Quiet Beauty
Quiet beauty
as she walks past me
peace and quiet
in the nestling heart
days are roses
fragrant all around me
nights like satin
smoothing with their lights
raindrops calling
sweetly on the window
their song is heard
many miles apart
my soul's longing
caged in all its sorrow
whispering freely
through this poem's lines
poem by Amber Breeeze
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I Would Write A Quiet Poem
I WOULD WRITE A QUIET POEM
I would write a quiet poem.
There is so much noise in the world.
A poem to be read in silence
A poem to give comfort and rest
A poem of peace
Of mind and soul.
A quiet poem
Against all the furies and pains of this world
A poem of peace
Restful as the most bliss-filled sleep.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dawn
Quiet miles of golden sky,
And in my heart a sudden flower.
I want to clap my hands and cry
For Beauty in her secret bower.
Quiet golden miles of dawn—
Smiling all the East along ;
And in my heart nigh fully blown,
A little rose-bud of a song.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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The Poem Of The Evening Is A Quiet Poem
THE POEM OF THE EVENING IS A QUIET POEM
The poem of the evening is a quiet poem
It comes in gentleness with tired eyes
It does not know how long it will last
It believes a fresh breeze
And a simple song
Are all its needs
To feel happiness.
The poem of the evening this evening
Believes in life
Believes in Goodness of God
Believes it will somehow be alright.
The poem of the evening this evening
May be a foolish one
But it is a quietly happy one.
We need such poems sometimes
For life is hard in the long working days
And in the times of difficult idleness
When no dreams come.
Quiet and quiet
Soft as sleep
The poem of the evening this evening
Is a gentle one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Raindrops
Joe melson
Raindrops, raindrops
I look out my window and what do I see
Raindrops, raindrops
They mark the pathway to my destiny
Raindrops, raindrops
Yes rain like the tears that fell from my heart
The day you said wed have to part
And now whats left for me to do
But watch those raindrops and cry over you
Instrumental
Youve stolen my love and my heart away
Raindrops, raindrops
And Ill feel the same for the rest of my days
Raindrops, raindrops
Well Ive tried yes Ive tried I want you to know
I did what you asked I loved you so
But I knew in my heart it wouldnt be long
Till Id look up and youd be gone
Transcribed by tracy
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Was a Poem Written Long Ago
There was a poem
Written long ago
A quiet poem
I cannot read it now
I will not write it again-
A quiet poem
We wrote
That went deep
Into my soul
And made it know
That life
Is forever good and beautiful-
A quiet poem
that will never be written
for me
again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Where Silence and Peace and Morning Sun/ Are
WHERE SILENCE AND PEACE AND MORNING SUN /ARE
Where Silence and Peace and Morning Sun
are
There is the Poem.
Where Quiet of the Soul is
There, the Poem.
The Poem is the Love of Life
in the Gentle Day and the Quiet Night
of this small Jerusalem garden
I sit and write in now.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Fear Does Not Write Happy Lines
FEAR DOES NOT WRITE HAPPY LINES
Fear does not write happy lines-
Anxiety does not sing -
The soul is not uplifted
With the next medical test.
Life is a song
But it is not just a song-
Happiness is real
But it is not the only reality.
Now for the days ahead
The quiet fear and waiting
And the poem that becomes a troubling question.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Day is Done
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night
As a feather wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of the day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of time.
For, like the strains of martial music,
Their mighty throughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And tonight I long for rest.
Read from the humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read the treasured volume
The poem of my choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Day is Done, The
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Her Child A Soldier
Her burdened soul, weeps dry tears.
Longing for the heart of her child.
A soldier.
Dark treacherous night.
Hidden plights.
Sad, saddened life.
Lost again.
Weeping men... Lost sins.
Forge on, forgiven sights.
And heights.
Quiet stories, unfound glories.
Oh, the heart of her child.
A soldier.
Dayless sleep, nightless dreams.
Only a man.
Desires arms of peace.
Peace... oh peace, how tragic does it weep.
Hopeful smiles come and pass.
Again to ravage a life.
Changed.
An invisible cage - holds faith.
Hope, … anger, … rage, … caged, … at bay.
Visible faces, and unseen places.
Oh, the truth of her child.
A soldier.
Her burdened soul, weeps dry tears.
Longing for the heart of her child... a soldier.
poem by Karen van Wyk
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Missing
And as I wander down to where you lay
The blood rushed up to meet the roses in your hair
I thought I saw you smile but now I dont see you anywhere
Whispering your love song in my ear
How can you touch me, when youre not really there?
Stumbling out I made my way towards the open door..
Climbing fast the sun broad streaming laughter down into your empty gaze
Where can I find you
Now I want to join in your games
I hear you calling
I hear you ... calling, calling, calling, calling...
Whispering your love song in my ear
How can you touch me?
How do you really dare?
Ohh oooh
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Does The Night Have A Poem?
DOES THE NIGHT HAVE A POEM?
Does the Night have a poem?
Is there anything worth saying now?
To hear the Quiet is a kind of poem,
But I do not know-
The Night says the Wind now,
But is a small breeze enough
To make Heart and Mind
Come to Life again?
The Night is silent now
And Darkness is no answer either.
Night, Quiet, Sound, Light, Love,
The Beauty of simply being alive.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Quiet Man
Quiet man of the Moors
Against the bricks of revocation
Invasion
When the mind is disturbed
When quiet is torn
Burning man of the soul
We die slowly when sold
Color is grand life
Shut your door
Keep the world out
Open your window
Let the garden in
Regain the deep serene joy
Quiet man of the heart
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Poem Of The Afternoon Quiet Before Shabbat
THE POEM OF THE AFTERNOON QUIET BEFORE SHABBAT
The poem of the afternoon quiet before Shabbat
Is a peaceful poem -
Waiting and already resting
I try to remember those days
When Shabbat was Shabbat
In greatest joy and happiness-
But I am older now than I want to know
Shabbat has a quiet and music of a different kind
God can be served in old age also-
Let the family gather and the guests come
Let prayer be our music -
Joy is rest and quiet and peaceful family love also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Silent Steps
Have you not heard his silent steps?
He comes, comes, ever comes.
Every moment and every age,
every day and every night he comes, comes, ever comes.
Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind,
but all their notes have always proclaimed,
`He comes, comes, ever comes.'
In the fragrant days of sunny April through the forest path he comes,
comes, ever comes.
In the rainy gloom of July nights on the thundering chariot of clouds
he comes, comes, ever comes.
In sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press upon my heart,
and it is the golden touch of his feet that makes my joy to shine.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Quiet river
Lazy stars shining on a little cabin,
Lazy moon glistening over river trees;
Old river whispering,
Lappin' 'against the long roots:
So quiet, so serene 'do you feel the blues?
Went down to the river, sat down and listened,
Heard the water talking' quiet,
Real quiet and slow:
'Ain' no need fo' hurry, take yo' time, take your time -yo
Heard it saying-'Son, heres the way life should go
poem by Ravi Upadhye
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An Old Man Is A Tired Man
AN OLD MAN IS A TIRED MAN
An old man is a tired man
His song is a quiet song
He walks slowly
Wherever he goes.
Yet the Night he walks into says to him,
‘There is Light here too’
And the Relief a Breeze may give
After too sunstrong days.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poem Of The Night
The Poem of the Night
The poem of the night
is a quiet poem.
It listens only
to itself.
It calls no one;
It remains as it is
where it is,
waiting with the subtle light
which makes it mean
what Beauty does.
The Poem of the Night
is a quiet life
and a light of Love
Looking at God's world
and smiling at it-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Suburbs
MILES and miles of quiet houses, every house a harbour,
Each for some unquiet soul a haven and a home,
Pleasant fires for winter nights, for sun the trellised arbour,
Earth the solid underfoot, and heaven for a dome.
Washed by storms of cleansing rain, and sweetened with affliction,
The hidden wells of Love are heard in one low-murmuring voice
That rises from this close-meshed life so like a benediction
That, listening to it, in my heart I almost dare rejoice.
poem by Enid Derham
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O sweet song of sorrow play thy song in me
O sweet song of sorrow play thy song in me
Lonely, alone with thee, in perfect harmony
Sorrow don't ever leave me; I need thy loyalty
Without thy sweet song, I am nothing, with no sympathy
Without thy empathy, breathing in me, sorrow thou art beauty
The beauty in me, so weep thy soul in me
And in thy sweet cry, my soul shall flow free
To thine heart, to thine love, to thine eternal glory
Sorrow, sweet sorrow, thou play thy song in me
Me as sorrowful, as thy soul's sorrow be…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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