En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Letter From Palestine

A letter from “The East” it came today,
And all the house is lightened of its gloom:
A sun-browned desert wind through every room
Eddies, and bring strange scents of old bazaare;
Of orange-groves beneath the dreaming stars
O’er far Jerusalem. Through these ordered rooms
Where poppies glow and pale narcissi blooms
Nod in tall vases, sings the desert breeze
Telling of brown battalion overseas.

Khaki-clad soldiers, singing as they go
Along the road to Gaza, and we know
The very breath of freedom’s in the air
With their gay boast, “Australia will be there”
Mateship and courage, loyalty and truth
The very essence of Australian youth!
We have no fears! serene in faith we pray
For those dear gallant lads so far away.

poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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The Gathering of the Brown-Eyed

The brown eyes came from Asia, where all mystery is true,
Ere the masters of Soul Secrets dreamed of hazel, grey, and blue;
And the Brown Eyes came to Egypt, which is called the gypsies’ home,
And the Brown Eyes went from Egypt and Jerusalem to Rome.

There was strife amongst the Brown Eyes for the false things and the true;
There was war amongst the Brown Eyes for the old gods and the new;
But the old gods live for ever, and their goddesses are bright
In the temples of Old Passions with the Brown Eyes of the White.

The Brown Eyes east, by Africa, they saw and conquered Spain,
And the Brown Eyes marched as Christians till a Brown Eye met a Dane,
The Dane had Brown-Eyed children who in blue eyes took delight—
And a son of blue-eyed sailors, brown-eyed, reads the stars to-night.

Oh, Knowledge from Old Deserts, where the great stars rocked the world!
Oh, courage from grim seaboards, where the Viking ships were hurled!
The clear skin of the Norseman, and the desert strength and sight,
The power to fathom mankind, and the glorious gift to write!

We can look in souls of women, aye! and let them know we do;
We can fix the false eyes earthward; we can meet and match the true;
We can startle Voice from Silence, and from Darkness flash the Light—
And the eyes to fathom Asia are the Brown Eyes of the White.

There’s a legend in the nations that all Brown Eyes once were true,
But were taught in love and warfare by the sinful shades of blue;
There’s a story amongst sinners that all Brown Eyes once were kind,
Till the Steel-Blue struck the Red-Fire in a hatred that was blind.

But the Brown Eyes are the saddest at the death of Love and Truth.
And the Brown Eyes are the grandest and the dreamiest of Youth.
They have risen in rebellion unto leadership sublime—
And the grey-eyed queens of women loved, and love them for all time!

Brown Eyes never married Brown Eyes but unhappiness held sway,
For the real mates of the Brown Eyes have for ever been the grey.
But though Brown Eyes quarrel hotly, though their very souls be wrenched,
Never Blue-Eye wronged a Brown-Eye but the Brown-Eye was avenged!

Through the breadth of wide Australia, waiting desert-like and vast,
We have sent our Brown-Eyed children, who are multiplying fast.
Patriots, picture-writers, sages, fill the Brown-Eyed rolls to-night—
’Tis the gathering from all ages of the Brown-Eyed of the White.

poem by Henry Lawson
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A Song Of Anzac

'When I'm sittin' in me dug-out, with me rifle on me knees,
An' a yowlin', 'owlin' chorus comes a-floatin' up the breeze
Just a bit o' 'Bonnie Mary'
Or 'Long Way to Tipperary'
Then I know I'm in Australia took an' planted overseas...'

So we sang in days remembered - fateful days of pain and war
When the young lads went forth singing, ship-bound for an unknown shore.
They were singing, ever singing, careless lads in careworn days,
Sturdy youths, but yet unblooded to red war's unholy ways.
From a land untouched by slaughter
Fared they forth across the water:
Some to Destiny's grim gateway where the scarlet poppy sways.

* * * *

'They were singin' on the troopship, they were singin' in the train;
When they left their land behind them they were shoutin' a refrain.
An' I'll bet they have a chorus
Gay an' glad in greetin' for us
When their bit of scrappin's over an' they sail back home again...'

So we sang to dull the aching that was looming even then
When the boys went out to battle, to come back stern fighting men.
So we strove to keep hope buoyant while they lived untouched by war,
But they came back, not with singing, when those anxious days were o'er
Disillusioned and war-weary,
And, for all their smiles were cheery,
Some came bitter, some came broken, some, they came back nevermore.

And today again they're marching, rugged veterans, grey and grave
These, who joined the carefree chorus, shouting many an olden stave
To the tramping cohorts' motion;
To the rolling of the ocean;
In their singing seeking kinship that high youth must ever crave.
Aye, today again they're marching with old faith and fellowship;
Grave and grey, with memory marching, but no song lifts to the lip.
Year by year the Boys are gathered; year by year the count grows fewer;
But the flame, new-lit on Anzac, goes before them burning pure;
And the Song of Anzac ringing
High above them, sounding, swinging,
Tells that memory of Anzac shall endure while these endure.

* * * *

They are marching with the old days, with the singing in their hearts,
With the memory of mateship that for not one hour departs:
Silent men, with sober faces,
Marking now the vacant places
Yearly growing, yearly showing where life ends and hope re-starts.
That trimphant Song of Anzac that the living Anzac hears -
Hears imperfectly and dimly,
As he tramps on gravely, grimly
Haunts the old familiar roadway he has trodden thro' the years.
Done are these with youth's vain dreaming who have yet to pay earth's price,
These who harked to young mates singing,
These who saw their young souls winging,
Ever singing, blithely singing, to the gates of Paradise.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Feeling The Sunflower

feel the leaves of this living flower
pierce and burst
the dews still dreaming
this morning
the glow of the sun from the east
slowly spreading between
the hills

you do not notice
the slow unfolding of this flower
through its red petals
now wanting to
open from the hold of
your fingers

my living flower
blooms today
it is telling the world
what freedom is
and its purity

and its being so temporary...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Desert Plains

Full moon is rising
The sky is black
I need your call Im coming back
The road is straight cast
Winds in my eyes
The engine roars between my thighs
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
Wild mountain thunder
Echoes my quest
My body aches but Ill not rest
Quartz light to guide me
Till sunrise leads
My passion screams, my heart it bleeds
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
Then in the distance
I see you stand
On the horizon you raise your hand
In burning rubber
I end my quest
You fall into my arms at last
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love

song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Living Flower

feel the leaves of this living flower
pierce and burst
the dews still dreaming
this morning
the glow of the sun from the east
slowly spreading between
the hills

you do not notice
the slow unfolding of this flower
through its white petals
now wanting to
open from the hold of
your fingers

my living flower
blooms today
it is telling the world
what freedom is
and its purity

and its being so temporary...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Y.... River meets desert

A young river,
So strong
Nothing could stop it
Nothing went wrong

Big rocks in its way
No problem at all
It went over them
Around them if tall

But then it met the desert
Water sank deep into sand
Huge problem for the river
It looked like its life was to end

Desperately
It turned to our God
'Please, God help me
To get away from or over this spot'

A voice from above said
'Look at the wind in the sky
It crosses the desert so easily
So just stop to cry! '

'But I am not wind, I am water
How can I cross
Please help me
I am at a loss'

'Did you forget dear river, '
Said the voice from above
'Long time before you were a river
The wind carried you with love'

The river let its water evaporate
Allowed the wind to carry it once more
In its loving arms,
wind held the river as before

Across the desert they went
A lot of water in a big large cloud
And at the other side
The wind let it rain out

There the river again became strong
Even better and stronger than before
With much vigor it ran
For everyone to adore

Dear young men and women alike
If you meet with the desert or anything wrong
Remember who carried you
Before you became a river so strong

poem by Aufie Zophy
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Santa Ana Winds

Here in sothern california there is a weather condition known as the
Santa ana winds.
Fire wind oh desert wind
She was born in a desert breeze
And wind her way
Through canyon way
From the desert to the silvery sea
In every direction
See the perfection
And see the san gabriel mountain scene
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Fill my sails
Oh desert wind
And hold the waves high for me
Then I will come
And test my skill
Where the santa ana winds blow free
In waves of elation
My part of creation
Becoming one with the boundless sea
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
I am the wind
Oh desert wind
On my pilgrimage to the sea
I will prevail
I will not fail
To bring life into humanity
My song is creation
(? ? ? )the nation
Whispering the wisdom and its purity
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds...

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Look For The Truth

All my dark dreams
Drift like smoke in the breeze
The fear grips me as I fall towards my sleep
Here comes the nightmare that never ends
Here is the dream that makes monsters of men
In the house of my soul
In rooms of ugliness and cold
Memories locked away
All the doubts and fears I never faced
Now they come again
I am falling down to meet with them
Fear within us all
Mine awake and they stand up tall
Look for the truth
Deepest cut of all from you
Knife of the truth
Blade of hatred slicing through
I pray my sleep will break
Maybe this time I wont wake
Weakness I hide so well
This dagger in my mind will tell
Its my final stand
I make a fist out of each hand
To the shadows of the past
Take a breath and I scream attack

song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song of Freedom - A Prayer Reflection on Mee Kamocha

When did we leave Egypt
And when did Egypt leave us?
When were the chains of slavery broken
And when did we finally truly feel free?

Freedom came in steps
It was part of the journey
From Egypt to Canaan
Our people took
And we can still take.

Freedom is courage and hope and clear vision
Freedom is walking to places we can’t see
Freedom in knowing that we can find food in the desert
Freedom is feeling safe though our houses are booths.
Freedom is choosing good rules to live by
And freedom is singing our very own song.

So with Moses and Miriam and all those who went with them
With all those before us who brought us to today
We still sing these words, our first words of freedom
'Freedom is having no sovereign but God.”

10/12/2003

poem by Lewis Eron
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Verses II

Supposed to have been written in the New Forest,
in early Spring.
AS in the woods, where leathery Lichen weaves
Its wint'ry web among the sallow leaves,
Which (through cold months in whirling eddies blown)
Decay beneath the branches once their own,
From the brown shelter of their foliage sear,
Spring the young blooms that lead the floral year:
When, waked by vernal suns, the Pilewort dares
Expand her spotted leaves, and shining stars
And (veins empurpling all her tassels pale)
Bends the soft Wind-flower in the tepid gale;
Uncultured bells of azure Jacynth's blow,
And the breeze-scenting Violet lurks below:
So views the wanderer, with delighted eyes,
Reviving hopes from black despondence rise,
When, blighted by adversity's chill breath,
Those hopes had felt a temporary death;

Then with gay heart he looks to future hours,
When love shall dress for him the summer bowers.
And, as delicious dreams enchant his mind,
Forgets his sorrows past, or gives them to the wind.

poem by Charlotte Smith
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I Saw God Today.... For My Pal Smoky

I saw God today, on a mountain high,
As the wind blew through my hair.
I saw God today in the clear blue sky,
I felt small and humble there.

I saw God today, in the desert sands,
As the Joshua Trees reached for the sky.
I saw God today in the arid sands,
And heard the coyotes mournful cries.

I saw God today in the desert sun,
And in the desert willow bells.
I saw God today, just one on one,
In beautiful stones and ancient sea shells.

I saw God today and he saw me,
I could reach out and touch his face.
I saw God in that vast dry sea,
And now my soul is full of grace.

I saw God today, in the great Southwest,
God saw my heart, and I saw his.
I can't still the thunder in my chest,
You see, that's where heaven is.

4/4/12 Alton Texas

poem by Juan Olivarez
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That Great Waiting Silence

Where shall we go for prophecy? Where shall we go for proof?
The holiday street is crowded, pavement, window and roof;
Band and banner pass by us, and the old tunes rise and fall—
But that great waiting silence is on the people all!

Where is the cheering and laughter of the eight-hour days gone by?
When the holiday heart was careless, and the holiday spirit high—
The friendly jostling and banter, the wit and the jovial call?
But that great waiting silence is over the people all.

Oh! but my heart beats faster—and a gush that was nearly tears:
Clatter of hammers on iron! and Australian Engineers!
Goods from Australian workshops—proud to the world at last
(And I see, in a flash from the future, Australian guns go past).

The morning sun-glare, softened by a veil, like frosted glass—
There is no breath of a head-breeze as the Labour banners pass,
There seems no sign of a danger or a change for the workers now—
But for some great, new-born spirit the banners seem to bow.

Where shall we go for our platforms? Where shall we go, indeed?
Shall we follow the cackle of women that follow the jesting Reid,
Through indifferent-seeming cities—and the browned men straight and tall?
But that great waiting silence is on the people all.

Twist and tangle and mystify, bully, and weep and bluff;
Marry the truth to a glaring lie, and say it is good enough;
Boast of your vice and villainy—in your virtue rant and bawl—
But that great waiting silence is over the people all!

Brothers, who work with shovel or pen, labour by day and night:
Brothers, who think of the hearts of men, ponder and speak and write;
Work for Australia’s destiny, content till you hear the call,
For the spirit that builds a nation is over the people all.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Autumn Perspective

Now, moving in, cartons on the floor,
the radio playing to bare walls,
picture hooks left stranded
in the unsoiled squares where paintings were,
and something reminding us
this is like all other moving days;
finding the dirty ends of someone else's life,
hair fallen in the sink, a peach pit,
and burned-out matches in the corner;
things not preserved, yet never swept away
like fragments of disturbing dreams
we stumble on all day. . .
in ordering our lives, we will discard them,
scrub clean the floorboards of this our home
lest refuse from the lives we did not lead
become, in some strange, frightening way, our own.
And we have plans that will not tolerate
our fears-- a year laid out like rooms
in a new house--the dusty wine glasses
rinsed off, the vases filled, and bookshelves
sagging with heavy winter books.
Seeing the room always as it will be,
we are content to dust and wait.
We will return here from the dark and silent
streets, arms full of books and food,
anxious as we always are in winter,
and looking for the Good Life we have made.

I see myself then: tense, solemn,
in high-heeled shoes that pinch,
not basking in the light of goals fulfilled,
but looking back to now and seeing
a lazy, sunburned, sandaled girl
in a bare room, full of promise
and feeling envious.

Now we plan, postponing, pushing our lives forward
into the future--as if, when the room
contains us and all our treasured junk
we will have filled whatever gap it is
that makes us wander, discontented
from ourselves.

The room will not change:
a rug, or armchair, or new coat of paint
won't make much difference;
our eyes are fickle
but we remain the same beneath our suntans,
pale, frightened,
dreaming ourselves backward and forward in time,
dreaming our dreaming selves.

I look forward and see myself looking back.

poem by Erica Jong
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Solitude In Desert

Nobody is left alone
All are accompanied by spirits
That takes no forms
That pervade the universe!
The sea is not alone
She is keeping in her womb
As much children count innumerable
She talk to sun
Even at the hot-point
And delight him at dawn and dusk!

The ocean never meditate
As she violates the silence
And keep lamenting always
Worried over the yet to born
Children in her large womb.

The desert never complain
Of the scorching sun
But like to converse all along
To ease his tension!

The desert keep company
With the wind, sun, moon
And the stars and horizon
Who never break the silence
And so the desert has solitude!

The rivers run down
To the depths of the oceans
Not listening
The gestures of ravines
As she is running
With rush to evaporate
To the heavens to take shape
Of weeping clouds to rain
Again and again to continue
The incessant mission assigned!
The desert lay silent
And pray in solitude
To bring solace to souls!

poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Desert Me Never

Hold me close desert me never
as of this day I pray oh Lord
to you I surrender - my deliverer
only to you my sovereign lord

When the wind blows a storm
keep me safe in your arms
This I pray my sovereign Lord
see pity of this unworthy ward

Desert me never in pain and ill
In times of confusions that perils my will

I always thought I was absent from you
Oh Lord, of this I was wrong
It was I who deserted you
A fool am I desert me never

poem by Godfrey Morris
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Sealed

Within the seal, a captured mirage
I am excused to miss you

Within this sealed tomb, shy from light
I am sure it is safe to love you

In the interim I lay feigned trust in the seal
Nay you seep out like sand through fingers

A breeze sees you reach every waking hour
Dusting my heart with brown sugar 

The desert in some sense a serene landscape
But thirst and searing heat sharpens the opposing blade

I walk in the desert day after day
Until I can once again set you free from your tomb.

poem by Stevie Taite
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Every Woman Who Dresses Like You

Like King David’s bed,
My bed is swimming with tears,
The not seeing you down these lonely years
Of heartbreak and multiplying fears;
I’m dreaming of you, simply dreaming of you,
But these dreams are merely
A disappointing substitute.

I breathe your perfume in fashionable boutiques,
I gaze at bouquets you would have adored at floral shops,
I notice every woman who dresses like you
Of a certain age and height,
I imagine they’re you, I pray they’re you,
But it is all a mind device to console me.

I’ve been fasting in this emotional desert,
I’m losing my strength and my real essence,
I’m wasting away with such a hunger
To see the world through your eyes,
To watch your hair flirt with the sunlight,
To touch your hands in a theater or church pew,
To live my life entwined with you.

Everything is difficult now,
Sleep has flown away like a bird,
I remain awake in the pale moonlight
That has disowned me as a lover
And frowns at my presence in the night.

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Little Black Bird

little black bird of Lia
flying away to Arizona

how is that little black
bird? what is it doing

in the desert? watching
how God paints a very

red orange sunset and
how the wind of the night

erases everything? Little
Black bird of Lia, what

is the reason for the
the leaving of devotion?

is sincerity still found
on that desert flower

blooming without water?
the cactus and some thorns

my loneliness deep like
the desert night, my longing

wide like the wind, my
illusions that life still

imitate art, that i can be
myself. Blackness and wings.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wind

A poem written for me :)

The wind is calling, Her breath cold and clear.
She is trying to tell me she is near.

To the desert she calls in soft haunting ways
Mother Nature is waiting so patient and true
The desert she calls out, Has so much to offer you.

The sunsets of yellows, oranges and reds
Dance across the sky up over head.

The is an energy so pure and serine
Only your soul alone in the desert will see.

An eye of an artist, or stroke of a pen
Will be able to capture her to the end

The wind is calling so soft and so true
The desert she whispers will be waiting for you.

By L.S.R.

poem by Howard Johnson
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Waratah and Wattle

Though poor and in trouble I wander alone,
With rebel cockade in my hat,
Though friends may desert me, and kindred disown,
My country will never do that!
You may sing of the Shamrock, the Thistle, the rose,
Or the three in a bunch, if you will;
But I know of a country that gathered all those,
And I love the great land where the Waratah grows.
And the Wattle-bough blooms on the hill.

Australia! Australia! so fair to behold-
While the blue sky is arching above;
The stranger should never have need to be told,
That the Wattle-bloom means that her heart is of gold.
And the Waratah's red with her love.

Australia! Australia! most beautiful name,
Most kindly and bountiful land;
I would die every death that might save her from shame,
If a black cloud should rise on the stand;
But whatever the quarrel, whoever her foes,
Let them come! Let them come when they will!
Though the struggle be grim, 'tis Australia that knows
That her children shall fight while the Waratah grows,
And the Wattle blooms out on the hill.

poem by Henry Lawson
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