sea rushing up the beach as white as
The whole outline called 'geography'
meeting at a set of erotic points
lips shoulders&n bsp; breasts &n bsp;stomach
the town dissolves &nbs p; sex thighs &n bsp; legs
Outside &n bsp; then across her nakedness
it rains in the afternoon &nbs p; then the wonder
her body so young & firm &nb sp;dissolves the town
in winter & nbsp;grey as her eyes
poem by Lee Harwood
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Instant Tunes
Instant tunes only just been made
Instant songs never to be played
Instant tunes hanging out to dry
Let me try to introduce you to
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
Ever and ever will they give us pleasure
Their instant, still instant
Like mother used to make it -- oh!
Instant tunes give instant cash
Make me want to start a backlash
Let me have the recipe
And make me some lovely, lovely
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
Ever and ever will they give us pleasure
Their instant, still instant
Like mother used to make it -- oh!
Ever and ever will they give us pleasure
Their instant, still instant
Like mother used to make it -- oh!
Instant tunes give instant cash
Make me want to start a backlash
Let me have the recipe
And make me some lovely, lovely
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
Instant tunes
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strings Of My Heart
On the keys of a piano,
your fingers play upon the strings of my heart.
Such music fills my soul,
with your sweet notes.
You are the central 'essence' of me,
although we are, so far apart.
Your love vibrates with clarity,
as if a great concerto, is playing, in some vast auditorium.
A symphony floats within my head,
and I hear this 'love' of yours,
it plays my tunes,
and resounds around my 'staccato' afternoons.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Sea Slant
On up the sea slant,
On up the horizon,
The ship limps.
The bone of her nose fog-gray,
The heart of her sea-strong,
She came a long way,
She goes a long way.
On up the sea slant,
On up the horizon,
She limps sea-strong, fog-gray
She is a green-lit night gray.
She comes and goes in sea-fog.
Up the horizon slant she limps.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Ear Plug World
you watch
the facade of this
red
cathedral,
you know what is
deep inside it
you love every part
of this
red cathedral
you shall be the
tongue
and the caressing
hands
you keep within yourself
that moan
for glory
if someone up there hears it
you shall be
in trouble
it is an ear plug
world
after all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Winter Sinfonia
The storm is coming soon
It rolls in from the sea
But your voice is a beacon in the night
And I can hear all the kind words that you are saying my friend
But your light will always shine in the sky at night during the winter
The winter is cold and it gives me the shivers all through my body
This is the winter
That will carry me to you
And I know that you will be waiting for me on the other side of the frozen lake when God delivers me on earthagainduring this winter
Is your love alive during the winter?
Is your love alive during the winter?
This is the winter
February never felt so right
But I am where I belong
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Tin-Whistle Player
'Tis long since, long since, since I heard
A tin-whistle played,
And heard the tunes, the ha'penny tunes
That nobody made!
The tunes that were before Cendfind
And Cir went Ireland's rounds
That were before the surety
That strings have given sounds!
And now is standing in the mist,
And jigging backward there,
Shrilling with fingers and with breath,
A tin-whistle player!
He has hare's eyes, a long face rimmed
Around with badger-grey;
Aimless, like cries of mountain birds
The tunes he has to play
The tunes that are for stretches bare,
And men whose lives are lone
And I had seen that face of his
Sculptured on cross of stone,
That long face, in a place of graves
With nettles overgrown.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Icy Moons.
Dark.
Nostalgic
Fireside afternoons.
Time lets us
Replay those tunes.
But
Comes back to haunt us
With icy moons.
Throwing beams
Stowing dreams.
To relive again
Love and pain.
And kisses
That we missed.
Misses
That we kissed.
Behind the dunes.
Now swept away.
Night mocks the day
As memory swoons.
To icy moons.
Kevin East.
poem by Kevin East
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