Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain.
quote by John Masefield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beauty
I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain:
I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,
Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.
I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;
But the loveliest thing of beauty God ever has shown to me,
Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.
poem by John Masefield (1910)
Submitted by anonym
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Slow Down
You got it the wrong way round completely
The fact that I love you so
Doesn't make me a fool
One day you just might grow tired of chasing
The end of a rainbow
Your already there you know
So Slow down
Tell me why you're running
Turn round
Let it out keep and keep it coming
Nothing I can do if I can't get to you
Slow day
Remember the day you came to see me
Even that lonely long drive
Couldn't keep us apart
And you opened up to me completely
And you gave me peace of mind
The rest we can leave behind
So Slow down
Tell me why you're running
Turn round let it out and keep it coming
Nothing I can do if I can't get to you
Slow sown
You don't have to hurt yourself
And feel so small
It's so confusing
And you're already there
Slow down
Tell me why you're running
Turn round let it all out keep it coming
Nothing I can do if I can't get to you
Slow down
So slow down
Tell me why you're running
Turn round let it all out and keep it coming
Nothing I can do if I can't get to you
Slow down
Slow down
song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The restaurant chefs in Spain are breaking ground, but in terms of the everyday cooking in Spain I still hear people coming back and saying they were disappointed. I think it's because they're expecting the chef stuff.
quote by Sally Schneider
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I was a Tall Lad
WHEN I was a tall lad with money in my hand,
I'd pots and pans a plenty, and friends about the land.
I'd golden roads in sunshine and silver roads in rain,
And a little gray donkey and a girl out of Spain.
Now I am an old man with rings in my ears,
All too sad for laughter, all too wise for tears.
And the Spanish girl has left me, and the money's coming slow
And the little gray donkey he was lamed long ago.
When I get to heaven where tinkers may be seen,
I'll wear a yellow kerchief and a coat of velveteen,
And out beyond the shining streets I'll take the road again
With a little gray donkey and a girl out of Spain.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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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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The News from the New Grave
I hate coming round again
to this Earth, on re-birth given again
I hate coming home again
as husband for the same woman again
I hate coming pure again
to lose my values once again
I hate coming live again
as nothing lures me of late, again
I hate coming late again
to be loner in the game again
I hate coming back again
missing the tranquil of this solemn GRAVE again
poem by Santhana Louis
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Beauty Is The Poem
BEAUTY IS THE POEM
(At listening to Air on a G String)
Beauty is the poem
The music is the poem
The beauty of the music
Slow and slower
Deep and deeper
Long and longer
Beauty is the poem.
The melody that plays its slow length along
Beauty in the music
Beauty as the poem
Life as beauty
Life as music
Beauty is the poem
And life is the music now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Hazey Jane
Do you curse where you come from,
Do you swear in the night
Will it mean much to you
If I treat you right.
Do you like what you're doing,
Would you do it some more
Or will you stop once and wonder
What you're doing it for.
Hey slow Jane, make sense
Slow, slow, Jane, cross the fence.
Do you feel like a remnant
Of something that's past
Do you find things are moving
Just a little too fast.
Do you hope to find new ways
Of quenching your thirst,
Do you hope to find new ways
Of doing better than your worst.
Hey slow Jane, let me prove
Slow, slow Jane, we're on the move.
Do it for you,
Sure that you would do the same for me one day.
So try to be true,
Even if it's only in your hazey way.
Can you tell if you're moving
With no mirror to see,
If you're just riding a new man
Looks a little like me.
Is it all so confusing,
Is it hard to believe
When the winter is coming
Can you sign up and leave.
Hey slow Jane, live your lie
Slow, slow jane, fly on by.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Slow Dancing
My love is cruel as the night
She steals the sun, and shuts out the light
All of my colors, they turn to blue
Win or lose
She does it slow dancing
Slow dancing
She does it slow...dancing
All night long
Scarlet eyes and a see-through heart
She saw me coming right from the start
She picked me up, but had me down on my knees
Just a beggin her, beggin her please
Take me slow dancing
Slow dancing
She took me slow...dancing
All night long
And I dont know a man
Search for himself in his lovers eyes
No I dont know why a man
Sees the truth but needs the lies
My love is restless as the wind
She moves like a shadow across my skin
She left with my conscience, I dont want it back
It just gets in the way
If you wanna go slow dancing
Slow dancing
She took me slow...dancing
All night long
Slow...dancing
Slow...dancing
Slow...
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ol' Tunes
YOU kin talk about yer anthems
An' yer arias an' sich,
An' yer modern choir-singin'
That you think so awful rich;
But you orter heerd us youngsters
In the times now far away,
A-singin' o' the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
There was some of us sung treble
An' a few of us growled bass,
An' the tide o' song flowed smoothly
With its 'comp'niment o' grace;
There was spirit in that music,
An' a kind o' solemn sway,
A-singin' o' the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
I remember oft o' standin'
In my homespun pantaloons—
On my face the bronze an' freckles
O' the suns o' youthful Junes—
Thinkin' that no mortal minstrel
Ever chanted sich a lay
As the ol' tunes we was singin'
In the ol'-fashioned way.
The boys 'ud always lead ,as,
An' the girls 'ud all chime in,
Till the sweetness o' the singin'
Robbed the list'nin' soul o' sin;
An' I used to tell the parson
'Twas as good to sing as pray,
When the people sung the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
How I long ag'in to hear 'em
Pourin' forth from soul to soul,
With the treble high an' meller,
An' the bass's mighty roll;
But the times is very diff'rent,
An' the music heerd to-day
Ain't the singin' o' the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
Little screechin' by a woman,
Little squawkin' by a man,
Then the organ's twiddle-twaddle,
Jest the empty space to span, —
An' ef you should even think it,
'T isn't proper fur to say
That you want to hear the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
But I think that some bright mornin',
When the toils of life air o'er,
An' the sun o' heaven arisin'
Glads with light the happy shore,
I shall hear the angel chorus,
In the realms of endless day,
A-singin' o' the ol' tunes
In the ol'-fashioned way.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Grinding Halt
No light
No people
No speak
No people
No cars
No people
No food
No people
Stopped
Short
Grinding halt
Everything's coming to a grinding halt
No sound
No people
No clocks
No people
No fine
No people
No me
No people
Stopped
Short
Grinding halt
Everything's coming to a grinding halt
Everything's coming to a grinding halt
Slow down
Slow down
No people
Slow down
Everything's coming to a
Everything's coming to a
Everything's coming to a
Everything's coming to a
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morality Make Beauty
Would the things you do
Make you beautiful
Probably
Surely we have two sides in everything
The two sides of beauty
You and you
Inside and outside
Ever and never
Inexhaustible and exhaustible
Let just start right here
Cosmetics made me looked beautiful
But I wander
How long would this last
When it is never hidden from the
Solemn standing sun
The sun shall shine
And tomorrow the sun shall dry this beauty away
Some call it old age
Why won't this beauty last?
Some also say old age annihilates beauty
Hey!
How long would you remain a secret to the majority?
You contemptuously say to cosmetic
Beauty maker
Is that what they call you?
Oh mercy you despicable
Morality makes you beautiful you
Morality makes you beautiful inside
Morality makes you beautiful for ever
Morality makes you your world beautiful
Your inside matters
The sun don't dry it up c
It hidden from the solemn standing sun
Morality overcomes the sun's annihilation
Let morality make you up
Behold drifting away shall your beauty not be
Forever shall it bloom as the sun shines
poem by Moses Amen Nyinaku
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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By The Bivouac's Fitful Flame
BY the bivouac's fitful flame,
A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;--but first
I note,
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline,
The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire--the silence;
Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving;
The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily
watching me;)
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts,
Of life and death--of home and the past and loved, and of those that
are far away;
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,
By the bivouac's fitful flame. 10
poem by Walt Whitman
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Hazey Jane I
Do you curse where you come from,
Do you swear in the night
Will it mean much to you
If I treat you right.
Do you like what youre doing,
Would you do it some more
Or will you stop once and wonder
What youre doing it for.
Hey slow jane, make sense
Slow, slow, jane, cross the fence.
Do you feel like a remnant
Of something thats past
Do you find things are moving
Just a little too fast.
Do you hope to find new ways
Of quenching your thirst,
Do you hope to find new ways
Of doing better than your worst.
Hey slow jane, let me prove
Slow, slow jane, were on the move.
Do it for you,
Sure that you would do the same for me one day.
So try to be true,
Even if its only in your hazey way.
Can you tell if youre moving
With no mirror to see,
If youre just riding a new man
Looks a little like me.
Is it all so confusing,
Is it hard to believe
When the winter is coming
Can you sign up and leave.
Hey slow jane, live your lie
Slow, slow jane, fly on by.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 04
They dub thee idler, smiling sneeringly,
And why? because, forsooth, so many moons,
Here dwelling voiceless by the voiceful sea,
Thou hast not set thy thoughts to paltry tunes
In song or sonnet. Them these golden noons
Oppress not with their beauty; they could prate,
Even while a prophet read the solemn runes
On which is hanging some imperial fate.
How know they, these good gossips, what to thee
The ocean and its wanderers may have brought?
How know they, in their busy vacancy,
With what far aim thy spirit may be fraught?
Or that thou dost not bow thee silently
Before some great unutterable thought?
poem by Henry Timrod
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something Beautiful...
Beauty, have you lost yourself again
In the freezing mud
Can’t you remember anymore
That goodbye is not a farewell for me
Sunshine shines through war and peace
Through tears and a bloody breeze
Don’t expect I coming home this time
Good night everything will be fine
Beauty were is the love in the world
Can’t you remember were you should be
From the bottom to the top
Goodbye plains without spring
Sun shines through war and peace
Through tears and a bloody breeze
Don’t expect I coming home this time
Good night everything will be fine
See you in real this it’s just not me
It’s like to see a town without its name
Without the dirt, without the poisonous cloud over me
Beauty makes grace of painful things
Beauty makes a smile on a barbed face
Beauty destroy the ugly things
Beauty, beauty, beauty were are you now
Beauty, beauty, beauty were are you now
Beauty, beauty, beauty….
poem by Not A Dream Choice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dons of Spain
The Eagle screams at the beck of trade, so Spain, as the world goes round,
Must wrestle the right to live or die from the sons of the land she found;
For, as in the days when the buccaneer was abroad on the Spanish Main,
The national honour is one thing dear to the hearts of the Dons of Spain.
She has slaughtered thousands with fire and sword, as the Christian world might know;
We murder millions, but, thank the Lord! we only starve 'em slow.
The times have changed since the days of old, but the same old facts remain –
We fight for Freedom, and God, and Gold, and the Spaniards fight for Spain.
We fought with the strength of the moral right, and they, as their ships went down,
They only fought with the grit to fight and their armour to help 'em drown.
It mattered little what chance or hope, for ever their path was plain,
The Church was the Church, and the Pope the Pope – but the Spaniards fought for Spain.
If Providence struck for the honest thief at times in the battle's din –
If ever it struck at the hypocrite – well, that's where the Turks came in;
But this remains ere we leave the wise to argue it through in vain –
There's something great in the wrong that dies as the Spaniards die for Spain.
The foes of Spain may be kin to us who are English heart and soul,
And proud of our national righteousness and proud of the lands we stole;
But we yet might pause while those brave men die and the death-drink pledge again –
For the sake of the past, if you're doomed, say I, may your death be a grand one, Spain!
Then here's to the bravest of Freedom's foes who ever with death have stood –
For the sake of the courage to die on steel as their fathers died on wood;
And here's a cheer for the flag unfurled in a hopeless cause again,
For the sake of the days when the Christian world was saved by the Dons of Spain.
poem by Henry Lawson
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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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