En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Paper Windmill

The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane and looked out
at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of the square
glistened like mica. In the trees, a breeze danced and pranced,
and shook drops of sunlight like falling golden coins into the brown water
of the canal. Down stream slowly drifted a long string of galliots
piled with crimson cheeses. The little boy thought they looked as if
they were roc's eggs, blocks of big ruby eggs. He said, 'Oh!' with delight,
and pressed against the window with all his might.

The golden cock on the top of the `Stadhuis' gleamed. His beak was open
like a pair of scissors and a narrow piece of blue sky was wedged in it.
'Cock-a-doodle-do,' cried the little boy. 'Can't you hear me
through the window, Gold Cocky? Cock-a-doodle-do! You should crow
when you see the eggs of your cousin, the great roc.' But the golden cock
stood stock still, with his fine tail blowing in the wind.
He could not understand the little boy, for he said 'Cocorico'
when he said anything. But he was hung in the air to swing, not to sing.
His eyes glittered to the bright West wind, and the crimson cheeses
drifted away down the canal.

It was very dull there in the big room. Outside in the square, the wind
was playing tag with some fallen leaves. A man passed, with a dogcart
beside him full of smart, new milkcans. They rattled out a gay tune:
'Tiddity-tum-ti-ti. Have some milk for your tea. Cream for your coffee
to drink to-night, thick, and smooth, and sweet, and white,'
and the man's sabots beat an accompaniment: 'Plop! trop! milk for your tea.
Plop! trop! drink it to-night.' It was very pleasant out there,
but it was lonely here in the big room. The little boy gulped at a tear.

It was queer how dull all his toys were. They were so still.
Nothing was still in the square. If he took his eyes away a moment
it had changed. The milkman had disappeared round the corner,
there was only an old woman with a basket of green stuff on her head,
picking her way over the shiny stones. But the wind pulled the leaves
in the basket this way and that, and displayed them to beautiful advantage.
The sun patted them condescendingly on their flat surfaces, and they seemed
sprinkled with silver. The little boy sighed as he looked at his disordered
toys on the floor. They were motionless, and their colours were dull.
The dark wainscoting absorbed the sun. There was none left for toys.

The square was quite empty now. Only the wind ran round and round it,
spinning. Away over in the corner where a street opened into the square,
the wind had stopped. Stopped running, that is, for it never
stopped spinning. It whirred, and whirled, and gyrated, and turned.
It burned like a great coloured sun. It hummed, and buzzed, and sparked,
and darted. There were flashes of blue, and long smearing lines of saffron,
and quick jabs of green. And over it all was a sheen like a myriad
cut diamonds. Round and round it went, the huge wind-wheel,
and the little boy's head reeled with watching it. The whole square
was filled with its rays, blazing and leaping round after one another,
faster and faster. The little boy could not speak, he could only gaze,
staring in amaze.

The wind-wheel was coming down the square. Nearer and nearer it came,
a great disk of spinning flame. It was opposite the window now,
and the little boy could see it plainly, but it was something more
than the wind which he saw. A man was carrying a huge fan-shaped frame
on his shoulder, and stuck in it were many little painted paper windmills,
each one scurrying round in the breeze. They were bright and beautiful,
and the sight was one to please anybody, and how much more a little boy
who had only stupid, motionless toys to enjoy.

The little boy clapped his hands, and his eyes danced and whizzed,
for the circling windmills made him dizzy. Closer and closer
came the windmill man, and held up his big fan to the little boy
in the window of the Ambassador's house. Only a pane of glass
between the boy and the windmills. They slid round before his eyes
in rapidly revolving splendour. There were wheels and wheels of colours -
big, little, thick, thin - all one clear, perfect spin. The windmill vendor
dipped and raised them again, and the little boy's face was glued
to the window-pane. Oh! What a glorious, wonderful plaything!
Rings and rings of windy colour always moving! How had any one ever preferred
those other toys which never stirred. 'Nursie, come quickly. Look!
I want a windmill. See! It is never still. You will buy me one, won't you?
I want that silver one, with the big ring of blue.'

So a servant was sent to buy that one: silver, ringed with blue,
and smartly it twirled about in the servant's hands as he stood a moment
to pay the vendor. Then he entered the house, and in another minute
he was standing in the nursery door, with some crumpled paper on the end
of a stick which he held out to the little boy. 'But I wanted a windmill
which went round,' cried the little boy. 'That is the one you asked for,
Master Charles,' Nursie was a bit impatient, she had mending to do.
'See, it is silver, and here is the blue.' 'But it is only a blue streak,'
sobbed the little boy. 'I wanted a blue ring, and this silver
doesn't sparkle.' 'Well, Master Charles, that is what you wanted,
now run away and play with it, for I am very busy.'

The little boy hid his tears against the friendly window-pane. On the floor
lay the motionless, crumpled bit of paper on the end of its stick.
But far away across the square was the windmill vendor, with his big wheel
of whirring splendour. It spun round in a blaze like a whirling rainbow,
and the sun gleamed upon it, and the wind whipped it, until it seemed
a maze of spattering diamonds. 'Cocorico!' crowed the golden cock
on the top of the `Stadhuis'. 'That is something worth crowing for.'
But the little boy did not hear him, he was sobbing over the crumpled
bit of paper on the floor.

poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Round Room

My room is round when I lay down, when I wake up it's square
When I go outside it's on a spiral set of stairs
The people that surround me are waiting out there
In a round room they can't find me anywhere
Right angle rooms drive me crazier each day
Put me in a box I know I'm never going to play
Put me in a square room and I won't know what to say
I want a round room at the end of the day
I had an apartment, four corners on the walls
Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep there at all
I want a curve to the place where I stay
I want a round room at the end of the day
If I pass out take me to the round church
Where echoes resound
And my spirit is found
And when I float high
Take my arm and I'll fly you by
The outskirts of town, to a garden that's round
I went to the lighthouse and I liked the view
I looked out the window and I could see you
Put me in a square house and I won't have a clue
I want a round room just to be with you

song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Square Peg, Round Hole

He's a square peg in a round hole
Misfit in a slick world
Don't play the game
Don't do what he's told
He's a square peg in a round hole
Square peg don't care
The bright lights he's not there
Catch the shadows see him slip away
Square peg that's what they say
Square peg, Suare peg
Square peg, you have got to be strong
Square peg, he's got his own song
Square peg, I'll see you around
Square peg, face down
Square peg, round hole

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The ghost Bereft

THE poor ghost came through the wind and rain
And passed down the old dear road again.

Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed
Like little children that shrank afraid.

The wind was wild and the night was late
When the poor ghost came to the garden gate;

Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet,
The weeds stood up where the rose was set.

The wind was angry, the rain beat sore
When the poor ghost came to its own house-door.

'And shall I find her a-weeping still
To think how alone I lie and chill?

'Or shall I find her happy and warm
With her dear head laid on a new love's arm?

'Or shall I find she has learned to pine
For another's love, and not for mine?

'Whatever chance, I have this to my store,
She is mine, my own, for evermore!'

So the poor ghost came through the wind and rain
Till it reached the square bright window pane.

'Oh! what is here in the room so bright?
Roses and love, and a hid delight?

'What lurks in the silence that fills the room?
A cypress wreath from a dead man's tomb?

'What sleeps? What wakes? And oh! can it be
Her heart that is breaking--and not for me?'

Then the poor ghost looked through the window pane,
Though all the glass was wrinkled with rain.

'Oh, there is light, at the feet and head
Twelve tall tapers about the bed.

'Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare,
But not the garland a bride may wear.

'Jasmine white and a white white rose,
But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes.

'Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier--
But the room is empty--she is not here!

'Her body lies here, deserted, cold;
And the body that loved it creeps in the mould.

'Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free,
Would not have hastened and come to me?

'Can the soul that loved mine long ago
Be hence and away, and I not know?

'Oh, then God's judgment is on me sore,
For I have lost her for evermore!'

And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain
To its own appointed place again.

But up in Heaven, where memories cease
Because the blessed have won to peace,

One pale saint shivered, and closer wound
The shining raiment that wrapped her round.

'Oh, fair is Heaven, and glad am I,
Yet I fain would remember the days gone by.

'The past is veiled, and I may not know,
But I think there was sorrow, long ago;

'The sun of Heaven is warm and bright,
But I think there is rain on the earth to-night.

'O Christ, because of Thine own sore pain
Help all poor souls in the wind and rain.'

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nightmare: A Tale for an Autumn Evening

After a Print by George Cruikshank

It was a gusty night,
With the wind booming, and swooping,
Looping round corners,
Sliding over the cobble-stones,
Whipping and veering,
And careering over the roofs
Like a thousand clattering horses.
Mr. Spruggins had been dining in the city,
Mr. Spruggins was none too steady in his gait,
And the wind played ball with Mr. Spruggins
And laughed as it whistled past him.
It rolled him along the street,
With his little feet pit-a-patting on the flags of the sidewalk,
And his muffler and his coat-tails blown straight out behind him.
It bumped him against area railings,
And chuckled in his ear when he said 'Ouch!'
Sometimes it lifted him clear off his little patting feet
And bore him in triumph over three grey flagstones and a quarter.
The moon dodged in and out of clouds, winking.
It was all very unpleasant for Mr. Spruggins,
And when the wind flung him hard against his own front door
It was a relief,
Although the breath was quite knocked out of him.
The gas-lamp in front of the house flared up,
And the keyhole was as big as a barn door;
The gas-lamp flickered away to a sputtering blue star,
And the keyhole went out with it.
Such a stabbing, and jabbing,
And sticking, and picking,
And poking, and pushing, and prying
With that key;
And there is no denying that Mr. Spruggins rapped out an oath or two,
Rub-a-dub-dubbing them out to a real snare-drum roll.
But the door opened at last,
And Mr. Spruggins blew through it into his own hall
And slammed the door to so hard
That the knocker banged five times before it stopped.
Mr. Spruggins struck a light and lit a candle,
And all the time the moon winked at him through the window.
'Why couldn't you find the keyhole, Spruggins?'
Taunted the wind.
'I can find the keyhole.'
And the wind, thin as a wire,
Darted in and seized the candle flame
And knocked it over to one side
And pummelled it down - down - down -!
But Mr. Spruggins held the candle so close that it singed his chin,
And ran and stumbled up the stairs in a surprisingly agile manner,
For the wind through the keyhole kept saying, 'Spruggins! Spruggins!'
behind him.
The fire in his bedroom burned brightly.
The room with its crimson bed and window curtains
Was as red and glowing as a carbuncle.
It was still and warm.
There was no wind here, for the windows were fastened;
And no moon,
For the curtains were drawn.
The candle flame stood up like a pointed pear
In a wide brass dish.
Mr. Spruggins sighed with content;
He was safe at home.
The fire glowed - red and yellow roses
In the black basket of the grate -
And the bed with its crimson hangings
Seemed a great peony,
Wide open and placid.
Mr. Spruggins slipped off his top-coat and his muffler.
He slipped off his bottle-green coat
And his flowered waistcoat.
He put on a flannel dressing-gown,
And tied a peaked night-cap under his chin.
He wound his large gold watch
And placed it under his pillow.
Then he tiptoed over to the window and pulled back the curtain.
There was the moon dodging in and out of the clouds;
But behind him was his quiet candle.
There was the wind whisking along the street.
The window rattled, but it was fastened.
Did the wind say, 'Spruggins'?
All Mr. Spruggins heard was 'S-s-s-s-s -'
Dying away down the street.
He dropped the curtain and got into bed.
Martha had been in the last thing with the warming-pan;
The bed was warm,
And Mr. Spruggins sank into feathers,
With the familiar ticking of his watch just under his head.
Mr. Spruggins dozed.
He had forgotten to put out the candle,
But it did not make much difference as the fire was so bright . . .
Too bright!
The red and yellow roses pricked his eyelids,
They scorched him back to consciousness.
He tried to shift his position;
He could not move.
Something weighed him down,
He could not breathe.
He was gasping,
Pinned down and suffocating.
He opened his eyes.
The curtains of the window were flung back,
The fire and the candle were out,
And the room was filled with green moonlight.
And pressed against the window-pane
Was a wide, round face,
Winking - winking -
Solemnly dropping one eyelid after the other.
Tick - tock - went the watch under his pillow,
Wink - wink - went the face at the window.
It was not the fire roses which had pricked him,
It was the winking eyes.
Mr. Spruggins tried to bounce up;
He could not, because -
His heart flapped up into his mouth
And fell back dead.
On his chest was a fat pink pig,
On the pig a blackamoor
With a ten pound weight for a cap.
His mustachios kept curling up and down like angry snakes,
And his eyes rolled round and round,
With the pupils coming into sight, and disappearing,
And appearing again on the other side.
The holsters at his saddle-bow were two port bottles,
And a curved table-knife hung at his belt for a scimitar,
While a fork and a keg of spirits were strapped to the saddle behind.
He dug his spurs into the pig,
Which trampled and snorted,
And stamped its cloven feet deeper into Mr. Spruggins.
Then the green light on the floor began to undulate.
It heaved and hollowed,
It rose like a tide,
Sea-green,
Full of claws and scales
And wriggles.
The air above his bed began to move;
It weighed over him
In a mass of draggled feathers.
Not one lifted to stir the air.
They drooped and dripped
With a smell of port wine and brandy,
Closing down, slowly,
Trickling drops on the bed-quilt.
Suddenly the window fell in with a great scatter of glass,
And the moon burst into the room,
Sizzling - 'S-s-s-s-s - Spruggins! Spruggins!'
It rolled toward him,
A green ball of flame,
With two eyes in the center,
A red eye and a yellow eye,
Dropping their lids slowly,
One after the other.
Mr. Spruggins tried to scream,
But the blackamoor
Leapt off his pig
With a cry,
Drew his scimitar,
And plunged it into Mr. Spruggins's mouth.

Mr. Spruggins got up in the cold dawn
And remade the fire.
Then he crept back to bed
By the light which seeped in under the window curtains,
And lay there, shivering,
While the bells of St. George the Martyr chimed the quarter after seven.

poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wind Me Up

I've got something
That you ought to know
Don't even know
Whether to come or go
Up down
Head's spinning around
Wind up in
The lost and found
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Tell me why
You make it so hard
All I ask is
Finish what you start
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up, Wind me up
Wind me up that's
All you do
Wind me up and
Leave me blue
I'd like to see if
You could be
Kind enough to me
When you
Wind me up
Don't take me places
Then wanna go home
Sometimes, I think
I'm better off alone
Hey girl, you know
What you do
Color me red
Then leave me blue

song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My sweet three little beautiful Balloons

i have three sweet beautiful balloons all looks so
pretty the yellow, the blue and red that always
sparks, as the sun goes round, in the midst sky
beside the window beneath the green, green,
green leaves of ever green of an Avocado big,
big tree

glamorous yellow glows like flowers wait the
golden sunrise of rays shower in the petals of red
and blue in the garden near the wishing well i
made, while the millennium blue color looks like
the sky that wait the rain to fall as the bird fly into
the horizon of oozing ocean blue crystal water, and
the red one sprouted like a fuzzy nebula of celestial
star in the galaxy of a million years, as it floats in
the air with the string in the tail

pull the tiny string, swing as the wind wiggle to
get free beautifully it flies, in the hand it stands by,
hold on, just let the breezing air cools it down, as
the three beautiful balloons wondered in every eye,
that captures every hearts that swing into the
melodic tune of beauty of tranquility

as the string gives a puzzling cheerful looks, and
the hands tiedly touch, the wind eagerly move to
loose the three sweet beautiful balloons into the
harnessing journey of freedom, passing the
rainbow of endless point of hope

now my three sweet beautiful balloons comes to
their own life, making their own color, flying
every wind in the sky, where once i hold the string,
yet! it’s not a goodbye

i am old enough to say....good luck and have a
happy Journeys.....fly your own balloon

“ poem dedicated to my three lovely Daughters “
Karen Isabel T. Liao, Lindsey Cherub T. Liao
and Michelle Ann T. Liao

poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Little Sister

The wind knocks at the window,
And my heart is full of fear,
For I know when it is calling
That some evil thing is near.
It whispers in the chimney,
And I strike the log to flame,
Lest it come down and take me
To the land that hath no name.
For once I had a sister,
Who now am left alone,
And here we sat together,
When the wind did sigh and moan.
There came a gentle knocking
Quick and sudden at the door,
And my sister hushed my terror,
Saying, ''Tis the wind, a-stór!'
She took my arms from round her,
She kissed me, cheek and chin,
But I cried, 'Oh, little sister,
Do not let the robber in!'
She rose up from me laughing,
But her face was strange and white,
And she opened wide the window,
Looking long into the night.

And I said, 'Oh, little sister,
There is on your cheek a tear!'
''Tis but the rain,' she whispered;
But my heart was full of fear.
And I said, 'Oh, little sister,
There's a hand upon the door.'
Soft she chid me from my crying,
Saying, ''Tis the wind, a-stór.'
And turning from me smiling,
She took down the bar and chain,
But her cheek was like the lily
As she went into the rain.
And I said, 'Oh, little sister,
Will you then return no more?'
But I only heard the pushing
Of the wind upon the door.
Long I cried, 'Oh, little sister,
Will you soon come back again?'
But I only heard the beating
Of the storm upon the pane.
Now my mother sits in sorrow,
Weeping all the livelong day;
And I think she dreads the robber
Who did take her child away.
So I put up bar and shutter
When the wind goes howling by,
For I know when it comes knocking
That some evil thing is nigh.

poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Whrillwind

It was a dark n cold night
When me n Sara woke at night
In search of windmill
With a great whirlwind
Started car, Sara drove the car
Starling starts moving round our car
We speedup the race
And went in grace
Stop as wind stops
N We went on crops
Farmer's s son was finished
He cried like a lion
We were staring at entire scene
We kept silent at this
It makes our memories grill
It was just near the windmill

poem by Fatima Obaid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Medley: I Get Around/little Deuce Coupe

Round round get around
I get around, yes
(*laughter* *clap*)
Get around round round, I get around
I get a--
Get around round round, I get around
From town to town
Get around round round, I get around
(woo!)
Im a real cool head
Get around round round, I get around
Im making real good bread
Get around round round, I get a square
(ow!)
Im getting awfully mad driving down the street
(ow!)
I just dont want to be bugged sitting next to my sweets
(*laughter*)
Bom bom bom ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta ta
The other guys are pretty tough
So those other gats over there better not get tough
I get around
Get around round round, I get around
From town to town
Get around round round, I get around
Im a real cool head
(fake it, come on, mike! artistry!)
Im makin real good bread
Get around round round, I get a square
I get around
Round
Get around, round round
(rock out, carl!)
(anybody...)
(come on, baby!)
([...])
We always take my car although its a heap
And we never get turned down by the chicks we pick up on
Not much...
None of the guys go steady cos it wouldnt be right guard
To leave their best girls home on a saturday night
I get around
Get around round round, I get around
From town to town
Get around round round, I get around
Im a real cool head
Get around round round, I get around
Im making real good bread
Get around round round, I get around
I get around round woo ooooo oooo ooo ooo ooo oooo
Round round get around, I get around
Square
Get around round round, I get a square
Get around round round, I get around
Get around round round, I get around
(dont stop!)
Get around round round, I get around
Boop boop boop boop
Get around round round, I get around
I get around
(oh yeah!)
(oh, that was really bad.)
(lets do little deuce coupe while [...]. real fast, obviously.)
(Ive got it, brian. here, bruce, do your famous [...].)
(oh.)
(bom bom.)
(like this.)
(hey, do the--)
(oh--)
Well Im not braggin, babe, so dont put me down
Well, Ive got the cutest little piece in town
Well, Im not braggin, babe, oh yeah
([...] carl [...])
(we lost it.)
Shes my little deuce coupe
(hey, carl.)
You dont know what I got
Talk to me, baby
Talk to me, baby
Well Im not braggin, babe, so dont put me down
But Ive got the fastest set of wheels in town
When something comes up to me he dont even try
cos if I had a set of wings, man, I know she could fly
Hey
My little deuce coupe
You dont know what i--
Little deuce coupe
Yeah
You dont know what I got
Shes got a competition clutch with the four on the floor
And she purrs like a kitten (*laugh*) till the lake pipes roar
Ah, bom bom bom bom
And if that aint enough to make you flip your lid
Theres one more thing: I got the pink slip daddy
(*laughter*)
Oh yeah
Da da dom da da dom ba da
(oh, lets do luau!)
(talk to me, baby!)
She comes on like a rose, da da dap
(do the stroll!)
Shes my little deuce coupe
You dont know what I got
(*laughter*)

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At My Window

Birds fly up
And down spinnin round
Flyin all around
From my window
A little brown sparraw came
Flutterin down
Le moineau est venu
Se poser ma fenjtre
He came to my window
And as I watched him
I found myself reelin and turnin around
And the faster I ran
I ran out of breath and I fell to the ground
(poof)
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh
He came to my window
He came to my window
He came to my window
From their eyes
The people must look like miniature toys
Do do do do do
Do do do do do do
Fly away
Fly away
Fly away

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Susan

When Susan's work was done, she'd sit
With one fat guttering candle lit,
And window opened wide to win
The sweet night air to enter in;
There, with a thumb to keep her place
She'd read, with stern and wrinkled face.
Her mild eyes gliding very slow
Across the letters to and fro,
While wagged the guttering candle flame
In the wind that through the window came.
And sometimes in the silence she
Would mumble a sentence audibly,
Or shake her head as if to say,
"You silly souls, to act this way!"
And never a sound from night I'd hear,
Unless some far-off cock crowed clear;
Or her old shuffling thumb should turn
Another page; and rapt and stern,
Through her great glasses bent on me,
She'd glance into reality;
And shake her round old silvery head,
With--"You!--I thought you was in bed!"--
Only to tilt her book again,
And rooted in Romance remain.

poem by Walter de la Mare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Behind

I saw an old man like a child,
His blue eyes bright, his white hair wild,
Who turned for ever, and might not stop,
Round and round like an urchin's top.

'Fool,' I cried, 'while you spin round,
'Others grow wise, are praised, are crowned.'
Ever the same round road he trod,
'This is better: I seek for God.'

'We see the whole world, left and right,
Yet at the blind back hides from sight
The unseen Master that drives us forth
To East and West, to South and North.

'Over my shoulder for eighty years
I have looked for the gleam of the sphere of spheres.'
'In all your turning, what have you found?'
'At least, I know why the world goes round.'

poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Animals' Houses

Of animals' houses
Two sorts are found -
Those which are square ones
And those which are round.

Square is a hen-house,
A kennel, a sty:
Cows have square houses
And so have I.

A snail's shell is curly,
A bird's nest round;
Rabbits have twisty burrows
Underground.

But the fish in the bowl
And the fish at sea -
Their houses are round
As a house can be.

James Reeves

poem by George Redgrave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Falling Leaves

Summer has passed, but
The weather is still fair.
The once leaf-laden trees,
Are, now, almost bear.

Leaves spiral down;
Spinning round and round,
Until, at last, they
Reach the ground.

The once green leaves,
Have now grown old,
And have created below,
A carpet of red, brown, and gold.

Whipped around by the wind,
The fallen leaves, float and fly.
A sudden gust of wind, catches them,
Sending them, sailing up high.

Leaves crunch underfoot;
They curl and decay.
There's a musty smell in the air,
As they slowly, waste away.

Soon the leaves will be gone,
And where they once had lain,
Will be just their lacy skeleton;
Soon, only an impression will remain.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Phanopoeia

I
ROSE WHITE, YELLOW, SILVER

The swirl of light follows me through the square,
The smoke of incense
Mounts from the four horns of my bed-posts,
The water-jet of gold light bears us up through the ceilings;
Lapped in the gold-coloured flame I descend through the æther.
The silver ball forms in my hand,
It falls and rolls to your feet.

II
SALTUS
The swirling sphere has opened
and you are caught up to the skies,
You are englobed in my sapphire.
Io! Io!

You have perceived the blades of the flame
The flutter of sharp-edged sandals.

The folding and lapping brightness
Has held in the air before you.
You have perceived the leaves of the flame.

III
CONCAVA VALLIS
The wire-like bands of colour involute mount from my fingers;
I have wrapped the wind round your shoulders
And the molten metal of your shoulders
bends into the turn of the wind,

AOI!
The whirling tissue of light
is woven and grows solid beneath us;
The sea-clear sapphire of air, the sea-dark clarity,
stretches both sea-cliff and ocean.

poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New Orleans Wins The War

Dont remember much about my baby days,
But I been told
We used to live on willow near the garden district
Next to the sugar bowl
Momma used to wheel me past an ice cream wagon
One side for white and one side for colored
I remember trash cans floatin down canal street
It rained every day one summer
Momma used to take me to audubon park
Show me the ways of the world
She said, here comes a white boy, there goes a black one,
That ones an octoroon
This little cookie heres a macaroon, that big round things
A red balloon
And the paper down heres called the picayune
And heres a new orleans tune
In 1948 my daddy came to the city
Told the people that theyd won the war
Maybe theyd heard it, maybe not
Probably theyd heard it and just forgot
cause they built him a platform there in jackson square
And the people came to hear him from everywhere
They started to party and they partied some more
cause new orleans had won the war
(we knew wed do it, we done whipped the yankees)
Daddy said, Im gonna get this boy out of this place
Bound to sap his strength
People have fun here, and I think that they should
But nobody from here every come to no good
Theyre gonna pickle him in brandy and tell him hes saved
Then throw fireworks all round his grave
So he took us down to the airport, and flew us back to l.a.
That was the end of my baby days
Blue blue morning, blue blue day
All your bad dreams drift away
Its a blue blue morning, of a blue blue day
Lose those bad dreams
Those gray clouds above you, what you want them around
With you for?
You got someone to love you
Who could ask for more?
Its a blue blue morning, of a blue blue day
All your bad dreams drift away

song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 07: Two Lovers: Overtones

Two lovers, here at the corner, by the steeple,
Two lovers blow together like music blowing:
And the crowd dissolves about them like a sea.
Recurring waves of sound break vaguely about them,
They drift from wall to wall, from tree to tree.
'Well, am I late?' Upward they look and laugh,
They look at the great clock's golden hands,
They laugh and talk, not knowing what they say:
Only, their words like music seem to play;
And seeming to walk, they tread strange sarabands.

'I brought you this . . . ' the soft words float like stars
Down the smooth heaven of her memory.
She stands again by a garden wall,
The peach tree is in bloom, pink blossoms fall,
Water sings from an opened tap, the bees
Glisten and murmur among the trees.
Someone calls from the house. She does not answer.
Backward she leans her head,
And dreamily smiles at the peach-tree leaves, wherethrough
She sees an infinite May sky spread
A vault profoundly blue.
The voice from the house fades far away,
The glistening leaves more vaguely ripple and sway . .
The tap is closed, the water ceases to hiss . . .
Silence . . . blue sky . . . and then, 'I brought you this . . . '
She turns again, and smiles . . . He does not know
She smiles from long ago . . .

She turns to him and smiles . . . Sunlight above him
Roars like a vast invisible sea,
Gold is beaten before him, shrill bells of silver;
He is released of weight, his body is free,
He lifts his arms to swim,
Dark years like sinister tides coil under him . . .
The lazy sea-waves crumble along the beach
With a whirring sound like wind in bells,
He lies outstretched on the yellow wind-worn sands
Reaching his lazy hands
Among the golden grains and sea-white shells . . .

'One white rose . . . or is it pink, to-day?'
They pause and smile, not caring what they say,
If only they may talk.
The crowd flows past them like dividing waters.
Dreaming they stand, dreaming they walk.

'Pink,—to-day!'—Face turns to dream-bright face,
Green leaves rise round them, sunshine settles upon them,
Water, in drops of silver, falls from the rose.
She smiles at a face that smiles through leaves from the mirror.
She breathes the fragrance; her dark eyes close . . .

Time is dissolved, it blows like a little dust:
Time, like a flurry of rain,
Patters and passes, starring the window-pane.
Once, long ago, one night,
She saw the lightning, with long blue quiver of light,
Ripping the darkness . . . and as she turned in terror
A soft face leaned above her, leaned softly down,
Softly around her a breath of roses was blown,
She sank in waves of quiet, she seemed to float
In a sea of silence . . . and soft steps grew remote . .

'Well, let us walk in the park . . . The sun is warm,
We'll sit on a bench and talk . . .' They turn and glide,
The crowd of faces wavers and breaks and flows.
'Look how the oak-tops turn to gold in the sunlight!
Look how the tower is changed and glows!'

Two lovers move in the crowd like a link of music,
We press upon them, we hold them, and let them pass;
A chord of music strikes us and straight we tremble;
We tremble like wind-blown grass.

What was this dream we had, a dream of music,
Music that rose from the opening earth like magic
And shook its beauty upon us and died away?
The long cold streets extend once more before us.
The red sun drops, the walls grow grey.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The King Of Sunset Town

(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth & john helmer)
A ragged man came shuffling through
A puppet king on the 4th of june
And butterflies from all around
Settled on his paper crown
A pretty sight it seemed to be
An avenue of eternal peace
But he said, what is here can soon burn down...
Im the king of sunset town
Watch a big wheel turning round
Some go up and some go down
Some go thirsty some just drown
Thats the law round here
Said the king of sunset town
And in the night he comes to me
And the square becomes a battlefield
Of staring eyes that cant explain
The insanity and the greater game
Watch a big wheel turning round
Some go up and some go down
Some go thirsty some just drown
Thats the law round here
Said the king of sunset town
Thats the law round here
A ragged man came shuffling through
The corridors of this white place
And as he lay his body down
I saw the scars that lined his face
And injured souls came to his bed
To hear the stories he would tell
Of butterflies and summertimes
And everyone assembled here
Remembers how it used to be
Before the 27th came
This place will never be the same
He said
Im the king of sunset town
Watch a big wheel turning round
Some go up and some go down
Some go thirsty some just drown
Thats the law round here
Thats the law round here
Said the king of sunset town
Im the king of sunset town

song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stranger

On a cold and windy morning, said goodbye to my old friends
They were hangin around the corner,
They were stayin till the end
On the other side of midnight,
I was lookin for a place to stay
And one things sure for certain,
I aint never goin back again
The streetlights looked so pretty as they spread into a town
I was lookin for another sundown
And my head was spinning round and round
Chorus: lookin through the eyes of a stranger
Lookin through the eyes of danger
Lookin at the all-night dancer
Never takin all the chances
As I walked into the main street, saw a crowd across the square
And I heard a guitar playin and I saw you standing there
Chorus
Distant bells they started ringing, somewhere far off in the night
And the place was full of loneliness that disappeared from sight

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Big Square People

Another square day
And another square week
And another square year
And another square lifetime
If you turn me on like you turn it on
Big square people
If you look at me the way you watch tv
Big square people
Youre digging it round when it should be square
Big square people
When the screen is blank theres no-one there
Big square people
Ive seen you watching it day and night
You dont miss the big game or big fight
All those dimensions all those race (? )
Come in action (? )
The worlds full of greed and envy and lust
If they dont get you the (? ) must
Turn on at daybreak before youre awake
I turn it off now
Big square people
(repeat)
Turn of the brightness, the colour and sound
The big square people in sensorround
Before too long the damage is done
To big square people television is such fun
They come in action from every direction
With every booster and (? )
Theyre sending signals from satellite sky
Soon youre on tv and you dont know why
Hey, come on down, youre looking good
If they said jump I really think that you would
cause tv is God and heavens hollywood
Youre digging it round when it should be square
Big square people
When the screen is blank theres no-one there
Big square people
Get up from the chair you look like a slug (? )
Take the tip from the tv go and find a job
But there are no jobs, there is no pay
but thats not what the people on the tv say
They say to me Ill be what you wanna be,
Lets join the army maybe see the sea
Turn of the brightness, the colour and sound
Turn of the (? ) lets going around
Turn on at daybreak before youre awake
Lets turn it off now before its too late
(turn it off !)

song performed by by Heaven 17
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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