Beethoven In Central Park
(After a glimpse of a certain monument in New York, during the
Victory Celebration)
The thousand-windowed towers were all alight.
Throngs of all nations filled that glittering way;
And, rich with dreams of the approaching day,
Flags of all nations trampled down the night.
No clouds, at sunset, die in airs as bright.
No clouds, at dawn, awake in winds as gay;
For Freedom rose in that august array,
Crowned with the stars and weaponed for the right.
Then, in a place of whispering leaves and gloom,
I saw, too dark, too dumb for bronze or stone,
One tragic head that bowed against the sky;
O, in a hush too deep for any tomb
I saw Beethoven, dreadfully alone
With his own grief, and his own majesty.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Twin Towers in the Clouds
They rose above the Clouds
as my charter passed downtown.
An April day dawning,
thirty thousand feet from ground.
It was as if they, alone, had been spared
And all New York was gone.
The future was quite different,
Something I could not have known.
Two other planes approaching
on a clear September morn.
changed utterly, the world;
Twin Towers, smoking, gone.
The death of one or several men
Might barely give us pause,
but as we read two thousand names
We’re still fighting two wars.
Peace continues to elude us
No matter whom we catch or kill.
Sometimes, in dreams, I think I see
the towers standing still.
But in the cold grey light of morning
I know I never will.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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You & The Clouds Will Still Be Beautiful
And every morning before Im awake
I walk around the world to make sure shes alright
And every evening fore I bolt the door
I give the stars a stir to make sure they will spin all night
For I see people who will scratch and spit and kick and fight
And I see nations war about whether right is left and whether wrong is right
And I know storms inside your head can amplify the blight
But no matter what the weather, you and the clouds will still be beautiful
No matter what the weather, you and the clouds will still be beautiful
And every troy with wooden horse
I take to peaceful waters but cant make him drown
And every bastille that gets stormtroopered
Hail to the chief comes rainin, rainin, rainin, rainin down
And Ive seen people conduct lightning down to a summers day
And Ive seen nations playfully hurl snowballs packed with stones and clay
And I know rain inside your head can seriously put a stop to play
But no matter what the weather, you and the clouds will still be beautiful
No matter what the weather, you and the clouds will still be beautiful
So let it rain
And when we see flying saucers, flying cups, and flying plates
And as we trip down lovers lane we sometimes bump into the gate
And I know thunder in your head can still reverberate
But no matter what the weather, you and the clouds will still be beautiful
No matter what the weather, you and the clouds will still be beautiful
No matter what the weather
Yeah
So let it rain
So let it rain
You know you still be beautiful
So let it rain
It doesnt matter what the weather you know youre beautiful
Just let it rain
Youre just, youre beautiful
So let it rain
Yeah, since the clouds all part the clouds just rose
So let it rain
From your pretty little mouth to your pretty little nose youre beautiful
So let it rain
It doesnt matter if the rain wants to fail if the rain wants to fall
Just let it rain
So let it rain
So let it rain
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Songs Of The Sky
In a sky of layered clouds,
dawn becomes a rainbow,
moving through the spectrum
toward the day.
In a sky of always blue,
no clouds ride the wind:
the sun burns brightly,
high and hot and long.
In a sky of may grays,
clouds crash, explode and roar;
rain-filled winds sweep across the prairie.
In a sky of many blues,
clouds dance on the wind;
and endless and quixotic
Rohrschach test.
In a sky of always gray,
no clouds seem to move;
overcast blots out imagination.
In a sky of cold, cold blue,
gray clouds scrape the treetops;
harbingers of winter storms to come.
Beneath a sky of darkening gray,
the prairie grasses rustle
on the small, forgotten farms
of what could've been
and was.
In a sky of mottled gray,
cold rains fall, now and then;
the seasons struggle
for control of April.
In a sky of broken gray,
cold winds precede the rains;
and before long
the darkened clouds re-gather.
In a sky as clear as glass,
and blue from top to bottom,
sultry days of August
slowly drift into September.
In a twi-lit noon-time sky,
this annular eclipse
leaves us just a
ring around the moon.
In a sky of many clouds,
sunset's an inferno;
ablaze, in this,
my father's final twilight.
In a sky that slowly burns,
the clouds of fire fade
and leave a darker beauty
to hold the night.
poem by William Kruse
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Night
Earth! thou art lovely, when the sinking sun
Hath bathed the clouds in his departing flush,
And, with the moon-lit evening, hath begun
The voiceless, and yet spirit-calming hush,
That thrills around the heart, till tear-drops rush,
Unbidden and uncall'd for, to the eye;
When, save the music of the fountain's gush,
Or the far wailing of the night-bird's cry,
Unbroken silence hangs o'er earth, and wave, and sky.
But now the majesty of midnight storm
Is gathering, in its grandeur, o'er the sky;
The deep black clouds in mustering squadrons form,
And the low, fitful blast, that passes by,
Hath a strange fearful thrilling—like the sigh
Of a sick slumberer; even that hath died,
And in their quiet sleep the waters lie,
As though the winds ne'er curl'd them in its pride,
Or shook the still bent leaves that hang above the tide.
How steadily that ebon mass moves on!
Stretching across the sky in one dark line,
Like a huge wall of blackness; there do none
Of the thin silvery vapours hang supine,
Or those bright clouds that sometimes seem to twine
A coronal to grace the brow of night;
Stars in Orion's studded baldric shine,
In all their wonted brightness; and the light
Of an unclouded moon half dims the dazzled sight.
The tempest hurries onward—how the flash
Of the red lightning leaps from cloud to cloud!
The gathering thunder bursts in one wild crash,
And sinks a moment—then, returning loud,
Seems bounding o'er the sky, as if 't were proud
Of its own potency. We need not now,
A sharer in the thoughts that round us crowd;
The soul is its own world, and the deep glow
Of the rapt spirit seeks no fellowship below.
The wildness of the storm hath pass'd; the rain
Drips from the wet leaves only, and the sky,
With its deep azure beauty, gleams again
Through the rent clouds; the sunken wind swells by,
With a low sobbing; and the clouds, heap'd high,
With the rich moonbeams’ streaming flood of light
Pour'd full upon them, swell before the eye
Like distant snow-clad mountains. Night! O night!
Thou art most glorious! most beautifully bright!
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mentana
'Mother, I hear a word
In the air!'
Play on, play on, my son,
The word thou hast heard is some bright sweet bird
That singeth, why and where
Who knows?
As who knows why and whither
The little wind blows
That bloweth hither and thither
But hardly stirs thy hair,
Hardly stirs the gossamers
Or a film of thy golden hair.
'Oh Mother, Mother dear,
Bend down, bend down to me!
Ah Mother, what dost thou hear?'
Hush, hush, my son,
I hear a word in the air.
'Ah Mother, why is thy face so white?
Ah Mother, Mother, why
Are thine eyes alight?
Ah Mother, why is thy face so red?
Mother, Mother, the hair of thine head-'
Silence, boy, we are near them,
Silence, boy, the dead, the dead,
I hear them, I hear them, I hear them!
They come, they come, they are here, they are gone,
And they cried, with a single cry,
'Mentana!'
The word is said, the night is fled,
Ere we knew it dawn 'tis day,
The graves are wide, the dead are up and away,
On the racing winds they race
To call the living land.
Boy, I am again a wife!
Boy, I saw thy father's face!
Round him rode the self-same band,
That went round him that great day
To Glory's latest Altar-place-
Went around and fell around,
When the red-legged assassin on the hill
With conjurations bloody and base
Jabbered the slanting sunset to his will,
And by such pests did so incriminate
The air with murder, that, when, weary and late,
Upon the well-won field the conqueror stood
Masters of all the eye could see,
The star-cracked and berotted victory
Burst in each glorious hand
And tore the sacred limits of sweet life,
And sluiced the dear heart's blood.
Ah God! if such blood could sink into the ground!
Up, up, my son, up, up, my soldier-son!
On with thy white-cross cap, while I
Bind me around with tri-colour
And let us go.
Whither? Whither they have gone before!
Haste! The dead have fleeter feet than ours.
See, the answering vales already move!
What is that, that like a moving sea
Floods towards the citied lilies of the towers
That soon shall ring
'Mentana!'
Well done, well done,
Thy little sword and gun,
Thou shalt wave the sword while I will cry
'Mentana!'
See, as we run the hamlets run,
The little towns are waving in the sun,
'Mentana!'
Hark the bells thunder, hark the trumpets blow
'Mentana!'
The mountains hear, the mists divide,
Look, look, on high,
The great tops crowned with joy and pride
Clang to the clanging vales below,
'Mentana!'
A thousand clarions blaze from side to side
'Mentana!'
What, must we rest again the little feet?
Cub of the Lion is thy dam too fleet?
Yet thou hast proved thy kind,
For see the misty miles behind,
And lo, before us what was dim is clear.
The city-walls, the city-gate,
The towers, the towers
That from our mountain seemed like flowers,
But hence like Pedestals that wait
The Statue of our Italy divine.
That Italy who, tho' she hath been hewn
In pieces,-as when the demons hew
An angel, whose immortal substance true
To his Eternal Image is not slain,
But from a thòusand falchions rears again
Still undivided by division
His everlasting beauty, whole and one-
When sounds the trump whereat the nations rise
Shall lift her unseamed body to the skies
And in her flesh see (God)-
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Hymn of Apollo
I.
The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,
Curtained with star-inwoven tapestries,
From the broad moonlight of the sky,
Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes,--
Waken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn,
Tells them that dreams and that the moon is gone.
II.
Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome,
I walk over the mountains and the waves,
Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam;
My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the caves
Are filled with my bright presence, and the air
Leaves the green Earth to my embraces bare.
III.
The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill
Deceit, that loves the night and fears the day;
All men who do or even imagine ill
Fly me, and from the glory of my ray
Good minds and open actions take new might,
Until diminished by the reign of Night.
IV.
I feed the clouds, the rainbows, and the flowers,
With their ethereal colors; the Moon's globe,
And the pure stars in their eternal bowers,
Are cinctured with my power as with a robe;
Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine,
Are portions of one power, which is mine.
V.
I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven;
Then with unwilling steps I wander down
Into the clouds of the Atlantic even;
For grief that I depart they weep and frown:
What look is more delightful than the smile
With which I soothe them from the western isle?
VI.
I am the eye with which the Universe
Beholds itself, and knows it is divine;
All harmony of instrument or verse,
All prophecy, all medicine, is mine,
All light of art or nature; - to my song
Victory and praise in its own right belong.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Whispering Winds Of Hope...
The Whispering Winds of Hope
The Soothing Laughter of Rain
The Gentle Touch of The Sun
Can Begin to Help Heal Pain
The Bright Smiles of The Stars
The Brave Walk of The Moon
Even Muted Songs of The Night
Can Help To Hush The Gloom
So Listen To Your Heart
See With Your Mind’s Eye
Feel With Understanding
Even If You Have To Cry
Life Is Oh So Beautiful
Each Second A Precious Thing
Know Even In The Worst Sorrow
A Small Part Of You Can Dream
As The Wind Whispers of Hope
Believe Laughter of The Rain
Tomorrow Is Always A Brand New Day
Rebirth To Rejoice Again
On The Whispering Winds of Hope
And Soothing Laughter of The Rain
You Will Not Sleep Forevermore
GOD Held Me … and Explained
… The Bright Smiles of The Stars
The Brave Walk of The Moon
Are For Signs and Times … Our Visuals
Of What HE Can Do Soon
… Scent of Roses From My Window
Feel of Silk Upon My Bed
A Teardropp On My Cheek
And Brave Moonlight On My Head
The Whispering Winds of Hope
The Soothing Laughter of The Rain
When The Gentle Touch of The Son
Begins To Heal My Pain
Written & ©: 6/28/10
By: The MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
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The Distant Ship
The sea-bird's wing, o'er ocean's breast
Shoots like a glancing star,
While the red radiance of the west
Spreads kindling fast and far;
And yet that splendour wins thee not,–
Thy still and thoughtful eye
Dwells but on one dark distant spot
Of all the main and sky.
Look round thee!–o'er the slumbering deep
A solemn glory broods;
A fire hath touch'd the beacon-steep,
And all the golden woods;
A thousand gorgeous clouds on high
Burn with the amber light!–
What spell, from that rich pageantry,
Chains down thy gazing sight?
A softening thought of human cares,
A feeling link'd to earth!
Is not yon speck a bark, which bears
The lov'd of many a hearth?
Oh! do not Hope, and Grief, and Fear,
Crowd her frail world even now,
And manhood's prayer and woman's tear,
Follow her venturous prow?
Bright are the floating clouds above,
The glittering seas below;
But we are bound by cords of love
To kindred weal and wo.
Therefore, amidst this wide array
Of glorious things and fair,
My soul is on that bark's lone way,–
For human hearts are there.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Sonnet XIV. Addressed To The Same (Haydon)
Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,
Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing:
He of the rose, the violet, the spring,
The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:
And lo!--whose stedfastness would never take
A meaner sound than Raphael’s whispering.
And other spirits there are standing apart
Upon the forehead of the age to come;
These, these will give the world another heart,
And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings?-------
Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.
poem by John Keats
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Sonnet XIV. Addressed To The Same (Haydon)
Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,
Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing:
He of the rose, the violet, the spring,
The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:
And lo!--whose stedfastness would never take
A meaner sound than Raphael’s whispering.
And other spirits there are standing apart
Upon the forehead of the age to come;
These, these will give the world another heart,
And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings?-------
Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.
poem by John Keats
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Dusk to dawn
Dusk to dawn
The sunset sets the sky alight.
With flames if incandescent red
and nameless colours just as bright
The western skies gold burnish’ed.
The setting sun puts up a fight
but he is overpower 'ed
Must needs surrender to the night.
Reluctantly retire to bed
But come the morn he is reborn.
Refreshed he puts the night to flight.
Rising from pale pink clouds at dawn
He demonstrates his sovereign right
He knows by night the moon reflects
his burning rays as he expects.
16-Sep-08
Http: // blog.my space.com/ poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Dew
As dew leaves the cobweb lightly
Threaded with stars,
Scattering jewels on the fence
And the pasture bars;
As dawn leaves the dry grass bright
And the tangled weeds
Bearing a rainbow gem
On each of their seeds;
So has your love, my lover,
Fresh as the dawn,
Made me a shining road
To travel on,
Set every common sight
Of tree or stone
Delicately alight
For me alone.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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I Like The Image Of Clouds Keeping On Changing
i am simply amazed with the way the
clouds keep on changing themselves
and sadly, the winds do not really admit
their faults how they blow harder and how
they stop when the clouds are carried away
in ecstasy and red with sunset the clouds
are mad to the coming of the night its blackness
overpowering its quest for the good and the true
and the beautiful. The moon sits with the stars
in meditation, what goes wrong? why so silent?
that seems to be their theme in the motif of
stillness and the wind now with the wolves and
dogs howl throughout the night telling the
trees that they are ready for love and lust.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Clouds Shall Pass
I see clouds
Whitish and feathery
Cotton white and feathery
Dark clouds, winds gather,
Winds howl, winds sweep the sky
Sun shines, coloured rainbow bows
little rain spatters, clouds,
Clouds shall clear, the sun winks.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Sunset and Dawn
The Sunset tells the end of everything,
the Dawn tells the beginning.
During the Sunset,
the sky turns orange,
like Love is when it's old and false.
During the Dawn,
the sky turns pink and blue,
like Love is when it's fresh and true.
At Sunset,
you get a glimpse of the moon and stars,
and you know it's going to be okay.
At Dawn,
you get a glimpse of the sun in a new form,
and you know it's not over yet.
poem by Laura Rodriguez
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Invocation
I called on dreams and visions, to disclose
That which is veil'd from waking thought; conjured
Eternity, as men constrain a ghost
To appear and answer. ~ WORDSWORTH.
Answer me, burning stars of night!
Where is the spirit gone,
That past the reach of human sight,
As a swift breeze hath flown?–
And the stars answer'd me–'We roll
In light and power on high;
But, of the never-dying soul,
Ask that which cannot die.'
Oh! many-toned and chainless wind!
Thou art a wanderer free;
Tell me if thou its place canst find,
Far over mount and sea?–
And the wind murmur'd in reply,
'The blue deep I have cross'd,
And met its barks and billows high,
But not what thou hast lost.'
Ye clouds, that gorgeously repose
Around the setting sun,
Answer! have ye a home for those
Whose earthly race is run?
The bright clouds answer'd–'We depart,
We vanish from the sky;
Ask what is deathless in thy heart,
For that which cannot die.'
Speak then, thou voice of God within,
Thou of the deep, low tone!
Answer me, thro' life's restless din,
Where is the spirit flown?
And the voice answer'd–'Be thou still!
Enough to know is given;
Clouds, winds, and stars their part fulfil,
Thine is to trust in Heaven.'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Vulnerable
Is your heart capable of love?
Or is the past filled with ravens?
Love is a spring day amidst the grief
Many no longer feel it
Lust takes the place of the sun
Hearts fill with stone
The temptation too not feel
Loss of trust
Replaced by dark dreams
Vulnerability a thing of the past
Dark castles deep with chains
Imprisoned by self exile
Do you remember the days of blue?
When fields were filled with spring
Innocent dreams came like robins
Everything was a song of life
Visions of a first kiss like a rose
Lovely wild flowers blossomed
Smiles touched the bedrock of dreams
First flush of young love
Nights of soft sweet fire
Earth seemed like Eden
Couples glow with moonlight
I crave love
Only the vulnerable have a chance
Only the vulnerable walk the stars
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Elegiac Stanzas On The Death Of Sir Peter Parker, Bart.
There is a tear for all that die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave;
But nations swell the funeral cry,
And Triumph weeps above the brave.
For them is Sorrow's purest sigh
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent:
In vain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument!
A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue:
The present hours, the future age,
For them bewail, to them belong.
For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hush'd, their name the only sound;
While deep Remembrance pours to Worth
The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Lamented by admiring foes,
Who would not share their glorious lot?
Who would not die the death they chose?
And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be;
And early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.
But there are breasts that bleed with thee
In woe, that glory cannot quell;
And shuddering hear of victory
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell.
Where shall they turn to mourn thee less?
When cease to hear thy cherish'd name?
Time cannot teach forgetfulness
While Grief's full heart is fed by Fame.
Alas! for them, though not for thee,
They cannot choose but weep the more;
Deep for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.
October 1814.
Prelude - Tristan And Isolde
Fate, out of the deep sea's gloom,
When a man's heart's pride grows great,
And nought seems now to foredoom
Fate,
Fate, laden with fears in wait,
Draws close through the clouds that loom,
Till the soul see, all too late,
More dark than a dead world's tomb,
More high than the sheer dawn's gate,
More deep than the wide sea's womb,
Fate.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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There's A Dark Cloud Over My Head
There is a dark cloud over my head
With every move i make, every step i take
It keeps following me
Lord you know i want to free
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds
Now as the rain begins to fall, i feel so small
I'm always getting wet with the rain of prejudice
Look there is a mist of discrimation
And the fog of injustice
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds hanging over my head
Lord you know i want to be free
It's hard to look through the thickness of the clouds
Standing under the dark clouds the sun never shines
As my eyes glist for a brighter tomorrow
My sisters and brothers are filled with sorrow
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds
Why do they keep following me
Lord you know i want to be free
This cloud kept many of our people down
This cloud has kept us bound
Our head hanging to the ground
A cloud of sorrow and pain
A cloud of loneiness and despair
Wondering does anyone care
Now as i look beyond the horizon with the telescope
Of my mind
It was fantastic what i've found
If you can look beyond your dark cloud, sorrow and pain
You will see a star shining so near, yet it seems so far
Beyond your dark clouds, there is a galaxy of deterination
There is a star of i am somebody and it's shining
For the whole world to see
Let's load up our spaceship of education
Put our satellite into orbit, let's speed on to culture
Proudness
Gravitation of ignorance will never hold me down
There's no time for malfunction in our dreams
For many years our focus was ecliped
Eclipse we were inferior, eclipse we couldn't make it
Couldn't go to the same school
We can see clearly now my sisters and brothers
Let's walk in the light, let's fuel up with knowledge
Independence, awareness
Yes use the telescope of your mind
The satellite of youe soul
The orbit of your heart
To reach that certain star, no matter how near or far
poem by Leon Thomas Lee
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