En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Humbling Habitat

The gray exhaust of twelve warm hearths
Chased the clouds into the afternoon sky.
There stood the stalwart mansion
At peace with its surroundings
And steadfast with its environs.
Beckoning an affectionate greeting
Just beyond the bridge, it appears
To give light the sublime levity
Of being a nuance of darkness.
Its façade is as prestigious and lucent
As a librarian’s bustline in her noblest estate.
Its walls of luminous windows
Sit still in a kinetic majesty of colors,
Like the yew tree in its bounty of crimson berries.

This refuge from the current disharmonies
Radiates from its midst an unheard music
And a conviviality suggesting a vicarious ecstacy.
Here, perhaps, is that first step in darkness
Of the empire prophesized to come,
Bringing its measureless song
Of the queen of the northern lights,
Whose monarch calms the most vociferous tempest
And warms the most bitter winter chill.
Here, under the clouds of mortal brevity,
Contained are the exotic reactions
To long suppers and golden evenings
From the replenishing of early traditions,
Beyond youth’s humblest dreams.

The twelve hearths fully aglow,
Fueled with only kindling atoms,
Tell of a future only they can know
And every human mind fathoms.
Within these high stone walls,
Lit by radiant lamps’ glare,
Every place an eye-beam falls,
There is the glory of confident flair.

poem by Albert Price
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 01: As evening falls

As evening falls,
And the yellow lights leap one by one
Along high walls;
And along black streets that glisten as if with rain,
The muted city seems
Like one in a restless sleep, who lies and dreams
Of vague desires, and memories, and half-forgotten pain . . .
Along dark veins, like lights the quick dreams run,
Flash, are extinguished, flash again,
To mingle and glow at last in the enormous brain
And die away . . .
As evening falls,
A dream dissolves these insubstantial walls,—
A myriad secretly gliding lights lie bare . . .
The lovers rise, the harlot combs her hair,
The dead man's face grows blue in the dizzy lamplight,
The watchman climbs the stair . . .
The bank defaulter leers at a chaos of figures,
And runs among them, and is beaten down;
The sick man coughs and hears the chisels ringing;
The tired clown
Sees the enormous crowd, a million faces,
Motionless in their places,
Ready to laugh, and seize, and crush and tear . . .
The dancer smooths her hair,
Laces her golden slippers, and runs through the door
To dance once more,
Hearing swift music like an enchantment rise,
Feeling the praise of a thousand eyes.

As darkness falls
The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls
Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving,
Moving like music, secret and rich and warm.
How shall we live tonight? Where shall we turn?
To what new light or darkness yearn?
A thousand winding stairs lead down before us;
And one by one in myriads we descend
By lamplit flowered walls, long balustrades,
Through half-lit halls which reach no end.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Prelude

As evening falls,
And the yellow lights leap one by one
Along high walls
And along black streets that glisten as if with rain,
The muted city seems
Like one in a restless sleep who lies and dreams
Of vague desires, vague memories, and half-forgotten pain
Along dark veins like lights the quick dreams run,
Flash, are extinguished, flash again,
To mingle and glow at last in the enormous brain
And die away
As evening falls,
A dream dissolves these insubstantial walls,
A myriad secretly gliding lights lie bare.
The lover rises, the harlot combs her hair,
The dead man's face grows blue in the dizzy lamplight,
The watchman climbs the stair
The bank-defaulter leers at a chaos of figures
And runs among them and is beaten down ;
The sick man coughs, and hears the chisels ringing;
The tired clown
Sees the enormous crowd—a million faces
Motionless in their places,
Ready to laugh, and seize, and crush, and tear ....
The dancer smooths her hair,
Laces her golden slippers and runs through the door
To dance once more,
Hearing swift music like an enchantment rise,
Feeling the praise of a thousand eyes.

As darkness falls,
The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls
Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving,
Moving like music, secret and rich and warm.
How shall we live tonight, where shall we turn?
To what new light or darkness yearn ?
A thousand winding stairs lead down before us;
And one by one in myriads we descend
By lamp-lit flowered walls, long balustrades,
Through half-lit halls which reach no end.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The walls

Life, here in the surroundings of my white walls,
The walls that watch me while I pray, while I sing,
While I dance and work in my little room, while
I cry, these white walls they know my life, only
they cry with me or sing or pray or dance, they give
my life the warm feelings of hands. The colors
of my works the fabrics, the pen that move my hands,
the architect of my bones, the father, the I AM, they
all life in me. Life, life is my big question! , life is the
I AM, and the I AM is life. I gather here in my room
all of my works, the good, the bad and the worsse,
they come alive with my help. Life in these white
walls, pink I rather say, ' I love pink' My sink full
of dishes waiting to be washed, the flowers on my
table growing roots, the doors and windows always
on guard, the lamps that never cease to give me light,
the sofa so exhausted of my exhausting body, the tree
near my window poking at me, then the cry of a puppy
I hear it all the time. My shop my objects; they dream
and have their own mind, they wear the colors of life,
they dress up and move my soul,
I love how they love me back…

poem by Elenushka Toledo
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 06: Portrait Of One Dead

This is the house. On one side there is darkness,
On one side there is light.
Into the darkness you may lift your lanterns—
O, any number—it will still be night.
And here are echoing stairs to lead you downward
To long sonorous halls.
And here is spring forever at these windows,
With roses on the walls.

This is her room. On one side there is music—
On one side not a sound.
At one step she could move from love to silence,
Feel myriad darkness coiling round.
And here are balconies from which she heard you,
Your steady footsteps on the stair.
And here the glass in which she saw your shadow
As she unbound her hair.

Here is the room—with ghostly walls dissolving—
The twilight room in which she called you 'lover';
And the floorless room in which she called you 'friend.'
So many times, in doubt, she ran between them!—
Through windy corridors of darkening end.

Here she could stand with one dim light above her
And hear far music, like a sea in caverns,
Murmur away at hollowed walls of stone.
And here, in a roofless room where it was raining,
She bore the patient sorrow of rain alone.

Your words were walls which suddenly froze around her.
Your words were windows,—large enough for moonlight,
Too small to let her through.
Your letters—fragrant cloisters faint with music.
The music that assuaged her there was you.

How many times she heard your step ascending
Yet never saw your face!
She heard them turn again, ring slowly fainter,
Till silence swept the place.
Why had you gone? . . . The door, perhaps, mistaken . . .
You would go elsewhere. The deep walls were shaken.

A certain rose-leaf—sent without intention—
Became, with time, a woven web of fire—
She wore it, and was warm.
A certain hurried glance, let fall at parting,
Became, with time, the flashings of a storm.

Yet, there was nothing asked, no hint to tell you
Of secret idols carved in secret chambers
From all you did and said.
Nothing was done, until at last she knew you.
Nothing was known, till, somehow, she was dead.

How did she die?—You say, she died of poison.
Simple and swift. And much to be regretted.
You did not see her pass
So many thousand times from light to darkness,
Pausing so many times before her glass;

You did not see how many times she hurried
To lean from certain windows, vainly hoping,
Passionate still for beauty, remembered spring.
You did not know how long she clung to music,
You did not hear her sing.

Did she, then, make the choice, and step out bravely
From sound to silence—close, herself, those windows?
Or was it true, instead,
That darkness moved,—for once,—and so possessed her? . . .
We'll never know, you say, for she is dead.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Hope

an angel a bridge

of heart

Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
a light
of humanity tree

poem by Nyein Way
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Walls

Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.

Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.

Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.

Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.

Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Festival Of Lights

Rows of lamps lit up the place.
My home was also covered with lights.
You feared the darkness leaving a trace...
Few candles at the gate would make it right!

Set out for lamps to meet the need of your eyes,
I walked through a world of darker night;
Where amidst noise, the plea of silence had to die
And starved faces with trembling hands stood upright.

While lighting up the facade, we remained unaware
About the darkness within, we didn't care.

poem by Kingshuk Chakraborty
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Clouds

The clouds as I see them, rising
urgently, roseate in the
mounting of somber power

surging in evening haste over
roofs and hermetic
grim walls—

Last night
As if death had lit a pale light
in your flesh, your flesh
was cold to my touch, or not cold
but cool, cooling, as if the last traces
of warmth were still fading in you.
My thigh burned in cold fear where
yours touched it.

But I forced to mind my vision of a sky
close and enclosed, unlike the space in which these clouds move—
a sky of gray mist it appeared—
and how looking intently at it we saw
its gray was not gray but a milky white
in which radiant traces of opal greens,
fiery blues, gleamed, faded, gleamed again,
and how only then, seeing the color in the gray,
a field sprang into sight, extending
between where we stood and the horizon,

a field of freshest deep spiring grass
starred with dandelions,
green and gold
gold and green alternating in closewoven
chords, madrigal field.

Is death’s chill that visited our bed
other than what it seemed, is it
a gray to be watched keenly?

Wiping my glasses and leaning westward,
clearing my mind of the day’s mist and leaning
into myself to see
the colors of truth

I watch the clouds as I see them
in pomp advancing, pursuing
the fallen sun.

poem by Denise Levertov
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Defining the Indefinable Light

As I inched away from your love
I walk into darkness of a deep sea,
Enveloped in dark clouds,
Layer upon layer of waves
You are the Light of lights
Of heavens and earth
Light the blinding Light!
Light the awakening Light!
A speaking Light that begun
before the birth of question
Light coursing beyond the answers
that beget but questions!
Light a beckoning
Light a reckoning Light!
A Light too high to cede to our darkness

poem by Frank Lisa IndiRa Francesca Roger Platt Cornish Ma
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After All It Is Not At All Darkness

as you learned what darkness is
in the middle of your grief
and lament

light sometimes comes surprisingly
from the holes of your walls

and you find warmth and colors
pink, and red, and green and blue
in a prism of light
from a slit of your window

and you look out to another world
beyond your walls and
windows

you find
a rainbow, some clouds, evergreen mountains

you find a trail
inviting you for a walk

you feel the cool air
wishing you to breathe

you see a world before you
arms ready to embrace
hands always waiting for you to be caressed

it does not take much to open an eyelid
to wake up and then try this walk of life.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Celestial Warfare

The sun has fallen to rest,
And the moon shows up to play,
Clouds glaze the skies,
Racing with the arctic winds,
Attacking the lunar sphere,
Skies turn to black,
It seems the moon has died,
'What fallacy is this! ',
the Moon exclaims,
Reflected light piercing through the clouds,
'I will not leave this plane! '
Stars join in the brawl,
Flash of light radiates the earth,
a Star victim to the clouds.

Sun
The lantern of earth awakes,
Moon and Stars flee,
this Solar star perforates the Clouds,
Its sword a burning flame,
the Clouds counter with thickening,
the Sun struggles to maintain,
And unleashes its true prowess,
a Red Giant is formed,
the Clouds meet their demise,
the giant grasps them,
With its mighty flair,
Hungry for growth,
It turns on the moon,
David vs. Goliath,
Darkness falls upon our earth,
Cloudless skies raining Red,
the Moon has killed itself.

poem by Brandon Griffee
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My Faith

My Faith is all I need: it allows all that I believe;
There are no limits, so long as my heart and mind may conceive.
Surely it has been tested-necessary to know it exists-
Yet, when the calamitous clouds clear, its strength persists.

Faith is my only refuge, through a long, lonely night-
In an otherwise perpetual darkness, Faith is my only light!
This is all the aid I need, to suffer through any travesty-
Faith is my salvation, as I exalt in His Majesty!

Faith is my dream weaver, as I aspire to greater height:
The strength I possess, should I need to exercise might;
It resides in the safety of my heart, soul, and mind
And allows that I may leave even most grievous pain, behind;
Faith shines, upon my ultimate earthly destinations-
It is answer to all-past sorrows, current concerns, and future jubilations!

-Maurice Harris,8 February 2011

poem by Maurice Harris
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Song

Song brings us light with the power of lending
Glory to brighten the work that we find;
Song brings us warmth with the power of rending
Rigor and frost in the swift-melting mind.
Song is eternal with power of blending
Time that is gone and to come in the soul,
Fills it with yearnings that flow without ending,
Seeking that sea where the light-surges roll.

Song brings us union, while gently beguiling
Discord and doubt on its radiant way;
Song brings us union and leads, reconciling
Battle-glad passions by harmony's sway,
Unto the beautiful, valiant, and holy
-Some can pass over its long bridge of light
Higher and higher to visions that solely
Faith can reveal to the spirit's pure sight.

Songs from the past of the past's longings telling,
Pensive and sad cast a sunset's red glow;
Present time's longings in sweet music dwelling,
Grateful the soul of the future shall know.
Youth of all ages in song here are meeting,
Sounding in tone and in word their desire;
-More than we think, from the dead bringing greeting,
Gather to-night in our festival choir.

poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Bouquets of Flowers Colors Flow

Times are going here and there
With lots of summer everywhere
I felt bad in the winter's high
With not much to live for or die
Feelings dreary are always gone
Into the blank and darkness done
Never a right place to be living
Nothing to have no sunshine giving

Bouquets of flowers - colors flow
Dawn of summers moods spin
The rising skies where clouds go
Everything of day is coming in
You and I with pleasures’ need
Everything yesterday didn't show
Colors green and growing freed
No more frost or winter's snow
What is real is all now in here
In the fragrance sweet morn air
And a garden so full of its joy
The winter's mood not to deploy

Feelings dreary are always gone
Into the blank and darkness done
Never a right place to be living
Nothing to have no sunshine giving

Times are going here and there
With lots of summer everywhere
I felt bad in the winter's high
With not much to live for or die

Feelings dreary are always gone
Into the blank and darkness done
Never a right place to be living
Nothing to have no sunshine giving

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Counterpoint: Two Rooms

He, in the room above, grown old and tired;
She, in the room below, his floor her ceiling,
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter.
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night.

His watch—the same he has heard these cycles of ages—
Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.
The clock upon her mantelpiece strikes nine.
The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.
The world whirs on. New stars come up to shine.

His youth—far off—he sees it brightly walking
In a golden cloud .... wings flashing about it....
Darkness
Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.
Old age, far off—or death—what do they matter?
Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.

She hears slow steps in the street; they chime like music,
They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty,
Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn.
He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence.
Far off they pass. He knows they will never return.

Far off, on a smooth dark road, he hears them faintly.
The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing,
Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath
Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly.
And death seems nearer to him; or he to death.

What's death?—she smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbow,
The last few raindrops gather and fall from elm-boughs,
She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings,
The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance,
A sparrbw whirs to the eaves and shakes its wings.

What's death—what's death ? The spring returns like music ;
The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight;
The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams.
The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure.
Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams.
And death seems far away—a thing of roses,
A golden portal where golden music closes,
Death seems far away;
And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers,
And spring returns to stay....

He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter,
And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die.
And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight....
The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Astronomy

(originally recorded by blue oyster cult)
The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst
Out at you from their hiding place
Like acid and oil on a madmans face
His reasons tend to fly away
Like lesser birds on the four winds, yeah
Like silver scrapes in may
Now the sands become a crust
And most of you have gone away, then youre gone away
Ah, come susie dear, lets take a walk
Just out there upon the beach
I know youll soon be married
And you want to know where winds come from
Well, its never said at all
On the map that carrie reads
Behind the clock back there you know
At the four winds bar, mm, yeah
Yeah
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Four winds at the four winds bar
Two doors locked and windows barred
One door left to take you in
The other one just mirrors it
Hey!
Hey! yeah!
Hey! yeah!
Hey!
Ooh, in hellish glare and inference
The other ones a duplicate
The queenly flux, eternal light
Or the light that never warms
Yes, the light that never, never warms
Yes, the light that never, never warms
Never warms, never warms
The clock strikes twelve and moondrops burst
Out at you from their hiding place
Miss carrie nurse and susie dear
Would find themselves at four winds bar
Its the nexus of the crisis
And the origin of storms
Just the place to hopelessly
Encounter time and then came me
Yo!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
Call me desdenova, eternal light
These gravely digs of mine
Will surely prove a sight
And dont forget my dog, fixed and consequent
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy (astronomy) - a star, yeah
Astronomy - a star
Astronomy

song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Light in Darkness

Every darkness has its light
Some so hard to see,
Only a night light
In a dark sea.

The darkness clouds our vision,
The small light clouds the darkness.

Finding the light isn't the problem
Easy thing in fact,
The darkness hides its true power,
Be ready for impact.

poem by Evan Skora
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To Reformers in Despair

'Tis not too late to build our young land right,
Cleaner than Holland, courtlier than Japan,
Devout like early Rome, with hearths like hers,
Hearths that will recreate the breed called man.

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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How Far

there is a farther hill
a higher mountain, a brighter star
there's a light beyond this darkness
another step, dont know how far

there are wings and poet's dreams
that free and feed the hungry soul
a cross, a tree, a hidden path
that i can feel but cannot hold

there is a justice, a dignity
a place where walls crumble and fall
there's the truth beyond all fears
that comes to one, and comes to all

there is a knowing i cant define
that words cannot contain
a stillness that heals and fills
in the wind and in the rain

there is a time and an end
from which new beginnings are made
form to formless, stone and sand
a time to dance, a time to pray

there is a farther hill
a higher mountain, a brighter star
there's a light beyond this darkness,
another step, just dont know how far!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The House Of Dust: Part 04: 04: Counterpoint: Two Rooms

He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
She, in the room below—his floor her ceiling—
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. . . .
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night,

His watch—the same he has heard these cycles of ages—
Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.
The clock, upon her mantelpiece, strikes nine.
The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.
The world whirs on. . . .New stars come up to shine.

His youth—far off—he sees it brightly walking
In a golden cloud. . . .Wings flashing about it. . . . Darkness
Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.
Old age—far off—her death—what do they matter?
Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.

She hears slow steps in the street—they chime like music;
They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty,
Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn. . . .
He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence.
Far off they pass. He knows they will never return.

Far off—on a smooth dark road—he hears them faintly.
The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing,
Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath
Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly.
And death seems nearer to him: or he to death.

What's death?—She smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbows.
The last of the rain-drops gather and fall from elm-boughs,
She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings,
The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance.
A sparrow whirs to the eaves, and shakes his wings.

What's death—what's death? The spring returns like music,
The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight,
The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams.
The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure.
Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams. . . .
And death seems far away, a thing of roses,
A golden portal, where golden music closes,
Death seems far away:
And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers,
And spring returns to stay. . . .

He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter,
And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die.
And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight.
. . . The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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