A Poem to a Taoist Hermit Chuanjiao Mountain
My office has grown cold today;
And I suddenly think of my mountain friend
Gathering firewood down in the valley
Or boiling white stones for potatoes in his hut...
I wish I might take him a cup of wine
To cheer him through the evening storm;
But in fallen leaves that have heaped the bare slopes,
How should I ever find his footprints!
poem by Wei Yingwu, translated by Witter Bynner
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Suddenly Theres A Valley
(chuck meyer, biff jones)
When youve climbed the highest mountain
When a cloud holds the sunshine in
Suddenly theres a valley
Where the earth knows peace with men
When a star hides the distant rainbow
And you think you cant find a friend
Suddenly theres a valley
Where friendships never end
Touched only by the season
Swept clean by the ? rain
Surveyed by every bluebird
And kissed by the falling rain
When you think theres no bright tomorrow
And you feel you cant try again
Suddenly theres a valley
Where hope and love begin
Suddenly theres a valley
Where hope and love begin
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sea-Swallows
THIS FELL when Christmas lights were done,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
But before the Easter lights begun;
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows
And all the grass is heavy and fine,
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows
When the wind brings them over Tyne.
Blossom of broom will never make bread,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
Between her brows she is grown red,
That was full white in the fields by Tyne.
“O what is this thing ye have on,
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?”
“O father, this is my little son
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne.
“O what will ye give my son to eat,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Fen-water and adder’s meat,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye get my son to wear,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“A weed and a web of nettle’s hair,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye take to line his bed,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give my son for land,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Three girl’s paces of red sand,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give me for my son,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Six times to kiss his young mouth on,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“But what have ye done with the bearing-bread,
And what have ye made of the washing-wine?
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed,
To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?”
“The bearing-bread is soft and new,
There is no soil in the straining wine:
The bed was made between green and blue,
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.
“The fair grass was my bearing-bread,
The well-water my washing-wine;
The low leaves were my bearing-bed,
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.”
“O daughter, if ye have done this thing,
I wot the greater grief is mine;
This was a bitter child-bearing,
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.
“About the time of sea-swallows
That fly full thick by six and nine,
Ye’ll have my body out of the house,
To bury me by the sides of Tyne.
“Set nine stones by the wall for twain,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the bed I take will measure ten,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
“Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the pit I made has taken me,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With the Young Wine
Sun sets purple,
Swallow has already flown far off.
Under arches in the evening
New wine goes round;
Snow falls behind the mountain.
Summer's last green drifts away,
Hunter comes from the forest.
Under arches in the evening
New wine goes round;
Snow falls behind the mountain.
Bat blows around the forehead,
A stranger comes silently.
Under arches in the evening
New wine goes round;
Snow falls behind the mountain.
poem by Georg Trakl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song of Karen, the Dancing Child
(O little white feet of mine)
Out in the storm and the rain you fly;
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
Can the children hear my cry?
(O little white feet of mine)
Never a child in the whole great town;
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
Lights out and the blinds pulled down.
(O little white feet of mine)
Never a light on a window pane,
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And the wild wet cry of the rain.
(O little white feet of mine)
Shall I never again be still?
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And away over valley and hill.
(O little white feet of mine)
Children, children, open the door!
(Red, red shoes the colour of wine)
And the wind shrieks Nevermore.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lake, The Fountain
by the lake so still so calm
sky-blue cloud-white
more sky than water this autumn day
the air so still above
there a tree leans over the water
as if in thanks
and here a gathering of stones
awaits the offhand lapping of the wavelets
bringing out the many colours of the stones
that remember mountains edging the horizon
with light and shadow through the day
over there a fountain plashes over worn carved stone
fed by a mountain waterfall wild fountain tamed
throwing up a million new-mined diamonds
droplets sparkling like a chandelier
the sun catches turning air and water
into unceasing dance of somehow joy
the still lake the dancing fountain
telling with water two stories
stillness in joy
joy in stillness
as two white-robed nuns who whisper laughing
laughing whisper
in the cool of the evening
beside the fountain
before prayer
and holy silence
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Jośe Marίa Palacio
Palacio, good friend,
is spring there
showing itself on branches of black poplars
by the roads and river? On the steeps
of the high Duero, spring is late,
but so soft and lovely when it comes!
Are there a few new leaves
on the old elms?
The acacias must still be bare,
and the mountain peaks snow-filled.
Oh the massed pinks and whites
of Moncayo, massed up there,
beauty, in the sky of Aragon!
Are there brambles flowering,
among the grey stones,
and white daisies,
in the thin grass?
On the belltowers
the storks will be landing now.
The wheat must be green
and the brown mules working sown furrows,
the people seeding late crops,
in April rain. There’ll be bees,
drunk on rosemary and thyme.
Are the plum trees in flower? Violets still?
There must be hunters about, stealthy,
their decoys under long capes.
Palacio, good friend,
are there nightingales by the river?
When the first lilies,
and the first roses, open,
on a blue evening, climb to Espino,
high Espino, where she is in the earth.
poem by Antonio Machado
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three green snakes
I was gathering dead branches
and rotting leaves
and mowed down grass
and with my bare hands,
scooped it up
into a wheelbarrow.
From there I carted
it away to where,
a trailer attached
to my car waited.
The leaves and grass
felt humid and hot
in my hands
and a compost smell
hang in the air,
but suddenly three
deadly green snakes twisted
out where my hands
had been seconds before
and in dismay
I jumped away.
My little white dog
ran around the heap
of leaves and grass
and barked excitedly
and although did not
want to I had to
kill them all,
before they brought
death and trepidation
to my door.
The lawnmowers petrol
splashed like water
down on the brown heap
and a match,
flicked onto it
made bright orange flames
leap into the air.
Suddenly three snakes
twisted in agony
and it was like
driving the gods
of the dark earth away
and although every thing
was well,
it was quite sad
to kill three living creatures
with the flick
of a match.
[Petrol=> gasoline.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The thunder storm came suddenly
The thunder storm came suddenly; the air was drawing close,
with grey and black clouds covering the heaven
and suddenly there was no more blue
with the whole day being only grey
while leaves were falling in yellow and brown everywhere,
with the wind cutting icily, trying to grab onto jackets,
untimely the rain came without respect
for the rules of nature,
the thunder storm came suddenly.
Suddenly the weather was in each conversation
of the doctor, lawyer and architect,
as if it contained something incomprehensible and evil
nobody trusted the sudden bad weather;
early in the afternoon people left for home,
the thunder storm came suddenly.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Golden Valley
To perchase his boat and to ppurchase your love,
And like Enoch's white horse to his lover;
But your golden valley of love lay bare,
For i have to overflow it with love.
To purchase her boat and to purchase his love,
And like Eve's baby to her sweet lover;
But your golden valley lay bare,
And i have to water it with my love.
A patient wife,
And to watch them overflow the banks of love;
For the changes seen came out of it.
This love is like a seaman's glass,
And the passion it generates is from her;
But like a caged bird escaping suddenly,
The long and narrow sheet of the valley was noticed.
Let them sing around the old tree,
And let them enjoy the fruits of love;
For it is pleasant to see kind heart in true love.
Icy and chilly,
And birds of rare plume;
Fill the red bowls in the golden valley with love and,
Let me bath you all day long in this sweet muse of love.
A rich and savoury stew to serve in the golden valley,
And of natural beauties to swing with the muse;
But i can still hear the voices from the old trees.
My memory can still retrace your love,
And of your beauty in the golden valley of love;
But with a thankful heart i envy nobody,
Because sweet came out of your world in this valley.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jeckoyva
They made the warrior's grave beside
The dashing of his native time:
And there was mourning in the glen--
The strong wail of a thousand men--
O'er him thus fallen in his pride,
Ere mist of age - or blight or blast
Had o'er his might spirit past.
They made the warrior's grave beneath
The bending of the wild elm's wreath,
When the dark hunter's piercing eye
Had found that mountain rest on high,
Where, scattered by the sharp wind's breath,
Beneath the ragged cliff were thrown
The strong belt and the mouldering bone.
Where was the warrior's foot, when first
The red sun on the mountain burst?
Where -- when the sultry noon-time came
On the green vales with scorching flame,
And made the woodlands faint with thirst?
'Twas where the wind is keen and loud,
And the gray eagle breasts the cloud.
Where was the warrior's foot when night
Veiled in thick cloud the mountain-height?
None heard the loud and sudden crash--
None saw the fallen warrior dash
Down the bare rock so high and white!
But he that drooped not in the chase
Made on the hills his burial-place.
They found him there, when the long day
Of cold desertion passed away,
And traces on that barren cleft
Of struggling hard with death were left--
Deep marks and footprints in the clay!
And they have laid this feathery helm
By the dark river and green elm.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sands of Tıme
Yesterday.!
I returned to
the beach,
once again
to gather
memories
looking for
a dream.
happy
moments
were spent
there,
moments to
be cherished.
gathering
shells for
our
collections,
whispered
secrets,
laughing
leaving
footprints
in the sand.
Today.!
as I wander
back
only one
set of
footprints
remain.
the other
lost
forever
in the
sands
of time.
poem by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Footprints
Its beautiful outside, an old hand gathers wood,
Can he see me sitting here? his mind is somewhere else.
His friend have flown away, hes left out in the cold.
He wont sit by my fire, he says he likes it in the snow.
Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow.
Its getting dark outside, the old hands going home,
Has he someone waiting there? or is he living on his own?
Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow...
White blanket, hiding the traces of tears she didnt see,
Oh white blanket covers the memory
Of all that used to be. all that used to be.
But his heart keeps aching in the same old way,
He cant help feeling that she might come back someday.
Its beautiful outside, a magpie looks for food.
The old hand throws a crumb,
Do you think hes found a friend?
Where footprints never go, he likes it in the snow...
White blanket, hiding the traces of paths he didnt take
Oh white blanket covers the memory
Of moves he didnt make
Oh white blanket, hiding the traces of tears she didnt see
Snow white blanket simply covers the memory
Of all that used to be.
But his heart keeps aching in the same old way
He cant help feeling that she might come back someday.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sestina: Here in Katmandu
We have climbed the mountain.
There's nothing more to do.
It is terrible to come down
To the valley
Where, amidst many flowers,
One thinks of snow,
As formerly, amidst snow,
Climbing the mountain,
One thought of flowers,
Tremulous, ruddy with dew,
In the valley.
One caught their scent coming down.
It is difficult to adjust, once down,
To the absense of snow.
Clear days, from the valley,
One looks up at the mountain.
What else is there to do?
Prayer wheels, flowers!
Let the flowers
Fade, the prayer wheels run down.
What have they to do
With us who have stood atop the snow
Atop the mountain,
Flags seen from the valley?
It might be possible to live in the valley,
To bury oneself among flowers,
If one could forget the mountain,
How, never once looking down,
Stiff, blinded with snow,
One knew what to do.
Meanwhile it is not easy here in Katmandu,
Especially when to the valley
That wind which means snow
Elsewhere, but here means flowers,
Comes down,
As soon it must, from the mountain.
poem by Donald Justice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The First Scene Of Childhood
the first scene
is white. Against the snow
trees without leaves
beneath their feet
are the fallen
leaves,
red,
the air is cold, and howling
no one lives here
anymore.
do not go there,
it can make you like myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Footprints of My Mother
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall step to you.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall stay innocent and true.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall not give up hope.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall give you my love note.
In the footprints of my mother,
Lead me to a better path.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall releive in her wrath.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall cure all of your pains.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall bring you great reigns.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall unleash the angels of truth.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall defeat the evils booth.
The footprints of my mother,
led me straight to you.
The footprints of my mother,
Shown me I have nothing left to loose.
The footprints of my mother,
Guieded me towards the compelling lights.
The footprints of my mother,
Guided me towards the love of my life.
poem by Erin Grantham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wherever You Are
Wherever you are, I wanna be
It's never to far, it don't matter
Just take me there
Music
There's never a place to far
Too far for me to go
Cause I always feel at home with you
I'll cover the universe and land on every star
If I can find out where you are - it's true
Chorus: Mountain high - Valley low, Desert heat,
Arctic cold - Wherever you are, that's where I want to be
Mountain high - Valley low, Desert heat, Arctic cold.
Wherever you are, that's where I want to be
Take me on a vision quest - And focus in on me
So you can tell me what you see in me
Please don't let me live a lie
Let me live in honesty
Cause you're the only truth that can set me free
That's why I want to go
Chorus
Without you I feel like I could lose my mind
That's why I can't let go
I'll just keep on trying
Seeking you to the end of all time
following you any place, anywhere
Cause wherever you are, I want to be there
Chorus
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wherever You Are
Wherever you are, I wanna be
It's never to far, it don't matter
Just take me there
Music
There's never a place to far
Too far for me to go
Cause I always feel at home with you
I'll cover the universe and land on every star
If I can find out where you are - it's true
Chorus: Mountain high - Valley low, Desert heat,
Arctic cold - Wherever you are, that's where I want to be
Mountain high - Valley low, Desert heat, Arctic cold.
Wherever you are, that's where I want to be
Take me on a vision quest - And focus in on me
So you can tell me what you see in me
Please don't let me live a lie
Let me live in honesty
Cause you're the only truth that can set me free
That's why I want to go
Chorus
Without you I feel like I could lose my mind
That's why I can't let go
I'll just keep on trying
Seeking you to the end of all time
following you any place, anywhere
Cause wherever you are, I want to be there
Chorus
song performed by by Yolanda Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morning Drizzle
Today
If you find out the rain is rattling outside
Don't put your blanket on
And sleeping again
Today
If you find out the wind doesn't stop whistle
Don't close your ears with your hands
And hide your fears
It's just morning drizzle
It's just shower from the sky
That waking this world
From cold winter time
Today
If you find out the sky is grey
Don't you hesitant to go outside
And ruin your perfect day
Today
If you don't see the sunlight shines bright
Don't keep your mourning
And forget to smile
It's just morning drizzle
It's just a mighty spray
That splashes you warning
In your joy of spring
Today
If you find out the cloud doesn't disperse
Don't keep the loneliness inside
Behind the dusty window
Today
If you find out the damp street
Don't let your mood darkening
And grudging over the muddy puddle
It's just morning drizzle
It's just a water breeze
That cooling this land
From the heat of summer
Today
If you find out the plants soaked with downpour
Don't let your heart heavy
To do what you have to do
Today
If you find out the leaves falling helplessly
Don't also feel so weak
To be blown by cruel storm
It's just morning drizzle
It's just the season's change
That washes you some fun
In the harvest of autumn
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Evening
this evening is another lovely evening
i see stars. i think of some memories. sticky ones. sweet ones.
mouthwatering ones between us. in the room dim and cold. warmed by our
two bodies.kisses. hugs. touches. caresses. whispers.
indeed, this is a lovely evening.
i have a glass of mild wine in my hand. an orange. an apple. some spices
of mint and chili. to make me feel hot on this lovely, cold night. the wind blows
from the sea. i hear the waves. but they are sounding so gently
reminding of a boat where we ride. kisses. hugs. touches. caresses.
whispers. making love. the boat stopped in the middle of the ocean.
both of us.
indeed this is a lovely evening. i have another glass of wine. an orange.
some chili. some pepper.
i like it hot. these memories. i have your picture in my hand. your last letter.
i have the picture of you and your husband. and your children. they all have
grown up. your daughter looks just like you. some smiles. hugs. kisses.
embraces. your family on your last wedding anniversary. in maryland.
indeed this is a lovely evening. an honest one.
everything is accepted. everything is true. and i wish you all the happiness.
for indeed this is a lovely evening. with myself. still strong as ever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To A Friend Who Thinks That I Always Win
my dear friend,
you always think that i win,
and you hide away from
me in the cloak of your
jealousy.
is this all about winning
and losing?
i am for you.
And all these are for you.
The red rose, the blue sky,
the flowing river
the cliffs, and mountain
the trails
are all for you.
i do not have any bag
where you say
you do not fit.
shall i have the desire
to put you there like a
sackful of potatoes?
you discover a secret trail
you smell the scent out there
you want to find me
you are searching for me
but my friend i belong to the wind
i am a dropp of rain to the sea
i am the grain of sand on the shore
i am but a speck of the dust on that
cloudy sky
how can you ever find me then?
listen my dear friend
this is not about winning or losing
this is about our journey
the destination of which is still open
like an entrance to a cave
without light, damp and dark.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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