The devout have laid out gardens in the desert.
quote by Robert Duncan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Desert Rose
Words and music by sting
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
I dream of fire
Those dreams that tie two hearts that will never die
And near the flames
The shadows play in the shape of the mans desire
This desert rose
Whose shadow bears the secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume that would torture you more than this
And now she turns
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams
This fire burns
I realize that nothings as it seems
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
I dream of rain
I lift my gaze to empty skies above
I close my eyes
The rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of love
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
Sweet desert rose
Whose shadow bears the secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume that would torture you more than this
Sweet desert rose
This memory of hidden hearts and souls
This desert flower
This rare perfurme is the sweet intoxication of love
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Think again
What lies beyond we do not know.
Deaths portal opens, we pass through,
no one returns though many go.
Most are convinced that this is true.
Though priest of all regions teach
that paradise is within our reach.
If only for the favoured few
who do as the priests tell them to.
The gardens where the waters flow
are where the devout Muslims go.
The Christians have a different tale
for their devout who do not fail.
We are brain washed in early youth
with different versions of the truth.
All men are prone to self deceive
and free to choose what they believe.
I just accept I do not know
and will not 'til it’s time to go
through that portal perhaps to find.
Heaven and Hell are states of mind.
Paradise or purgatory
are merely stories told by men.
Belief is not obligatory.
Perchance you need to think again.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Tree in the Desert
A tree in the desert thirsts for water
A tree in the desert gets too much sun
A tree in the desert is alone in the freezing night
A tree in the desert might never be seen
A tree in the desert might never be touched
A tree in the desert may or may not thrive
A tree in the desert struggles to stay alive
poem by Leo Valencia
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Quit My Gardens, O Crows!
quit my gardens, o crows!
&
o noisy quarrelsome crows!
quit my gardens-
o birds of all feathers!
of different melodies!
of lonely bushes and thickets!
of far-away lands!
come here! visit me!
grace my gardens and groves!
nay, all yours, your heavens!
no, ours!
sing singly; sing in chorus!
melt in sorrowful strains;
and in joyous tunes!
but o hoarse-throated crows!
vacate my gardens
and retreat to the forest!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Philosophers Bones
He’s given them all to a Desert Man
Underdog bitten holes of the head
He’s given them all to a Desert Man
Unleashed sunflower sunward led
He’s given them all to a Desert Man
In windblown power the dinas bled
He’s given them all to a Desert Man
Like tears in the desert rose shed
Stone alone atoned in the last sand clock
Soul alone attained keyed within the lock
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Foundation Stone
Would to be a foundation stone.
In soon to be to be
erected coming temple of man.
Rare are sculptured stones
wide be selected scattered
which may be laid be laid
to build what must be eventually.
Across lonely empty land
can a man rise
can he grow above
deceit deceptive human insight?
Would that I could withstand
remain in cleansing desert
for too numerous are snares.
Set in devious parts of city
lurking in blind alleyway. How
few have strength will
or reactions to avoid.
Life is hard and chokes
the feeble the weak the poor.
But desert sands have a mighty hunger
which would feast on flayed flesh
while its thirst is awesome
would drink very breath of being.
Could suck a succulent soul
to mere dry brittle bones
fit to be gnawed devoured
only by scavenging rats vermin.
In despoiled desert is not shame
burned by scourging sun
which flays fevered flesh
till it be black and lifeless?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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No Cell-phones During Office Hours
‘The Rise and Function of the
Holy Man during Late Antiquity’
might sound as dry as desert sand,
or equally, excuse the pun, deserted…
but no, it holds a lively story:
the Christian world, gearing up
to tell the AD/CE world the bestest news;
the fervent, eager converts, wanting only
the time to cultivate their fledgling souls…
so where to retreat for this – the monasteries, of course..
wrong. The monasteries became compulsory
recruiting grounds for Church and for society:
a deacon needed for a distant land
to sort out heresies; an emissary
from this Christian nation’s court to that;
monks dragged out into the world
to rule unwieldy bishoprics…
administer, endlessly administer...
so the totally devout had no option
but to set off and become solitaries, hermits
further and further into the desert..there,
became holier and holier; then, accidentally, perhaps,
miracles began to be spoken of, around them;
they, half embarrassed, half amused,
accepting this as God’s strange requirement of them…
and then the wannabees and the true disciples
trekked after them; bedded down, built lodgings
for their devout B&B-ers, or
stayed to tend to the submissive saint;
consulted, questioned, hung around;
until finally, the patient but exhausted saint
took off for an even wilder place…
that’s why there are so many
monasteries in the desert lands…
meanwhile, advice from their superiors,
concerned for them, then followed them:
black out your window embrasures; put up notices
at the gate: ‘This is a silent zone between the hours
of 8 am and 8 pm’… (that should test their faith...): and
‘No talking during Lent’…
and when they trekked out to be in that sacred presence
of the truly holy man, they naturally brought gifts;
(and you can guess, there were lines which could be lifted
from ‘The Life of Brian’ – ‘I suppose a smallish miracle
would be too much to ask…? ’
It’s said that when they excavate,
those lonely hermits’ cells out in the desert are found
to be ‘like well-furnished consulting suites’…
There’s no joke like a holy joke…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Down by the Salley Gardens
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
poem by William Butler Yeats from The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems (1889)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Desert Rats
Desert rats
Take cover in the heat,
They know what to toss
And what to keep -
They skillfully hide under big sombreros
And down lots of water,
They've learned well when to sit, and when to quit,
When to stay, and when to scatter -
The desert calls them
Right to the edge of existence;
But, too wise are they, any foolish games to play,
For in the desert they have found the art of survival is patience -
Listen close my friends for the divine desert to call you...
By all means, come and see,
But, with eyes wide open tread slowly
Following the tracks of wise old desert rats...
Just like me.
(this is for my pal Juan O. A fellow 'desert rat'!)
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Laburnums
OVER old walls the Laburnums
hang cones of fire;
Laburnums that grow out of old
mould in old gardens:
Old maids and old men who have savings or pensions have
Shuttered themselves in the pales of old gardens.
The gardens grow wild; out of their mould the Laburnums
Draw cones of fire.
And we, who've no lindens, no palms, no cedars of Lebanon,
Rejoice you have gardens with mould, old men and old maids:
The bare and the dusty streets have now the Laburnums,
Have now cones of fire!
poem by Padraic Colum
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These gardens may be called the gardens of the respectable working classes.
quote by Robert Fortune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Desert Serenade
(words & music by stan gelber)
Come here my serenade, my desert serenade
A lovers melody, to bring you close to me
Its a tender lullaby, born of golden sand and sky
The song is new, and its calling you
Tonight beside the desert palms
Come let me take you in my arms
Come here my serenade, my desert serenade
Wherever lovers dwell, it weaves its magic spell
Soon a thousand dreams will start,
And romance will fill your heart
My lips conceal, love thats warm and real
Give me a chance to hold you near
Youll see a brand new world appear
So come and hear, my desert serenade, my desert serenade,
My desert serenade
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost Horizons
The last horizons I can see are filled with bars and factories
And in them all we fight to stay awake...
Drink enough of anything to make this world look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
She had nothing left to say so she said she loved me
I stood there grateful for the lie...
Drink enough of anything to make this girl look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
Turn summer trees to bones and ice
Turn insect songs against the night
With words we build and words we break
Im drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves...
Drink enough of anything to make myself look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
song performed by by Gin Blossoms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Embracing the Roses
Crisp blue sky
Parks
The night
Their love
Rustled
In dewy
Greening gardens
…unobserved
(Mountaintop Gardens, Tennessee
July 27,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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Questions to Desert Wind…
You wonder,
Did the desert wind already forgotten to past?
No dearest, it has always blown so gently…
Crafting this dry open desert,
Shifting mystical sand dunes,
Bringing precious droplets to a thirsty bird,
To comfort her broken heart!
You further asked,
O desert wind…
Why erased my written message in the sand?
So let it be a permanent secret,
Cause I have already engraved it in my heart.
poem by Desert Life
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My Texas Desert Heaven
There's no tree,
As far as I can see,
The cactus are always green.
There's alot of sand,
But oh man,
This is my Texas desert heaven.
The stars are nice and bright,
The moon shines over desert sky at night,
That's My Texas desert night.
It's like being in Heaven,
When it rains it smells so great.
This is where my heart roams and stays,
This is My Texas Desert Heaven.
poem by Christina Muniz
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I Went Down into the Desert
I went down into the desert
To meet Elijah—
Arisen from the dead.
I thought to. find him in an echoing cave;
For so my dream had said.
I went down into the desert
To meet John the Baptist.
I walked with feet that bled,
Seeking that prophet lean and brown and bold.
I spied foul fiends instead.
I went down into the desert
To meet my God.
By him be comforted.
I went down into the desert
To meet my God.
And I met the devil in red.
I went down into the desert
To meet my God.
O, Lord my God, awaken from the dead!
I see you there, your thorn-crown on the ground,
I see you there, half-buried in the sand.
I see you there, your white bones glistening, bare,
The carrion-birds a-wheeling round your head.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Rusholme Ruffians
The last night of the fair
By the big wheel generator
A boy is stabbed
And his money is grabbed
And the air hangs heavy like a dulling wine
She is famous
She is funny
An engagement ring
Doesn't mean a thing
To a mind consumed by brass (money)
And though i walk home alone
Though i walk home alone
My faith in love is still devout
The last night of the fair
From a seat on a whirling waltzer
Her skirt ascends for a watching eye
It's a hideous trait (on her mother's side)
From a seat on a whirling waltzer
Her skirt ascends for a watching eye
A hideous trait (on her mother's side)
And though i walk home alone
I might walk home alone ...
... but my faith in love is still devout
Then someone falls in love
And someone's beaten up
Someone's beaten up
And the senses being dulled are mine
And someone falls in love
And someone's beaten up
And the senses being dulled are mine
And though i walk home alone
I might walk home alone ...
... but my faith in love is still devout
This is the last night of the fair
And the grease in the hair
Of a speedway operator
Is all a tremulous heart requires
A schoolgirl is denied
She says : "how quickly would i die
If i jumped from the top of the parachutes ?"
La ...
This is the last night of the fair
And the grease on the hair
Of a speedway operator
Is all a tremulous heart requires
A schoolgirl is denied
She says : "how quickly would i die
If i jumped from the top of the parachutes ?"
So ... scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen
(this means you really love me)
Scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen
(this means you really love me)
And though i walk home alone
Though i walk home alone
My faith in love is still devout
Though i walk home alone
My faith in love is still devout
Though i walk home alone
My faith in love is still devout
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soldier Of Fortune
laid my weapons down
today, had one too many
days of spite.
laid my hands down
today, they carressed
one head too few.
laid my soul down
today, had I only been
wiser. Sooner...
Laid my body down
today. I ain't gonna be
nobody's soldier no more.
June,2012
poem by Aleksandra Spaseska
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The Garden
A Garden contemplation suits,
And may instruction yield,
Sweeter than all the flow'rs and fruits
With which the spot is filled.
Eden was Adam's dwelling place,
While blest with innocence;
But sin o'erwhelmed him with disgrace,
And drove the rebel thence.
Oft as the garden-walk we tread,
We should bemoan his fall;
The trespass of our legal head
In ruin plunged us all.
The garden of Gethsemane,
The second Adam saw,
Oppressed with woe, to set us free
From the avenging law.
How stupid we, who can forget,
With gardens in our sight,
His agonies and bloody sweat,
In that tremendous night.
His church as a fair garden stands,
Which walls of love enclose;
Each tree is planted by his hand,
And by his blessing grows.
Believing hearts are gardens too,
For grace has sown its seeds;
Where once, by nature, nothing grew
But thorns and worthless weeds.
Such themes to those who Jesus love,
May constant joys afford;
And make a barren desert prove
The garden of the Lord.
poem by John Newton
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