En.Citatepedia^®.ro

When You Were Reading Those Tormented Lines

When you were reading those tormented lines
In which the heart's resonant flame sends out glowing streams
And passion's fatal torrents rear up,-
Didn't you recall a single thing?

I can't believe it! That night on the steppe
When, in the midnight mist a premature dawn,
Transparent, lovely as a miracle,
Broke in the distance before you

And your unwilling eye was to this beauty drawn
To that majestic glow beyond the realm of darkness,-
How could it be that nothing whispered to you then:
A man has perished in that fire!

poem by Afanasy Afanasyevich Fet
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The Steppe

How lovely those journeys into quiet!
Boundless the steppe, like a seascape,
ants rustle, and the feather-grass sighs,
mosquitoes go whining through space.

The hayricks line up with the clouds,
volcano after volcano, they fade.
Grown silent, damp, the boundless steppe,
you drift, you’re buffeted, you sway.

The mist overtakes us, washes, a sea,
and burrs are clinging to stockings, today
it’s lovely to tramp the steppe’s shore,
you drift, you’re buffeted, you sway.

Is that a rick in the mist? Who knows?
Is that one ours? Yes, it’s found.
There! Yes, that’s it all right, though.
The rick, and the mist, and the steppe all round.

And the Milky Way slants towards Kerch,
like a path that cattle have stamped on.
Go past the houses, you’ll lose your breath,
on every side, broad, broad horizons.

Shadowy midnight stands by the way,
strewn with stars, that touch every verst,
and you can’t cross it, beyond the fence,
without trampling the universe.

When did the stars sweep down so low,
midnight sink so deep in tall grass,
and drenched muslin, afraid, aglow,
long for a dénouement at last?

Let the steppe judge, and night decide.
When, if not in the Beginning,
did Mosquitoes whine, Ants ride,
and Burrs go clinging to stockings?

Close them, my darling! Or go blind!
The whole steppe’s as before the Fall:
All, drowned in peace, like a parachute,
like a heaving vision, All.

poem by Boris Pasternak
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Burning

When I look at you
I melt like a candle
You light a fire in me
What am I to do
I just hope I can handle
The heat and the smoke blinding me
This feeling, this fire
This burning desire
Is raging its way through my soul
And if you feel the same
Help me fan the flames
til were burning out of control
Burning to know you
Burning to show you
And Ive felt this way from the start
Burning with passion
I do hope its lasting
And its burning a hole in my heart
You kindle in me
A warm glowing feeling
A spark and a flicker of hope
Its more than a game
And like moths to a flame
Were drawn to its warmth and its glow
These embers of love
Are fueled by the notion
This could be an eternal flame
Consumed by the blaze
I fear its too late
cause this torch that I hold bears your name
Oh, and Im burning to know you
Burning to hold you
Its grown to a flame from a spark
Burning with passion
I do hope its lasting
And its burning a hole in my heart
Oh, Im burning with passion
I do hope its lasting...
Ive had so many dreams fall apart...
And its burning a hole in my heart...
Im burning
Oh, Im burning
Mmmm, Im burning oh, I burning ooh

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midnight Sky

Midnight Sky
Thousands upon thousands of stars.
A majestic beauty that takes my breathe away.
The full moon's serene glow.
The Midnight Sky.
Constellations are scattered across the sky.
The North Star brightly gleaming.
How can this world of radiance be real?
The Midnight Sky.
I marvel at their awe inspiring beauty.
The moon has reached highest point in the sky.
It is a beauty that still renders me speechless
The Midnight Sky.
I am starting at the Midnight Sky.

poem by Bleeding Heart
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Passion of Fire

My heart was started by a spark,
burst into flames.
Now I am like a lamp on a hill,
everyone sees me and my passion.
I'm on fire, I'm burning bright.

You made the spark,
kindled the flame,
gave this fire the passion of the night.
Its burning bright, through the night,
its never going out or dimming.

Its the passion of the fire,
its the passion of life.
The life you gave,
was meant to amaze.
Now with you in me,
I illuminate the darkness.

I'm on fire,
running with the flame, the passion
touching people,
letting them catch the fire, catch your Love.
It never fades away,
this passion deep in me,
it'll burn till the end of day.

poem by Mistral Love
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Single Candle Light

The warm glow of a single candle flame
beckons a weary stranger there
to the bosom of a warm fire in
from the nighttime's cold.
A warm caring heart keeps the candle lit
to welcome back their love
from their long and lonely trek.
Each night they light the candle,
and sit waiting all alone,
hoping one night their love,
will glance on it
and return to their loving home.
The warm stretching finger
prods the darkness every night,
as it can be seen from miles away
across the empty prairie,
as they sit alone each night
by the warm fair light.
Hoping that their love will see its warm glow
and return to it and come home tonight
from their long and weary trek.
For years, the candle was lit,
but sadly, it shines no more.
Love broke the lonely heart
when they never came home.
Now all you can hear is a lonesome whistle
when the wind blows cold at night.
It has replaced that warm glow
of that single candle light.

poem by David Harris
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All The Poems Remain Written Where They Once Never Were

ALL THE POEMS REMAIN WRITTEN WHERE THEY ONCE NEVER WERE

All the poems remain written where they once never were
The grass and the skies of Whitman form lines in the mind of Baudelaire
The trees and dark cities of the distance form single sounds in the heart of the poet who cares
Night is more than darkness and day more than an early setting out
Each thing influences the other and calls back its own origins and end
We are going somewhere we will never know whether we write eternal lines or not
Over everywhere can be heard in the morning light the selfsame sound that through the heart of Ruth burned the alien corn
Keats is not dead, and Borges is not dead and Kafka is not dead and Wordsworth and all those who wrote great lines are not dead
Poetry is the last first eternity of the living word
And those who can hear the sounds of others greater than themselves in their own lines know
We are all writing down this last poem for ourselves and no one else
Though as we go to pray each morning the minyan tells us secretly
All our prayers together are more than any single poem can be alone
In the grey long distance where no one hears any poem at all
God writes and rewrites for us all the book of the stars in which dread is no longer a name
And beauty bright bright beauty is heard and reechoed as more than we will ever be
God is the only Poetry in the End
God is the Only One who never will be dead..

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Darkness Hopes

In each of us lives darkness
black as coal and full of desire,
that lies dormant in the midnight
though it longs to feel a fire.

The fire brings great brightness
to the heart of the darkest dark;
as it dances with abandon
flirting madly as it sparks.

When the sparks flash in the darkness
the blackness feels the heat,
that's created by a passion
when light and darkness meet.

Once the darkness is ignited
white light burns deep inside,
emboldened by combustion
once begun, won't subside.

Though as the fire burns lower
and the light begins to dim,
embers glow with excitement
for what will come again.

The darkness is quite patient
as it quietly sits and waits,
for the fire to build inside again
and reconnect the fates.

You see, the darkness holds out the hope
for the passion of the light,
to dance again with abandon
to bring a fire, burning bright.

(September 10,2010)

poem by David L. Harkins
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Self-Analysis

A single candle illuminates a solitary figure
Whose reflection in the window stares
Back at a tormented soul dwelling
In the transparent realm of illusion
While hunch'd o'er a wooden desk
In a fevered bout of creativity
Bleeding upon tatter'd scraps of paper
Erratic emotional insights to copulate
With inspirational flights of fancy
Thus giving birth to childish words of
Romantic gibberish of sorrowful lines
Of misery fill'd lamentations
The flicker candle settles momentarily
Allowing blended shadows of light and darkness
To fall upon this lone occupant
Of a complex and occasional twisted reality
Who betwixt isolated lapses of confusion
Calls himself a poet

poem by John A. Hancock
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A Kiss Goodbye

My heart beats
As I watch the moonbeams
Dance in the midnight breeze

I smile softly as I recall a time
When soft words of love
Where spoken sweetly to my ear
As we watched together
Moonbeams dance
So many years ago

My eyes mist over
As I recall his gentle touch
As he caressed my cheeks
Just to make me smile
As he said with each smile
It took his breath away

The shivers of memories
Warm my hungry soul
As he held me gently in his arm
Each time after we made love
And whispered softly
Just how much he loved me so

The collection of memories
I hold close to my heart
Must now be placed
In my treasure trove of memory's
So that I can love again

I blow a kiss into the
Midnight breeze
And whisper we will meet again
And smile to myself
You will always be a part of my soul
Now and evermore

Good night and goodbye
You're always in my heart

poem by Kaila George
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Plastic Passion

Plastic passion is a hard to handle
Plastic passion is a sold out scandal
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is the ladies lover
Plastic passion is the marble mother
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a diamond delight
Plastic passion is the nadir of night
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a hycoscine heart
Plastic passion is a transparent tart
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a gold guarantee
The plastic passion is murdering me
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Consuming Fire

The fire reflects your beauty in such a way that
the light of day could not. You have such a glow
that is truly breathe taking. I come closer to
you so that I may take in every ray of your
intoxicating beauty. The fire grows larger with
every step that I take toward you. With the fire
at its strongest when I stand next to you. It
twist and bends all around us giving us such
passion that it would consume any other. Our
love is a wildly buring fire that burns all
it touches including us and yet it binds
together for all time. Let this fire burn
comsuming us with the passion of love.

poem by Jacob Adams
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Rubies

There are nine rubies in this Indian ring,
And every blood-red ruby is a part
Of the nine-petalled rose that is my heart,
The elaborate rose of my own fashioning.
Not out of any garden have I sought
The rose that is more brief than dawn or dew:
Stones of the flame and ice, I find in you
The image of the heart that I have wrought.
For you are cold and burn as though with fire,
For you are hard, yet veil soft depths below,
And each divided ruby seems to glow
With the brief passion of its own desire.
Rose of my heart, shall this too be the same?
For, when one light catches the wandering rays,
They rush together in one consuming blaze
Of indivisible and ecstatic flame.

poem by Arthur Symons
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On a windy night (in answer to T.S. Eliot)

I. It’s Midnight

It’s Midnight
and the wind brushes softly though my hair,
there are long drawn out shadows everywhere
under the street lamps and the bright light

is stringed out in white
beacon after beacon leading for some to somewhere
but to me it feels as if they are going nowhere,
as if this dark night

is endless without form or shape
and one lonely shadow is following me
while branches are caught in a macabre dance
and there’s a chill at the nape
of my neck and darkness wherever I see
while I walk as if in a trance.

II. Half past one

Half past one
and the spluttering street lump did mutter
“so you had your fun, ”
and no single word did I utter

and at my back fear was crawling
as if in the past night
I had done a unpardonable sin and wind was the singing
“do not look back” and above me the stars was bright

but a strange feeling was in me
as if something evil was following,
as if from it I would never be free
and I glimpsed back, in my daring caught a glance

of something without shadow sneaking behind
and I believed that it as a trick of the mind.

III. It was half-past two

It was half-past two
and while walking through the park
I did not have a clue
where I was going and the night was very dark

and a black thinned out cat sneaked past
with green glowing eyes
as if the tranquillity could not last
and all of the past goodbyes

where coming to my mind
of loved animals, friends and you
as if I was blind and never again to find
the place in the world where I belonged to

and with a leap of delight
the cat found something to eat in that night.

IV. The darkness washed over me

The darkness washed over me
falling like a old worn out cloak
and there were known stars that I could see
but with feelings wanted to choke

and it was half-past three
with a strange familiar howl in the wind
and the cat was eying me
as if in me it had find

a close compatriot
who is also a dweller in the night,
but in life I felt like a idiot
watching the bright

lights of cars passing in the distance,
praying for some kind of deliverance.

V. At four I was chilly

At four I was chilly
and did not want to wait in the park anymore,
the cat was still with me
purring much more in love with me than before

and I carried it while stroking it
as if I had found a new friend
and bit by tiny bit
I liked it and it was no fiend

but a tiny living thing
with shiny bright eyes burning
right through me and the wind did sing
the leaves on branches were still churning

and for a time I had company,
and it was great to be alive with something that loved me.

VI. The memory was crowding me

The memory was crowding me,
as if there was no escape
that on a similar night I did see
a glance of beauty peering from beneath a cape

and then it was somewhat chilly
not like now a summer night
and a strange passion did fill me
to see her full face in the bright light

but into the night she did disappear
with white cheeks and the fire of a eye
as if she was not meant to be near
and now with the sun in a bright sky

with a bird calling on its mate
I see her standing at the garden gate.

[Reference: Rhapsody on a Windy Night by T. S. Eliot.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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The thunder cat

In the bush I see a strange thing,
a secret cat
that like a phantom
follow our tracts, shadowing behind
leaving no tracts of its own.

Red eyes glow at night
with the intensity of a fire burning
but every time that I really look
it’s out of reach.

Around the orange-yellow fire
where we are barbequing the meat
from the day’s hunting
I can almost smell the monster
where it sneaks out of sight
around us.

I wonder what has awaken
in the wild veldt, the jungle
and what hell of a thing
we now have drawn
from its sleep?

My.308 rifle and hunting knife
both lie near to my side,
but something let me comprehend
that no usual weapons
will stand against this monster

but at that time I am still convinced
that it’s only imagination
and the tiredness, the party
at the fire
and my thoughts are playing with me.

Totally unconcerned we go to sleep
and with time the flames
burn lower and lower
and there are only glowing coals left.

When I wake up with a start
a bright moon is in the sky
and something strange
stand over me
and it looks part transparent
but still with a fixed
dark form.

I can smell death
on the breath of it
and see its teeth glittering
and it’s as if thunder
flames from its jaws
when it bites at me

and an urge for survival
let me jump from the ground
to the other side
of the glowing coals
and its teeth clash on each other.

Next to me lies a shovel
and some of the coals
still have small flames
and I see that the coals
make it hesitate for a moment.

Desperately I grab the shovel,
scoop if full of coals
and when the monster
opens its jaws again
to take another bite at me
and I get the rotten smell
of its foul breath
I throw the whole shovel
down its throat.

For a moment it roars thundering,
is filled with bright white thunderbolts
and stand ablaze
and looks like a thunder cat
before it disappears into the darkness
and becomes nothing
as if suddenly it’s in another dimension

and everybody stares at me
with eyes huge as saucers
and from the sand
I pick up two teeth
that shines strangely, like diamonds,
but with an unknown blue-white fire
glowing from the inside.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Lover's Gifts LVI: The Evening Was Lonely

The evening was lonely for me, and I was reading a book till my
heart became dry, and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing
fashioned by the traders in words. Tired I shut the book and
snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was flooded with
moonlight.
Spirit of Beauty, how could you, whose radiance overbrims the
sky, stand hidden behind a candle's tiny flame? How could a few
vain words from a book rise like a mist, and veil her whose voice
has hushed the heart of earth into ineffable calm?

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A View To Kill

Meeting you with a view to a kill
Face to faces, secret places, feel the chill
Night fall covers me
But you know the plans I'm making
Still overseas,
Could it be the whole lot opening wide
A sacred why
A mystery gaping inside
A week is why
Until we dance into the fire
That fatal kiss is all we need
Dance into the fire
To fatal sounds of broken dreams
Dance into the fire
That fatal kiss is all we need
Dance into the fire
The choice for you is the view to a kill
Between the shades assacination standing still
First crystal tears,
Fallen of snowflakes on your body
First time in years
To drench you skin of lover's rosy stain
A chance to find the phoenix for the flame
A chance to die
But can we dance into the fire
That fatal kiss is all we need
Dance into the fire
To fatal sounds of broken dreams
Dance into the fire
That fatal kiss is all we need
Dance into the fire
When all we see is the view to a kill

song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There's More Where That Came From

I had forgotten just what love felt like
And in that motel room, all my senses came to life
All the passion in his touch
And I knew I could, never get enough
But the worst part of doing what I never should have done
Is that I know, there's more where that came from
In the darkness, there's a distance as I lie here every night
And I beg the Lord, please won't you get this cheatin' off my mind
But then he'll call to say, that he sure had fun
Just so I'll know, there's more where that came from
My guilty conscience can't kill my heart's desire
Just like a drop of rain can't put out a raging fire
Oh, the price I'm paying now
Is a secret that I'm forced to carry around
But the worst part of doing what I never should have done
Is that I know, there's more where that came from
In the darkness, there's a distance as I lie here every night
And I beg the Lord, please won't you get this cheatin' off my mind
And then he'll call to say, that he sure had fun
Just so I'll know, there's more where that came from
Yes, I'm afraid, there's more where that came from.

song performed by by Lee Ann Womack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the Muse

In your hidden memories
There are fatal tidings of doom...
A curse on sacred traditions,
A desecration of happiness;

And a power so alluring
That I am ready to repeat the rumour
That you have brought angels down from heaven,
Enticing them with your beauty...

And when you mock at faith,
That pale, greyish-purple halo
Which I once saw before
Suddenly begins to shine above you.

Are you evil or good? You are altogether from another world
They say strange things about you
For some you are the Muse and a miracle.
For me you are torment and hell.

I do not know why in the hour of dawn,
When no strength was left to me,
I did not perish, but caught sight of your face
And begged you to comfort me.

I wanted us to be enemies;
Why then did you make me a present
Of a flowery meadow and of the starry firmament --
The whole curse of your beauty?

Your fearful caresses were more treacherous
Than the northern night,
More intoxicating than the golden champagne of Aï,
Briefer than a gypsy woman's love...

And there was a fatal pleasure
In trampling on cherished and holy things;
And this passion, bitter as wormwood,
Was a frenzied delight for the heart!

poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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Sonnet: My Heart Afire

There is a fire burning in my heart!
The world had sparked this flame incessantly;
I burn the midnight-oil well on my part,
And so the flame keeps rising endlessly.

The world unfair had set my heart afire;
I feel, it can’t be extinguished with ease;
And with it burn, my emotions, desire;
From time to time, it gives me mental peace.

In short a time, the flame has grown so tall!
Its brightness looks uniquely wonderful;
No water can put out the fire or stall;
Like forest-fire, it burns night-day awfully.

This fire I download in poetic style;
And already, it looks almost a file!

poem by John Celes
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The Old Year

IT PASSED like the breath of the night-wind away,
It fled like a mist at the dawn of the day;
It lasted its moment, then backward was hurled,
Another increase to the age of the world.

It passed with its shadows, its smiles and its tears,
It passed as a stream to the ocean of years;
Years that were coming—were here—and are o’er,
The ages departed to visit no more.

It passed, but the bark on its billowy track
Leaves an impression on waters aback:
The glow of the gloaming remains on the sky,
Unwilling to leave us—unwilling to die.

It fled; but away and away in its wake
There lingers a something that time cannot break.
The past and the future are joined by a chain,
And memories live that must ever remain.

poem by Henry Kendall
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