There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.
quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wings
That Love has wings the poets say;
White wings where lights and shadows play,
Swift wings, that sail from shore to shore,
From sea to sea, or lightly soar
To happy Edens far away.
Where'er they gleam the world grows gay,
December smiles, and rosy May
With fluttering transport feels once more
That Love has wings.
But Youth is fond, and hearts are clay,
And faults deceive, and doubts betray,
And some forget the winning lore
That drew the blessing to their door,
And learn too late—ah, well-a-day!—
That Love has wings.
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If I Had Wings
Open inside something about this pain
Theres something about this sweet refrain
Reminds me that youre not there
And if I could care theres something about this curse
Like a needle inside a silken purse
Reminds me of all that youd bring
If I had wings
Im still standing
Blue mountain high
Only the fables get to fly
Without these words theres no reason why
It reminds me of all that you bring
If I had wings
Would like to teach myself
If I had wings
Would learn to stir myself
If I had wings
Strapped inside wont be denied
Nightmare brings
All that you said
And if I could fly
Long time saviour
Thats the sinners crime
Well without such trust
I know that I can never find
Never find - never find - never find
If I had wings
If I had wings
Im still standing
Never find - never find - never find
Open inside something about this pain
Theres something about this sweet refrain
Reminds me that youre not there
And if I could care theres something about this curse
Like a needle inside a silken purse
Reminds me of all that youd bring
If I had wings
If I had wings
If I had wings
If I had wings
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love's Phases
Love hath the wings of the butterfly,
Oh, clasp him but gently,
Pausing and dipping and fluttering by
Inconsequently.
Stir not his poise with the breath of a sigh;
Love hath the wings of the butterfly.
Love hath the wings of the eagle bold,
Cling to him strongly--
What if the look of the world be cold,
And life go wrongly?
Rest on his pinions, for broad is their fold;
Love hath the wings of the eagle bold.
Love hath the voice of the nightingale,
Hearken his trilling--
List to his song when the moonlight is pale,--
Passionate, thrilling.
Cherish the lay, ere the lilt of it fail;
Love hath the voice of the nightingale.
Love hath the voice of the storm at night,
Wildly defiant.
Hear him and yield up your soul to his might,
Tenderly pliant.
None shall regret him who heed him aright;
Love hath the voice of the storm at night.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Too Late
WHEN Love, sweet Love, was tangled in my snare
I clipped his wings, and dressed his cage with flowers,
Made him my little joy for little hours,
And fed him when I had a song to spare.
And then I saw how good life's good things were,
The kingdoms and the glories and the powers.
Flowers grew in sheaves and stars were shed in showers,
And, when the great things wearied, Love was there.
But when, within his cage, one winter day
I found him lying still with folded wings,
No longer fluttering, eager to be fed--
Kingdoms and powers and glories passed away,
And of life's countless, precious, priceless things
Nothing was left but Love--and Love was dead!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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September Showers (Alliteration Poem)
Bronze bells' breeze of September showers,
Freezing fluttering fragile flowers,
Tearing the time's tide tactile sense
May leave long love's lighting lance in tense.
Crying colors of cold old castles,
Stroke their sticky sounds without hassles,
Slipping silken sad sun into clouds
Hide misty murmuring meadow shrouds.
Dancing rain drops like bright blue bubbles,
Big black birds bringing flying troubles,
Wild winds waving their wet wings around
Ghostly green gird up for glassy ground.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The Poet To His Love
ALL the flight of thoughts here, shy, bold, scared, intrusive,
Fluttering in the sun, between the green and blue,
Wheeling, whirling, poising, lovely and elusive,
How to cage the flying thoughts, my winged delight, for you?
Set a springe of rhyme, and hope to catch them in it?
Strew my love as grain to lure them to the snare?
Watch the hours built up, slow minute piled on minute?
Still the wide sky guards their flight, and still the cage is bare.
Gleam of hovering feathers, brushing me to flout me!
Wings, be weary! Rest! Who loves you more than I?
Caught? Oh fluttering pinions whitening air about me!
Rustling wings, and distant flight, and empty cage and sky!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Wings Of The Night
Wings of the night
Shimmering light
Passes over the moon.
Like some silent
Spiritual tune.
That ballerina
Of my soul
Pirouettes
Across the stage.
Lit by the sleeping rage
Of the sun.
Was this
How love begun.
Wings of the night
Fluttering white.
Against blue canvas
Of eternal sky.
Only angels
Fly so high.
Lending smiles
To stars that cry.
Heaven's candles
Burning low.
Is this
What fate did throw
Into a swirling
Midnight show.
Wings of the night
Fanned out.
Coloured bright.
Glide
On glacier white
Dawn.
When love's hope is reborn.
Watch the skies.
For that elusive sprite.
Magic flies
On the wings of the night.
poem by Kevin East
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Seeds with wings, between earth and sky
Seeds with wings, between earth and sky
Fluttering, flying;
Seeds of a lily with blood-red core
Breathing of myrrh and of giroflore:
Where winds drop them there must they lie,
Living or dying.
Some to the garden, some to the wall,
Fluttering, falling;
Some to the river, some to earth:
Those that reach the right soil get birth;
None of the rest have lived at all.—
Whose voice is calling:
'Here is soil for winged seeds that near,
Fluttering, fearing,
Where they shall root and burgeon and spread.
Lacking the heart-room the song lies dead:
Half is the song that reaches the ear,
Half is the hearing '?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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The Flowering Orchard
Silk Embroidery.
Lo silken my garden,
and silken my sky,
And silken my apple-boughs
hanging on high;
All wrought by the Worm
in the peasant carle’s cot
On the Mulberry leafage
when summer was hot!
poem by William Morris
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The Green Starling
When you look at the green starling
it screams in the long grass,
gleams green in the morning dew
and catches your eye
as it comes out of a hole, out of a tree,
as it picks up insects at a small stream
as it comes out,
as it comes out
as if caught in your daydream.
When you look at the green starling
it sparkles here and there
as if it sometimes is holding onto rays
and it warbles
stretches out under the sun,
view it as a red balloon
stretches out
stretches out
and it would fly away if it could.
When you look at the green starling
it pecks at a sorrel
when at times it holds onto a big worm
before it sings a song of joy
flies up fluttering, spreading its wings
and for moments distract you,
flies up fluttering
flies up fluttering
and so a whole mornings swishes past.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Preparation
THE little bird sits in the nest and sings
A shy, soft song to the morning light;
And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.
The song is halting and poor and brief,
And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;
But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,
And the busy bill and the flutter slight
Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Our normal waking consciousness, rational consciousness as we call it, is but one special type of consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from it by the filmiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different.
quote by William James
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butterfly Wings
Butterfly wings
As fluttering brings
The most sensuous touch.
Kisses that thrill.
Our bodies that spill
The perfume of love.
When they tingle so much.
That featherlight ache
Ends in earthquake.
With songs of the soul,
Cried out in the night.
Our eyes set alight
As we burn as one.
That tickle inside
That stings.
Teased by unquenchable bliss.
Oh baby
Those butterfly wings
Of your kiss.
poem by Kevin East
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On The Wings Of Love
Its good to know
I love your love
Which share for way the wind blows
Our guiding light
That would shine on
Through the darkest night
When the world seems like its full of strangers
And I feel as if I lost my way
You lift me up on the wings of love
Taking me highest still with every touch
When ever im weak, honey
You take me there again
On the wings of love
Its all in me
When you hold me
And whisper tenderly
That im the one
You love forever
What else could I want
Even life where we are going changes
And when the dreams I had get swept away
You lift me up on the wings of love
Taking me highest still with every touch
When ever Im weak, honey
You take me there again
On the wings of love
(im flying high)
Its all I need when you hold me close
And you whisper tenderly
On the wings of love
Highest still with every touch
When ever im weak, honey
You take me there again
On the wings of love
You lift me up on the wings of love
Highest still with every touch
When ever Im weak, honey
You take me there again
On the wings of love
On the wings of love
song performed by by Westlife
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And When Some Of The Butterflies Come And Flutter
and when some of the butterflies come fluttering
over my sweet scented jasmines in my garden
i look for the sunlight from the colossal sun
and the enlightenment from the great Pan
and ask what is there left for me to do
the right solution so i may not be also blue
shall i hide my nectar inside my sepal
or shall i open more the colors of my petal
or shall i choose but be one brittle metal?
a caterpillar, younger sister of the butterflies
intervenes upon a feast on one of my leaves says:
hey you, don't be a crab? open up, spread your petals,
go grab the fluttering wings, these are the lonely ones!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One’s potentials
Intuition springs from super consciousness.
Sixth sense is the act of consciousness.
Libido is stored in sub consciousness.
They are dormant in unconsciousness.
All the three types of consciousness are
Present in one at variant degrees.
Accordingly, potentials differ
And influence a man’s personality.
16.12.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Winged
a butterfly
landed
on the lawn
in front of me
fluttering poorly
several times
folding
most beautiful wings
reached out
with my hand
so he or she
could land
felt
that softest touch
saw
as nearby
as never before
that butterfly
showing
those magnificent wings
a few times more
until
folded together
for the last time
feeling speechless
impressed
blessed
with the gift
of sharing those last moments
of a butterfly
now flying
on eternal wings
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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My Sister # 2
I love my sister so dear to my heart,
I love my sister even if we are apart.
She does not feel my love for her,
even though it is so apparent.
She is like an darling angel,
fluttering her graceful wings.
I hope she sees my love one day,
my sister so dear to me.
poem by Cma Andrews
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Psychologically experienced consciousness is therefore no longer pure consciousness; construed Objectively in this way, consciousness itself becomes something transcendent, becomes an event in that spatial world which appears, by virtue of consciousness, to be transcendent.
quote by Edmund Husserl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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a monarch
fluttering its wings
I smell their shape
haiku by Chenou Liu
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