Unknown Woman
Above the restaurants in the evenings
The sultry air is wild and still,
And the decaying breath of spring
Drives drunken shouting.
Above the dusty distant lanes
The boredom of summer homes,
The baker's gold sign barely shines
And a child's crying rings out.
Each night, beyond the crossing gates,
With bowler hats tipped rakishly,
The practiced wits stroll with the ladies
Among the drainage ditches.
Out on the lake, oarlocks creak
And a woman starts to squeal,
While up in the sky, inured to it all,
The moon's disk senselessly leers.
Each night my solitary friend
Is reflected in my glass,
Made meek and reeling, like myself,
By the mysterious, astringent liquid.
And drowsy lackeys lounge about
Beside the adjacent tables
While drunks with rabbit eyes cry out
'In vino veritas!'
And each night at a certain hour
(Or am I only dreaming it?),
A girl's figure, swathed in silk,
Moves across the misty window.
And slowly passing among the drunks,
Always alone and unescorted,
Wafting a breath of perfume and mist,
She takes a table by the window.
And an air of ancient legend
Wreaths her resilient silks,
Her hat with its funereal plumes,
And her slender ringed hand.
And entranced by this strange nearness,
I look through her dark veil,
And see an enchanted shore
And a horizon enchanted.
Deep secrets are entrusted to me,
Someone's sun is in my care,
And at every turn, astringent wine
Pierces my soul.
And drooping ostrich plumes
Waver in my brain,
And fathomless blue eyes
Bloom on the distant shore.
A treasure lies in my soul,
And the key belongs to me alone!
You are correct, you drunken fiend!
I know it: wine brings truth.
poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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The Stranger
The restaurants on hot spring evenings
Lie under a dense and savage air.
Foul drafts and hoots from dunken revelers
Contaminate the thoroughfare.
Above the dusty lanes of suburbia
Above the tedium of bungalows
A pretzel sign begilds a bakery
And children screech fortissimo.
And every evening beyond the barriers
Gentlemen of practiced wit and charm
Go strolling beside the drainage ditches --
A tilted derby and a lady at the arm.
The squeak of oarlocks comes over the lake water
A woman's shriek assaults the ear
While above, in the sky, inured to everything,
The moon looks on with a mindless leer.
And every evening my one companion
Sits here, reflected in my glass.
Like me, he has drunk of bitter mysteries.
Like me, he is broken, dulled, downcast.
The sleepy lackeys stand beside tables
Waiting for the night to pass
And tipplers with the eyes of rabbits
Cry out: "In vino veritas!"
And every evening (or am I imagining?)
Exactly at the appointed time
A girl's slim figure, silk raimented,
Glides past the window's mist and grime.
And slowly passing throught the revelers,
Unaccompanied, always alone,
Exuding mists and secret fragrances,
She sits at the table that is her own.
Something ancient, something legendary
Surrounds her presence in the room,
Her narrow hand, her silk, her bracelets,
Her hat, the rings, the ostrich plume.
Entranced by her presence, near and enigmatic,
I gaze through the dark of her lowered veil
And I behold an enchanted shoreline
And enchanted distances, far and pale.
I am made a guardian of the higher mysteries,
Someone's sun is entrusted to my control.
Tart wine has pierced the last convolution
of my labyrinthine soul.
And now the drooping plumes of ostriches
Asway in my brain droop slowly lower
And two eyes, limpid, blue, and fathomless
Are blooming on a distant shore.
Inside my soul a treasure is buried.
The key is mine and only mine.
How right you are, you drunken monster!
I know: the truth is in the wine.
poem by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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River And Sea
Under the light of the silver moon
We two sat, when our hearts were young;
The night was warm with the breath of June,
And loud from the meadow the cricket sung,
And darker and deeper, oh, love, than the sea,
Were your dear eyes, as they beamed to me.
The moon hung clear, and the night was still:
The waters reflected the glittering skies;
The nightingale sang on the distant hill;
But sweeter than all was the light in your eyes -
Your dear, dark eyes, your eyes like the sea -
And up from the depths shone love for me.
My heart, like a river, was mad and wild -
And a river is not deep, like the sea;
But I said yout love was the love of a child,
Compared with the love that was felt by me;
A river leaps noisily, kissing the land,
But the sea is fathomless, deep and grand.
I vowed to love you, for ever and ever!
I called you cold, on that night in June,
But my fierce love, like a reckless river,
Dashed on, and away, and was spent too soon;
While yours - ah, yours was deep like the sea;
I cheated you, love, but you died for me!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Did It Prevent Your Sun Kissed Dreams?
Father that sundial, is it death…
Is it Father - the hand of death?
Is it the sword that cuts short a bird's flight?
'Child, we're all adjacent, the window of life.
The window of light…'
O' Father is it a guillotine!
Does it covert our breath…
O' Father how, much, time
Do we have? Left…
'Child, we're all adjacent, the window of life.
Until the bird in your soul, takes flight'.
'Child, a question - answer your father this.
Did it prevent your sun kissed dreams? Last night.'
poem by Mark Heathcote
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The Spilling Of The Wine
The soldiers lie upon the snow,
That no longer gyrates under the spinning lights
Night juggles in her fat black hands.
They will not babble any more secrets to loose-mouthed
nights
Expanding in golden auras,
While sleigh-bells jingle like new coins the darkness
shuffles . . .
They will not drink any more wine—
Wine of the Romanoffs,
Jewelled wine
The secret years worked slowly at
Till it was wrought to fire,
As stones are faceted
Until they give out light.
The soldiers lie very still.
Their shadows have shrunk up close
As toads shrink under a stone;
And night and silence,
The ancient cronies,
Foregather above them.
But still over the snow, that is white as a ram's fleece,
Arms swing like scythes . . .
And shadows in austere lines
Sway in a monstrous and mysterious ritual—
Shadows of the Kronstad sailors
Pouring blood and wine. . .
Wine
Spurting out of flagons in a spray of amethyst and gold,
Creeping in purple sluices;
Wine
And blood in thin bright streams
Besprinkling the immaculate snow;
Blood, high-powered with the heat of old vineyards,
Boring . . . into the cool snow . . .
Blood and wine
Mingling in bright pools
That suck at the lights of Petrograd
As dying eyes
Suck in their last sunset.
The night has a rare savor.
Out of the snow-piles—altar-high and colored as by a
rosy sacrifice— Scented vapor
Ascends in a pale incense . . .
Faint astringent perfume
Of blood and wine.
poem by Lola Ridge
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Your Eyes
in the seas of your eyes
i see the reflection of
the sun rise and
the sun set
at the same time
i also see the sparkling high tide
of a full-moon night
and splinters of glassy waves
of a bright summer day
i see the mysterious depths
of the sea i can never negotiate
hidden behind the fluidy veil
that protects the whites of your eyes
i stroll along
the enigmatic
sands of your shore
at all times of the day
and the night
30sep2009
19.58hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Window
All night long, by a distant bell,
The passing hours were notched
On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell,
And the spark of life I watched
In her face was glowing or fading, -- who could tell? --
And the open window of the room,
With a flare of yellow light,
Was peering out into the gloom,
Like an eye that searched the night.
Oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and why do you fear?
"I see that the garden is crowded with creeping forms of fear:
Little white ghosts in the locust-tree, that wave in the night-wind's breath,
And low in the leafy laurels the larking shadow of death."
Sweet, clear notes of a waking bird
Told of the passing away
Of the dark, -- and my darling may have heard;
For she smiled in her sleep, while the ray
Of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word,
Till the splendor born in the east outburned
The yellow lamplight, pale and thin,
And the open window slowly turned
To the eye of the morning, looking in.
Oh, what do you see in the room, little window, that makes you so bright?
"I see that a child is asleep on her pillow, soft and white,
With the rose of life on her tips, and the breath of life in her breast,
And the arms of God around her as she quietly takes her rest."
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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A Southern Gospel...
he carefully pried at the screen
with his pocketknife... laying low
against the building, almost dissolving
in the shadows.
the probing lights of cars passing saw
nothing, no sign of life.
slowly, without sound, he removed the
screen.... pushing the window up just
enough, he pulled himself up and through
the window like a snake.
it was some kind of office at the back of
the church. he waited a minute for his
eyes to adjust. his body hurt, even his
soul hurt! every breath cut like a knife.
making his way to the door, he slipped
out into the hall. the silence was deafening.
on down the hall to the sanctuary... opening
the double doors, he made his way into the tomb!
waves of stillness.... and the smells...
redemption, morality, and sin... delicious,
tortured sin...
he slipped onto a bare wooden pew, and
the memories flooded back....
angels, demons, right and wrong defined
on chalkboards by hands that couldnt have
been human!
scriptures beaten against the mind... pictures
of a life he'd never quite found!
he took a deep breath, and winced... thought
of the hymns. peace everafter, always some
distant shore. yet they're often been a strange
sense of healing there.
he touched the offering plates, and shook his head.
the nickels and dimes of salvation, the cost of the
soul.
standing up, he made his way to the altar... and
fell in a heap to the floor...
agonizing, he looked up to see moonlight pouring
through the stained glass window... lighting the
face of Jesus, hanging on the cross...
the cold floor seemed to clutch at his heart...
his mind opened, and the waves rolled in.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Distant Smile
Sunrise, Sunset,
Warm night, regrets.
Summer night dream,
What dream may come?
Life, lies, crime,
live your life the same.
Your destiny will prevail,
From nowhere a distant smile.
Lost love, lost war, life in slow motions,
Lust, attractions, deep night of passion.
Still your destiny will prevail,
From nowhere a distant smile.
Togheter, two soul in this dull begin,
fire on us, but in this holy night will win.
but still your destiny will prevail,
From nowhere a distant smile.
The deep blue see on this horizon,
Will bring to us high terrifying tides,
I can see on the way the perfect wave to ride,
I can see come to us, is a bit far, maybe just a mile,
And from nowhere will appear a distant smile.
poem by Gianni Pintus
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What a sultry night of love.
Standing in the sultry-naked summer night -
A vision I see,
An intrinsic figure that shivered down my soul,
A lady of love, beauty, and potential viability,
Well also Over burdened
by an unmerchandised self-esteem,
Soft breezes blows from fragrant meadows,
Tossing her perfectly coiffed auburn hair into the wafting cheerful sky,
Like a flawless floating garment of what an angel might be,
A goddess, an angel, oh, lovable beyond measures - I do believe,
Then slowly i walked in the trail of her shadows - towards her fansy bossom,
The stars and the faintly shining moon came,
And their came a stream of light,
Giggling like the ever fluttered sun,
just then i knew my superwoman was here,
So transfixed was I - I feel so insane
Like a man in denial of sex,
All the secrets of her dark eyes,
Came stirring my dark mind in dancing times,
And then a voice - a heavenly voice
And then she gave her name,
Her voice is as an angel cry,
Her smell is of a rose,
A gilt-edge smell,
With a taste of life sweet wine,
I would make a trace of her,
Even in the darkest night,
Cuz' Her dark petal skin shimmer's against the moonlight,
Her laugh is delicate as a song,
It dances in my ears,
Like the festive carrol rhymes,
And then her volumptious wild heart desire lips was exposed,
By the tiny stream of light that
Streaked her luscious naked lips ajar,
Her smile was so divine,
Her face was truely ordained,
It was a silver spangle in her eyes
I can hardly whisper her name,
For i was spell bound,
With my seductive goddess I walked
For she was a gentle warmer,
And such a sweet soul aspirer,
As she lures me with her solem voice
into these dreamy night,
A dream uncommon,
But rather sensational,
Once again, i knew the messiah queen was my saviour,
I knew i was free from the drenching claws of boredom,
And the sultry night was a passage into what i may call FIRST LOVE ON A ROLL.
poem by Folayemi Akande
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The Undiscovered Country
Man has explored all countries and all lands,
And made his own the secrets of each clime.
Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,
The oval earth lies compassed with steel bands,
The seas are slaves to ships that touch all strands,
And even the haughty elements sublime
And bold, yield him their secrets for all time,
And speed like lackeys forth at his commands.
Still, though he search from shore to distant shore,
And no strange realms, no unlocated plains
Are left for his attainment and control,
Yet is there one more kingdom to explore.
Go, know thyself, O man! there yet remains
The undiscovered country of thy soul!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Look Deeply into A Woman's Eyes
Your Eyes
Mirrors of the soul
Reflections of the mind
Green flecked pits of aquamarine
Oval shaped and Olivine
Your Eyes are…
Plumbers of my very soul
Searchers of my mind
Orbs that flash both hot and cold
Dark chalices of wine
Your Eyes have always been….
Deep pools of liquid grace
Quicksilver vases of tears
The crowning beauty of your face
Enduring through the years
Your Eyes Will Always and ever be….
The reflection of your soul
Vision of your essence
The window to your heart of gold
The acme of Quintessense
Tis’ Impossible to visualize
Impossible to truly realize
Yet, Very possible to be hypnotized by…
The depth of a woman’s eyes
poem by David Whalen
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Soldier's Song
Smoke was slowly rising as the night began to fade,
There were fires on the sky line from some distant born array,
I was riding out at 17 to join my first brigade,
Many years ago.
And I chanced upon a farm house where the woman took me in,
She gave me food and wine, she gave me shelter from the wind,
She delayed me from my regiment, and service of my King,
Many years ago.
She said "Soldier, before I lose you to the fight,
Oh my soldier, I'll make a man of you tonight"
She took me over, in the fading fire glow,
On that wild and misty night she was my woman.
When I rose next morning I was gone before she stirred,
Tore myself away from there and left without a word,
Sound of distant infantry was the only thing I heard,
On that morning.
And in that day I aged 10 years and died a thousand deaths,
I learned the feel of frozen steal and fear within my breast,
But the lesson I remember 'til they laided me to my rest,
Keeps returning.
She said "Soldier, before I lose you to the fight,
Oh my soldier, I'll make a man of you tonight"
She took me over, in the fading fire glow,
On that wild and misty night she was my woman.
And when the dice of war was thrown, and victory was won,
My drunken young compatriots went out to have their fun,
And there was no single house they did not burn or over run,
On that evening.
And I rode out to that place again as hard as I could ride,
but I found her by the trail on the lonely mountain side,
In the hands of those brave friends of mine she suffered and she died,
Many years ago.
"Soldier, before I lose you to the fight,
Oh my soldier, I'll make a man of you tonight"
She took me over, in the fading fire glow,
On that wild and misty night she was my woman.
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lone Traveler
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
A pack of wolves running through the forest
Chasing down crying little rabbit looking for a hole
Doesn’t know that every damn hole is full of corns
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
The moon shines like there is no other night
To make the curve she had to follow the relenting howl
As time runs in circle, the night goes faster than before
Lone howl under the great blue night sky
A child walks down the street of the city of angels
Knows no bond to depend on, no rope to hang on
He raised his hand for a dime, he’s only got reservation in heaven
Can you catch the notes floating with the sound
Within the cold air that freezes your bones and brain
With the snow that falls like storm,
And nothing but the white emptiness before your soul
And I’m walking with my bare two feet, listening carefully
To the sound of cars driving on the streets at night
To the sound of babies crying out their heart
To the sound of waves washing the shore, the sound of loneliness
To the sound of traveling stars, the sound of the universe
poem by Alexander Foald
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Elegy For My Father
HLF, August 8,1918—August 22,1997
“Bequeath us to no earthly shore until
Is answered in the vortex of our grave
The seal’s wide spindrift gaze towards paradise.”
—Hart Crane, “Voyages”
“If a lion could talk, we couldn’t understand it”
—Ludwig Wittgenstein
Under the ocean that stretches out wordlessly
past the long edge of the last human shore,
there are deep windows the waves haven't opened,
where night is reflected through decades of glass.
There is the nursery, there is the nanny,
there are my father’s unreachable eyes
turned towards the window. Is the child uneasy?
His is the death that is circling the stars.
In the deep room where candles burn soundlessly
and peace pours at last through the cells of our bodies,
three of us are watching, one of us is staring
with the wide gaze of a wild, wave-fed seal.
Incense and sage speak in smoke loud as waves,
and crickets sing sand towards the edge of the hourglass.
We wait outside time, while night collects courage
around us. The vigil is wordless. And you
watch the longest, move the farthest, besieged by your breath,
pulling into your body. You stare towards your death,
head arched on the pillow, your left fingers curled.
Your mouth sucking gently, unmoved by these hours
and their vigil of salt spray, you show us how far
you are going, and how long the long minutes are,
while spiralling night watches over the room
and takes you, until you watch us in turn.
Lions speak their own language. You are still breathing.
Here is release. Here is your pillow,
cool like a handkerchief pressed in a pocket.
Here is your white tousled long growing hair.
Here is a kiss on your temple to hold you
safe through your solitude’s long steady war;
here, you can go. We will stay with you,
keeping the silence we all came here for.
Night, take his left hand, turning the pages.
Spin with the windows and doors that he mended.
Spin with his answers, patient, impatient.
Spin with his dry independence, his arms
warmed by the needs of his family, his hands
flying under the wide, carved gold ring, and the pages
flying so his thought could fly. His breath slows,
lending its edges out to the night.
Here is his open mouth. Silence is here
like one more new question that he will not answer.
A leaf is his temple. The dark is the prayer.
He has given his body; his hand lies above
the sheets in a symbol of wholeness, a curve
of thumb and forefinger, ringed with wide gold,
and the instant that empties his breath is a flame
faced with a sudden cathedral's new stone.
poem by Annie Finch
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At The Window
My choking breath, silent run between the window
Frames of wild chestnuts' trees.
Murmurs of warm sheets cast away my body.
Balcony, sprout seeds of transparent fluid.
Mute you show me the world, so that I can make the tree sing.
And the birds' blow by the wind.
It exalted my desire, which cannot be neither confined nor not die.
Like shining night, reflected on cats' eyes.
Every time the moon shine.
Voices of flame, blow by the wind
Against the window spiffier, last fire soon death adores.
Of my breath, last sigh.
I shall disappear from the reflection of a sterile glass.
Contemplate with my sight the blue sky, and let it die.
poem by Luca Menin
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Windows
Frost circles, on a glass.
I watched.
Hour upon hour.
Through a day's loneliness.
Insignificant seeds.
Sat by the window.
Traced its essence.
Into the air.
As mist disappeared.
A vapor of breath.
Onto nothingness.
Has translated.
Thinking of life.
I blew my heat.
Onto the glass.
Time and again.
Drew your name.
Into its frost.
Some pictures.
To vanish.
With the next breath.
Float into the sullen air.
There, I picture your face.
Those haunting eyes.
Saw within them.
Your face.
A reflection.
Of my own.
Candle flickers...
Dancing light.
Reflecting across the wall.
Frozen windows.
Playing, on its icy roses.
Side-to-side.
Around it goes.
Until dizzy from tossing.
Turning again I shall go.
Wonder, what evil thus.
Would keep me awake?
Conscious, through the night.
Prevent my escape.
From still and frost.
To the dreamland, I hope.
Within the window, I peer.
See my eyes, through thine.
Into the window, I stare.
Both souls thus bare.
poem by Ilari Rahja
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An Old Story
(Retold in Rhyme)
They threw him in a prison cell;
He moaned upon his bed.
And when he crept from coils of hell:
"Last night you killed," they said.
"last night in drunken rage you slew
A being brave with breath;
A radiant soul, because of you
Lies dark in death."
"last night I killed," he moaned distraught,
"When I was wild with wine;
I slew, and I remember naught . . .
O Mother, Mother mine!
"To what unbridled rage may lead
You taught me at your knew.
Why did I not your warning heed . . .
And now - the gallows tree.
"O Mother, Mother, come to me,
For I am sore distrest,
And I would kneel beside your knee
And weep upon your breast. . . ."
They stared at him; their lips were dumb,
Their eyes tear filled;
Then spoke the Priest: "She cannot come . . .
'Twas she you killed."
poem by Robert William Service
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Breath Upon The Looking Glass
My breath expressed
Upon the looking glass
A living veil
Composed of gas
Eyes kept without
Breath held within
A visual shout
A ghastly grin
That fades away
As does the breath
As sure and certain
As life and death
The looking glass
Now free of mist
Lays bare my soul
And doing so insists
That I observe
The exposed nerve
That in said glass
Persists
I hastily breath anew
On said looking glass
To renew said veil
of living gas
Then Hie away
Before it fades
And draws me fast (and forever)
Into the looking glass
poem by David Whalen
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Om Tattoo
Moon-seducing poetry
On the starlight veranda,
The lilac perfume of her sweater,
I swore on my Om tattoo
I would never forget her.
The sacred dance
Of the hidden goddess
Caught me dizzy beneath drunken stars
And lost in the mysterious sea of dreams.
To kiss the nape of a woman’s neck
And dive into her soul
Through the vulnerability
Of her eyes,
I could cease to be human
And merely exist
In the kingdom of her breath.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Valentine's without you
In the Night of Valentine's.
The lovers recreate and drinking wine.
The candles floodlight the the tables when they dine
in the star-full sky the love moon shines
Despite me
In is the Night of Valentine's.
Im crying, Wiping my tears
I'm dying & saying that I'm fine
In the Night of Valentine's.
You said that u'll return tomorrow
and now it's 2009
When will u come?
till when I should wait?
please' just give me a sign
It is the night of valentine's
Do you hear me?
poem by Shahad Raad
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