Thoughts Of The Sunlight
Thoughts of the sunlight fainter and dimmer,
And parched the grass.
Breezes, freh breezes at dawn's early shimmer,
Flit by repass.
Look at the willows against a clear heaven,
Cloudless and wide.
Better, Far better not to be given
Thee for thy bride!
Thoughts of the daylight dimmer and fainter.
Oh, darkness! Gloom!
Once again . . . Morning,
Tell me if winter is come.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Dimmer Gets the Light
...and dimmer gets the light.
Dimmer does it get for them...
The ones in debate,
On how to do things right.
Wondering if they select one thing,
Will those on the left,
Choose to fight with anger...
Until all days ahead turn into night!
Conflicts continue.
And those of brightness leave.
They take a hike!
...and dimmer it gets for those who can not see!
Dimmer until it becomes bitter in the dark.
And bitterness is all that descends!
Splitting all into hatred.
Sending a hatred fed to feed until all are dead!
Dead from a truth dieing from a lack of belief.
And the dimming that succeeds leaves all to bleed,
In agreement.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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She Likes A Dimmer
She likes a dimmer
On a yellow chandelier
Dimming
A little bit dimmer
Than yellow sun
Fading to light orange
To darker
Reddish sunset
On a sea horizon
Where everything
Turns to gray
Then dark
To total darkness
Of her night
She is simply
Dramatizing
Her life in
Old age,
Like fading colors
To a fading life
In ages past
Like forgetting something too painful
The yellow lights dimming
On the chandelier on a
Dimmer does the trick for her
I too like it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Night Through Morning
I rose in the night
walked to the forest
when the morning breezes
blew and the sun rose
I rose in the night
in the darken shadows
I take a rock and stone
and walk through the night
I have stop and took
the forest and walked there.
At nigth I can see the dawn
of the morning
When the morning breezes
I can see the where I always wanted to be
i can feel the wind and refeshing air
blew came and makes me happy
when the morning came
the sun rose when the morning breezes
Refreshing air came, its a beautiful rising
Sun, your my only sunshine in the morning
poem by Hunter Kejick
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Melancholy of a Romance
Melancholy of a Romance
By: Adam M. Snow
A perfect dream left unsung,
Echoes thoroughly from nature's tongue,
From the lips of blossoming rose,
To all hearts, I suppose.
But it be with me, thoughts of love,
Shining brighter, brighter than a morning dove.
But of lust, a desire for romance,
A feeling not given a chance,
But a feeling shining less, less than a spark,
Goes dimmer, dimmer till all is dark.
There's hope for a broken heart to mend,
Death closes all: but some ere the end.
To be a flower, is profound,
But is there still time to be found?
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Voice Of The Willows
Hiding away from the sunlight,
Close by a rippling stream,
Hallowed by childish fancies
And many a waking dream;
There is my royal palace,
Within it my regal throne,
The former, a grave of willows,
The latter, a mossy stone.
And legends of hope did the willows tell
To my childish ears, in that rustic dell.
Here, in my sunny childhood,
I dreamed in my mystic home,
Weaving the fairy garlands
To wear in the years to come.
Friendship, and love, and honour,
They all were to be my own;
The future was strewn with roses,
As I dreamed on my mossy stone.
And still through the leaves, as they fluttered or fell
The breezes sang, in the willow dell.
Visions of hope are departed,
Fairy-like dreams have fled.
The thorns still remain, but the roses,
Like friendship and love, are dead.
The breezes sigh through the willows,
I ponder and dream alone
Of the life beyond the river,
As I sit on my mossy stone.
And the breezes sound like a funeral knell,
As they sigh and sob, through the willow dell.
poem by Thomas E. Spencer
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Epistle No. 39
Storm and wave their tumult cease.
See, the heav'nly galaxies,
Fainter, even dimmer
Is their golden glimmer
As the morning
Softly dawning
Of the sun's wan ray gives warning.
Asp and maple sighing,
Stream and marsh replying,
Woodcock buzzes,
Peasant passes
Round his filly's neck her harness.
Now in our stove
When it is lit,
Grasses and twigs
Crackle and spit,
Soon our porridge will be boiling.
Now with tousled brow
Cottager, I trow,
Seeks to light his pipe,
And out in the field
Leaning on a stone,
Dalesman lifts anew his spade.
poem by Carl Michael Bellman
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Rise, Oh My Soul, With Thy Desires To Heaven
1. Rise, oh my Soul, with thy desires to Heaven,
And with Divinest contemplation, use
Thy time, where times eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse:
But down in darkness let them lie,
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
2. And thou, my Soul, inspir'd with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye,
That holy Cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour, and thy sin did die:
For in that Sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure.
3. To thee (O Jesu) I direct my eye,
To thee my hands, to thee my humble knees,
To thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,
To thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees:
To thee my self, my self and all I give;
To thee I die, to thee I only live.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Fleeing Away
My thoughts soar not as they ought to soar,
Higher and higher on soul-lent wings;
But ever and often and more and more
They are dragged down earthward by little things,
By little troubles and little needs,
As a lark might be tangled among the weeds.
My purpose is not what it ought to be,
Steady and fixed, like a star on high,
But more like a fisherman's light at sea;
Hither and thither it seems to fly--
Sometimes feeble, and sometimes bright,
Then suddenly lost in the gloom of night.
My life is far from my dream of life--
Calmly contented, serenely glad;
But, vexed and worried by daily strife,
It is always troubled and ofttimes sad--
And the heights I had thought I should reach one day
Grow dimmer and dimmer, and farther away.
My heart never finds the longed-for rest;
Its worldly striving, its greed for gold,
Chilled and frightened the calm-eyed guest
Who sometimes sought me in days of old;
And ever fleeing away from me
Is the higher self that I long to be.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Hymn
Rise, O my soul! with thy desires to heaven,
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, when time's eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;
But down in darkness let them lie;
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die!
For in the sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life treasure.
To Thee, O Jesu! I direct mine eyes,
To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees;
To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice;
To Thee my thoughts, who thoughts only see;
To Thee myself, myself and all I give;
To Thee I die, to Thee I only live.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Don't Tell Me I Am Not Old
DON’T TELL ME I AM NOT OLD
Don’t tell me I am not old
And that I still can be young in spirit
In the winter cold it aches
And where is the returning to try yet again
When the years are gone
And the powers are not?
I didn’t know it
I didn’t see it
I became old when I wasn’t looking
And now that I am here
The fear of what is to come
Weighs against and with
The failures of what can no longer be.
I am not dead yet, it is true
And I do have a certain courage left to struggle
But the light is dimmer and dimmer
And the sounds of salvation from a distance
Farther and farther away.
I call to G-d
I pray to G-d
I need God
I fear God
I even think sometimes
I love God
But who am I
When God is so Great and Beyond us all?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Daylight
(sung by chorus)
Daylight over the village green early in the morning.
Daylight over the hills and valleys heralding the morning.
Daylight over the mountains, daylight on the village green,
Daylight over the field and the factories.
Another night has gone away and here comes yet another day.
See the early morning risers walking round with bleary eyes.
Worn out housewives grit their teeth ignoring new born babies cries.
Look at all the busy people this way, that way, everywhere
Biting toast and swallowing tea and breakfast specials on the air.
Feel that daylight.
Feel the sunlight on my pillow and it stops my yawing.
I thank God that Im still around to see another dawn in.
Daylight over the valleys, daylight lighting up the trees,
Daylight over the hillside,
Smile a smile and sing a song, another night has been and gone.
Middle-aged bankers crack their backs and wish they were young and in their teens,
Lonely spinsters dream of dating roger moore or steve mcqueen.
Health fanatics in their attics training for the empire games,
School boys dream of captain scarlet, battle ships and aeroplanes.
Feel that daylight, daylight.
Daylight on the village green,
Daylight,
Field and the valleys,
Daylight.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Idyll
A village Chorus is supposed to be assembled, and about to
commence its festive procession.
[Written for the birthday of the Duchess Louisa of Weimar.]
CHORUS.
THE festal day hail ye
With garlands of pleasure,
And dances' soft measure,
With rapture commingled
And sweet choral song.
DAMON.
Oh, how I yearn from out the crowd to flee!
What joy a secret glade would give to me!
Amid the throng, the turmoil here,
Confined the plain, the breezes e'en appear.
CHORUS.
Now order it truly,
That ev'ry one duly
May roam and may wander,
Now here, and now yonder,
The meadows along.
[The Chorus retreats gradually, and the song becomes fainter and
fainter, till it dies away in the distance.]
DAMON.
In vain ye call, in vain would lure me on;
True my heart speaks,--but with itself alone.
And if I may view
A blessing-fraught land,
The heaven's clear blue,
And the plain's verdant hue,
Alone I'll rejoice,
Undisturbed by man's voice.
And there I'll pay homage
To womanly merit,
Observe it in spirit,
In spirit pay homage;
To echo alone
Shall my secret be known.
CHORUS.
[Faintly mingling with Damon's song in the distance.]
To echo--alone--
Shall my secret--be known.--
MENALCAS.
My friend, why meet I here with thee?
Thou hast'nest not to join the festal throng?
No longer stay, but come with me,
And mingle in the dance and song.
DAMON.
Thou'rt welcome, friend! but suffer me to roam
Where these old beeches hide me from man's view:
Love seeks in solitude a home,
And homage may retreat there too.
MENALCAS.
Thou seekest here a spurious fame,
And hast a mind to-day to grieve me.
Love as thy portion thou mayst claim
But homage thou must share with all, believe me!
When their voices thousands raise,
And the dawn of morning praise,
Rapture bringing,
Blithely singing
On before us,
Heart and ear in pleasure vie;
And when thousands join in chorus,
With the feelings brightly glowing,
And the wishes overflowing,
Forcibly they'll bear thee high.
[The Chorus gradually approaches, from the distance.]
DAMON.
Distant strains are hither wending,
And I'm gladden'd by the throng;
Yes, they're coming,--yes, descending
To the valley from the height,
MENALCAS.
Let us haste, our footsteps blending
With the rhythm of the song!
Yes, they come; their course they're bending
Tow'rd the wood's green sward so bright.
CHORUS.
[Gradually becoming louder.]
Yes, we hither come, attending
With the harmony of song,
As the hours their race are ending
On this day of blest delight.
ALL.
Let none reveal
The thoughts we feel,
The aims we own!
Let joy alone
Disclose the story!
She'll prove it right
And her delight
Includes the glory,
Includes the bliss
Of days like this!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Wait For The Morning
Wait for the morning:--It will come, indeed,
As surely as the night hath given need.
The yearning eyes, at last, will strain their sight
No more unanswered by the morning light;
No longer will they vainly strive, through tears,
To pierce the darkness of thy doubts and fears,
But, bathed in balmy dews and rays of dawn,
Will smile with rapture o'er the darkness drawn.
Wait for the morning, O thou smitten child,
Scorned, scourged and persecuted and reviled--
Athirst and famishing, none pitying thee,
Crowned with the twisted thorns of agony--
No faintest gleam of sunlight through the dense
Infinity of gloom to lead thee thence--
Wait for the morning:--It will come, indeed,
As surely as the night hath given need.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Instruction
From heaven descend the drops of dew,
From heaven the gracious showers,
Earth's winter aspect to renew,
And clothe the spring with flowers;
From heaven the beams of morning flow,
That melt the gloom of night;
From heaven the evening breezes blow
Health, fragrance, and delight.
Like genial dew, like fertile showers,
The words of wisdom fall,
Awaken man's unconscious powers,
Like morning beams, they strike the mind,
Its loveliness reveals;
And softly then the evening wind
The wounded spirit heals.
As dew and rain, as light and air,
From heaven instruction came;
The waste of nature to repair,
Kindle a sacred flame;
A flame to purify the earth,
Exalt her sons on high,
And train them for their second birth,
Their birth beyond the sky.
poem by James Montgomery
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Honourable Land
In this our honourable land, we smile while there is torture.
Rain dugs our cheek at early depature,
i forgot its an old culture.
Kirikiri is better than freedom,
i am weary of this kingdom, i thought we have buried sordom,
in it i see no but bordom.
Where is moses, sleep walking is our preacher,
his bell in a cold whisper,
it is not yet winter, yet our smiles geting fainter mourning is sour, morning maybe better
poem by Prince Chibuike
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The Mower's Song
My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But these, while I with Sorrow pine,
Grew more luxuriant still and fine;
That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd,
But had a Flower on either side;
When Juliana came, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
Unthankful Meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gawdy May-games meet,
While I lay trodden under feet?
When Juliana came , and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But what you in Compassion ought,
Shall now by my Revenge be wrought:
And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all,
Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
And thus, ye Meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the Heraldry become
With which I shall adorn my Tomb;
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Early Morning Silence
Sitting in the early morning silence
that hasn’t filled with
the approaching days gloom.
That time when the mind
has a chance to run free.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
The intrusive world has not
invaded our space with idle chatter
from sources that surround us
making up our daily lives.
The early morning silence
we need to activate our mind.
You sit in the darkness
just before the dawn appears
enjoying the solitary that is temporary stillness
brings to your ears.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
16 September 2010
poem by David Harris
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To A Dead Love
Once you were beautiful, alabaster, Radiant
Once you were the breath of lilacs, Spring
Once you were love eternal,
Love everlasting.
Once you were the Alpha and Omega,
But now, my love never again.
Now you are a cold memory.
A pain of despair on a sleepless night,
A memory wanted to be forgotten.
Now you are getting dimmer and dimmer,
No stimulation, no meditation,
Now at last I smile on a Dead Love
poem by Martha Nicholson
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Dark and Deadly
Dark and deadly are these pains that reside in my head,
One falters with chilly winds, the very cool friends,
Then the winds are breezes, more breezes to be bled.
Dust and dirt are elite elements for all the men with a bed,
One seeks misery when there is misery that attends,
Dark and deadly are these pains that reside in my head.
Mighty rivers applaud the taste of the truly bred,
One stays in a whole sea for the corn that defends,
Then the winds are breezes, more breezes to be bled.
When do waters boil? And where are the flowers dead?
One picks up plants forcing the very grand ends,
Dark and deadly are these pains that reside in my head.
The delirious means used by some are to what fed?
One of us mends hearts too fragile, one that bends,
Then the winds are breezes, more breezes to be bled.
A delightful method gains acceptance from those to imbed,
One’s agony seems too fair as the fairest intends,
Dark and deadly are these pains that reside in my head,
Then the winds are breezes, more breezes to be bled.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Winter's Tale
As the winter's moon appears in front of me
I feel the wind rushing through my hair
The bright shiny sky glistens in my eyes.
I feel the waves reaching out to me
It feels like the thrill of electricity
Spreading through my body
Winter is coming
I can not wait any longer
The old grandfather clock
Gets louder and louder
Tick tock Tick tock
My heart is getting faster and faster
Winter hears my whisper
As the bluish moon light calls today
Please catch my wishing star
The winter's moon is fading
From my mist
My heart speed is slowing down
The old grandfather clock
Get fainter and fainter
Tick tock Tick tock
Winter is coming
I can not wait any longer
I feel in beat with the winter's frost.
poem by Imogen Brand
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