En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Birdwatchers Of America

It’s all very well to dream of a dove that saves,
Picasso’s or the Pope’s,
The one that annually coos in Our Lady’s ear
Half the world’s hopes,
And the other one that shall cunningly engineer
The retirement of all businessmen to their graves,
And when this is brought about
Make us the loving brothers of every lout—

But in our part of the country a false dusk
Lingers for hours; it steams
From the soaked hay, wades in the cloudy woods,
Engendering other dreams.
Formless and soft beyond the fence it broods
Or rises as a faint and rotten musk
Out of a broken stalk.
There are some things of which we seldom talk;

For instance, the woman next door, whom we hear at night,
Claims that when she was small
She found a man stone dead near the cedar trees
After the first snowfall.
The air was clear. He seemed in ultimate peace
Except that he had no eyes. Rigid and bright
Upon the forehead, furred
With a light frost, crouched an outrageous bird.

poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just A Man

Sky is clear tonight
Sky is clear tomorrow
A star is out
I reach for one to sparkle in my hand
A star is out
I will not touch you, I am just a man
Sky is clear tonight
Sky is clear tomorrow
And every night I shut my eyes
So I dont have to see the light
Shining so bright
Ill dream about a cloudy sky,
A cloudy sky
Ill dream about a cloudy sky, a cloudy
Man was born to love-
Though often he has sought
Like icarus, to fly too high-
And far too lonely than he ought
To kiss the sun of east and west
And hold the world at his behest-
To hold the terrible power
To whom only gods are blessed-
But me, I am just a man
And every night I shut my eyes
So I dont have to see the light
Shining so bright
Ill dream about a cloudy sky, a cloudy sky
And every night I shut my eyes
But now Ive got them open wide
Youve fallen into my hands
And now youre burning me
Youre burning me

song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wherever You Are

There is a beautiful woman , an ordinary guy
You let her into your heart,
Its a part of the show but you never know why
You fall in love in a minute and its a bottomless well
And shed be draggin you down til you just wanna die
Its a livin hell
Wherever you go , you live inside of me
I was born to make you see what you never learned
Wherever you are , well let the lovin go down
Lovin evry minute
The seconds , the hours , that you wait around
What if I like to play but the world gets in the way
Instead of loving you Im losing you
And losing just dont pay
Somebody give me the night
Give me a chance to feel
I see your face in the sky ,
In the moon and the stars
But you know it aint real
You battle love to the limit
Ah ,but you never can win
You finish up cryin tears in the
Wild woods but you cant give in
Wherever you are , well let the lovin go down
Lovin every minute
The seconds , the hours , that you wait around
What if I like to play but the world gets in the way
Instead of loving you , Im losing you
And losing just dont pay
Wherever you are ,you know the lovin dont end
And though you make it a crime girl , I love ya
I try to talk to you woman
You got your mind on your own
There may be somebody else in your eyes girl
But youre still alone
Wherever you go my love will follow you
My dream will make it through
If I ever learn
Wherever you are , well let the lovin go down
Loving every minute
The seconds , the hours , that you wait around
What if I like to play but the world gets in the way
Instead of loving you , Im losing you
And losing just dont pay
(repeat last verse and fade out )

song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Western Front

I
I found a dreadful acre of the dead,
Marked with the only sign on earth that saves.
The wings of death were hurrying overhead,
The loose earth shook on those unquiet graves;

For the deep gun-pits, with quick stabs of flame,
Made their own thunders of the sunlit air;
Yet, as I read the crosses, name by name,
Rank after rank, it seemed that peace was there;

Sunlight and peace, a peace too deep for thought,
The peace of tides that underlie our strife,
The peace with which the moving heavens are fraught,
The peace that is our everlasting life.

The loose earth shook. The very hills were stirred.
The silence of the dead was all I heard.

II

We, who lie here, have nothing more to pray.
To all your praises we are deaf and blind.
We may not ever know if you betray
Our hope, to make earth better for mankind.

Only our silence, in the night, shall grow
More silent, as the stars grow in the sky;
And, while you deck our graves, you shall not know
How many scornful legions pass you by.

For we have heard you say (when we were living)
That some small dream of good would “cost too much.”
But when the foe struck, we have watched you giving,
And seen you move the mountains with one touch.

What can be done, we know. But, have no fear!
If you fail now, we shall not see or hear.

poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Just Come Here And Go - Original By Rabindranath Tagore

We just come here and go
And go with the time's flow!

We only see things
And touch while going
And look back crying!

Only new bleak hopes
Take our life forward!
We can see false hopes
If we look backward!

Broken strength carries endless desires
Both bright and dark
So broken output is obtained from
Do or die work!

We sail our broken boat in the sea with goods!
Our broken language can't express all moods!

Half acquaintance in our hearts!
Our half sentence needs more words!

In shame and fear our faith is half
So we offer only half love!

poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song II

A MONTH of green and tender May,
All woods and walks awake with flowers,
Wide sunlit meadows for the day,
And moon-bathed paths for evening hours;
A bright brief dream that had no past,
And of the future knew no fear;
A kiss at first, a sigh at last--
Only last year.

Another spring, dim soulless woods;
No farewell kiss, no parting tear;
No stone to mark where silence broods
O'er the dead love we found so dear.
But, oh, to me the green seems grey,
The budding branches all are sere,
For sweet love's sake, that died one day,
Only last year.

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Praying For Emptiness!

walking barefoot down the streets
of the holy city...
listening to the sounds,
the whimper, the cry, and the roar...
praying for emptiness....

the clock beats in rhythm
with the sidewalks and the walls.
the smell of burnt flesh
hangs in the air....
'Jesus Saves' painted on a fence....

oil rigs and chemical sprays,
fields filled with unmarked graves.
windows broken, doors sway, rusted hinges,
cars abandoned, vacant buildings,
dead bodies, eyes lost stare!

the spirits of the children
sing haunting and low...
words pierce like nails,
the birds hear and weep....
a hand gun, a needle, half pack of smokes....

nobody saves the night from the dawn!
praying for emptiness...

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Well, It Worked For Me

First thing I say each night
is
I am my own Lover;
my own best friend.

At first it was words
I did not mean
but over time
I could fill in detail
from little things
that happened each day.

Something positive to celebrate
no matter how small
a smile
a thing small but done
a sincere feeling
given and received.

Busy, I was
saying to my self
each night
building
the person
I want to become.

I added to this
just a small dream list
and acted as though
part of it was true
or coming true
and I found
done each night
my part wish
part recognition
of my small things day
could make part
of my small dreams
also come true.

So over time
I could become
not only Someone
but I could be
the kind of person
I was looking for.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Never Know

Sun still stone
Watching

We walk by them and hear voices yeah
No one ever stops to talk of things we'd rather do
They never did

What if God shuffled by
One day we might say
We're angry not afraid
Like breathing just to breathe
That we might find some reason

But there's much to go round
That's what's wrong with the world
Don't lose the dreams inside your head
They're only there until you're dead
Dream

Lying on the roof
Counting
The stars that fill the sky
Wondering why
Someone out there really isn't looking back down on me
You never know

So much space to believe
Only when you're small
A moment follows the cause
There's no one but you see
Hey there the moon is chasing me

And I worried if I looked away she'd be gone
Don't lose the dreams inside your head
They're only there until you're dead
Dream
Oh oh oh la la la

One day fill your brain
With no cares in the world
The mellow tune come to play
She's all mine just for a day

And there's no time to waste
In the play of this game
Don't lose the dreams inside your head
They're only there until you're dead
Dream

Unforgiveable down
It won't be so long now
Out of the darkness comes light
Like a flash
You think you can you think you can
Sometimes that is the problem
Dream
Is it your dream
Dream

Spilling on being
And he fell on them
And every day should be a good day to die

Oh oh fall down
It won't be so long now
I do love I'll hand love
I find it hard to explain
How I got here
I think I can I think I can
but then again I will falter
dream

I think I can I think I can
I think I can I think I can

Oh dream
Little darling
Dream

Spilling on being
We fell from them

song performed by by Dave Matthews Band from Busted Stuff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Voice

Safe in the magic of my woods
I lay, and watched the dying light.
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,

Silver and blue and green were showing.
And the dark woods grew darker still;
And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;
And quietness crept up the hill;

And no wind was blowing

And I knew
That this was the hour of knowing,
And the night and the woods and you
Were one together, and I should find
Soon in the silence the hidden key
Of all that had hurt and puzzled me -
Why you were you, and the night was kind,
And the woods were part of the heart of me.

And there I waited breathlessly,
Alone; and slowly the holy three,
The three that I loved, together grew
One, in the hour of knowing,
Night, and the woods, and you -

And suddenly
There was an uproar in my woods,

The noise of a fool in mock distress,
Crashing and laughing and blindly going,
Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,
And a Voice profaning the solitudes.

The spell was broken, the key denied me
And at length your flat clear voice beside me
Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.

You came and quacked beside me in the wood.
You said, 'The view from here is very good!'
You said, 'It's nice to be alone a bit!'
And, 'How the days are drawing out!' you said.
You said, 'The sunset's pretty, isn't it?'

* * * * *

By God! I wish - I wish that you were dead!

poem by Rupert Brooke (1909)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On the Road to the Sea

We passed each other, turned and stopped for half an hour, then went our way,
I who make other women smile did not make you--
But no man can move mountains in a day.
So this hard thing is yet to do.

But first I want your life:--before I die I want to see
The world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes,
There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering, it may be,
Yet on brown fields there lies
A haunting purple bloom: is there not something in grey skies
And in grey sea?
I want what world there is behind your eyes,
I want your life and you will not give it me.

Now, if I look, I see you walking down the years,
Young, and through August fields--a face, a thought, a swinging dream
perched on a stile--;
I would have liked (so vile we are!) to have taught you tears
But most to have made you smile.
To-day is not enough or yesterday: God sees it all--
Your length on sunny lawns, the wakeful rainy nights--; tell me--;
(how vain to ask), but it is not a question--just a call--;
Show me then, only your notched inches climbing up the garden wall,
I like you best when you are small.

Is this a stupid thing to say
Not having spent with you one day?
No matter; I shall never touch your hair
Or hear the little tick behind your breast,
Still it is there,
And as a flying bird
Brushes the branches where it may not rest
I have brushed your hand and heard
The child in you: I like that best
So small, so dark, so sweet; and were you also then too grave and wise?
Always I think. Then put your far off little hand in mine;--
Oh! let it rest;
I will not stare into the early world beyond the opening eyes,
Or vex or scare what I love best.
But I want your life before mine bleeds away--
Here--not in heavenly hereafters--soon,--
I want your smile this very afternoon,
(The last of all my vices, pleasant people used to say,
I wanted and I sometimes got--the Moon!)

You know, at dusk, the last bird's cry,
And round the house the flap of the bat's low flight,
Trees that go black against the sky
And then--how soon the night!

No shadow of you on any bright road again,
And at the darkening end of this--what voice? whose kiss? As if you'd say!
It is not I who have walked with you, it will not be I who take away
Peace, peace, my little handful of the gleaner's grain
From your reaped fields at the shut of day.

Peace! Would you not rather die
Reeling,--with all the cannons at your ear?
So, at least, would I,
And I may not be here
To-night, to-morrow morning or next year.
Still I will let you keep your life a little while,
See dear?
I have made you smile.

poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Wonderful Woman

A good talk is so up lifting
Taking one away from drifting
No thinking of if-ing

Just a good talk
One that make you want to walk
But not stalk...

One that take you back in years
Remembering your young tears and fears.
The laughter of childhood...

Damn! a good talk is so good.
Filling your heart with warmth
Putting dreams out of place...

Adding to your world lace...
And not haste.
A good talk and the world stands still...

What a thrill...
taking away ones ills...
Forgetting about ones pills...

Damn! what a good talk will do for you.

Opening up things within...
That you re-live again...
That good talk is with a woman.

A woman you enjoy...
A good talk taking from toy of being a boy.
The things a good woman is capable of...

Without making love.

So I thank the good LORD above...
For speech...
And what a good woman can teach.

All in a good talk...
A conversation without a face...
But on the over side woman.

A woman with grace.

poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Littell's Living Age

We did not fear them once — the dull, gray mornings
No cheerless burden on our spirits laid;
The long night-watches did not bring us warnings
That we were tenants of a house decayed;
The early snows like dreams to us descended
The frost did fairy-work on pave and bough;
Beauty, and power, and wonder have not ended —
How is it that we fear the winters now?

Their house-fires fall as bright on earth and chambers
Their northern starlight shines as coldly clear;
The woods still keep their holly for December;
The world a welcome yet for the new year
And far away in old remembered places
The snow-drop rises and the robin sings;
The sun and moon look out with loving faces —
Why have our days forgot such goodly things?

Is it now that north winds finds us shaken
By tempests fiercer than its bitter blast,
Which fair beliefs and friendships, too, have taken
Away like summer foliage as they passed,
And made life leafless in its pleasant valleys,
Waning the light of promise from our day,
Fell mists meet even in the inward palace —
A dimness not like theirs to pass away?

It was not thus when dreams of love and laurels
Gave sunshine to the winters of our youth,
Before its hopes had fallen in fortune's quarrels,
Or time had bowed them with his heavy truth —
Ere yet the twilights found us strange and lonely,
With shadows coming when the fire burns low,
To tell of distant graves and losses only —
The past that cannot change and will not go.

Alas! dear friends, the winter is within us,
Hard is the ice that grows about the heart;
For petty cares and vain regrets have won us
From life's true heritage and better part.
Seasons, and skies rejoice, yea, worship rather;
But nations toil and tremble even as we
Hoping for harvest they will never gather,
Fearing the winters which they may not see.

poem by Frances Browne from Volume 57, Issue 723 : The Winters
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Small Talk

Its not the chapters he reads when youre feeling low down
Its not the touch of his skin when you kiss him goodnight
Its not the money he spends when you want to buy a daydream
And not that miracle smile that makes the sky bright
Its not the way his hands behave
When youve turned out the light
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you want to fly, yes it does
Its not the way he believes in you like a religion
Its not the thrill that you get when hes holding you tight
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen (just like that)
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
Information, heart and soul, a whisper, a word
Confessions that have to be heard
Small small talk
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you make it rock so heavenly
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you seem to talk so heavenly
Big words...
Small talk...
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does

song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lady Of The Night

They call her the lady of the night
Shes a woman of the world
And easy-living girl with love for sale
Thats what they call her the lady of the night
No one seems to know her name
And even less about the place
From where she came
Every evening when the night is close at hand
Youll find the lady on the rue davignon
In a half lit hotel doorway the lady advertises warmly
Its just a job but shell do the best she can
Dont try to change this lady of the night
Shes a lot like you and me
And less than what she seems to be
(she is the lady of the night)
And easy-living girl
(she is the lady of the night)
Shes a woman of the world
(she is the lady of the night)
With lots of loving for sale
(she is the lady of the night)
Lady lady of the night
Round here they call her the lady of the night
In a perfume hotel room
Shadows dance upon the wall and fate at dawn
Shes no beginner this lady of the night
Never try that funny stuff
cause lady can be tough
Be warned!
(she is the lady of the night)
Shes a lot like you and me
(she is the lady of the night)
And never just what she seems
(she is the lady of the night)
No one seems to know her name
(she is the lady of the night)
Or the place from where she came

song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Way Through the Woods

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods. . . .
But there is no road through the woods.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Voice, The

Safe in the magic of my woods
I lay, and watched the dying light.
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,

Silver and blue and green were showing.
And the dark woods grew darker still;
And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;
And quietness crept up the hill;

And no wind was blowing

And I knew
That this was the hour of knowing,
And the night and the woods and you
Were one together, and I should find
Soon in the silence the hidden key
Of all that had hurt and puzzled me --
Why you were you, and the night was kind,
And the woods were part of the heart of me.

And there I waited breathlessly,
Alone; and slowly the holy three,
The three that I loved, together grew
One, in the hour of knowing,
Night, and the woods, and you ----

And suddenly
There was an uproar in my woods,

The noise of a fool in mock distress,
Crashing and laughing and blindly going,
Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,
And a Voice profaning the solitudes.

The spell was broken, the key denied me
And at length your flat clear voice beside me
Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.

You came and quacked beside me in the wood.
You said, "The view from here is very good!"
You said, "It's nice to be alone a bit!"
And, "How the days are drawing out!" you said.
You said, "The sunset's pretty, isn't it?"

* * * * *

By God! I wish -- I wish that you were dead!

poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Night

Through that pure virgin shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon,
That men might look and live, as glowworms shine,
And face the moon,
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.

Most blest believer he!
Who in that land of darkness and blind eyes
Thy long-expected healing wings could see,
When Thou didst rise!
And, what can never more be done,
Did at midnight speak with the Sun!

Oh who will tell me where
He found Thee at that dead and silent hour?
What hallowed solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower,
Within whose sacred leaves did lie
The fullness of the Deity?

No mercy-seat of gold,
No dead and dusty cherub, nor carved stone,
But His own living works did my Lord hold
And lodge alone;
Where trees and herbs did watch and peep
And wonder, while the Jews did sleep.

Dear night! this world's defeat;
The stop to busy fools; care's check and curb;
The day of spirits; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb!
Christ's progress, and His prayer time;
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime;

God's silent, searching flight;
When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night;
His still, soft call;
His knocking time; the soul's dumb watch,
When spirits their fair kindred catch.

Were all my loud, evil days
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent,
Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice
Is seldom rent,
Then I in heaven all the long year
Would keep, and never wander here.

But living where the sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tire
Themselves and others, I consent and run
To every mire,
And by this world's ill-guiding light,
Err more than I can do by night.

There is in God - some say -
A deep but dazzling darkness, as men here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear.
Oh for that night, where I in Him
Might live invisible and dim!

poem by Henry Vaughan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Witnessing Dawn: The Beekeeper

Clouds erupt to obscure a solemn sky
No longer do I hear the buzz of bees
Today, all things on Earth awoke to die
I watch and wait amidst my ancient trees

What motive has brought this holocaust on?
Technology and time brought us no gain.
Night is soon broken by man’s violent dawn
The tempest brings with it an ashen rain

Trees and hills blossom with a bright glimmer
Creatures all over settle and grow still
The land is immersed in a dead shimmer
A foul flare of smoke rolls over my hill

My heart truly lacks time to freeze with fright
As my eyes are filled with this lethal light

poem by Philip Kirk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No More

(To the unknown boys killed in the the First World War)

No more will he look into the eyes of his Mother,
No more will he see his Brothers smile,
No more will he feel love.
No more will he fish, and climb the trees of England
Or marvel at the voice of the nightingale.

For he is Sixteen and a Man,
He has done is duty by his Country,
Taken the shrapnel, which exploded over him
Like a Bright light sent from an avenging God.

He sees the dark approaching
But he can take it, for he is an Englishman
No more will he hear the whistle to advance
No more the frost and Snow
No more the fear of being killed
For I am no More
Remember me Mother

poem by Steven Cooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night

Fair is the wedded reign of Night and Day.
Each rules a half of earth with different sway,
Exchanging kingdoms, East and West, alway.

Like the round pearl that Egypt drunk in wine,
The sun half sinks i' the brimming, rosy brine:
The wild Night drinks all up: how her eyes shine!

Now the swift sail of straining life is furled,
And through the stillness of my soul is whirled
The throbbing of the hearts of half the world.

I hear the cries that follow Birth and Death.
I hear huge Pestilence draw his vaporous breath:
"Beware, prepare, or else ye die," he saith.

I hear a haggard student turn and sigh:
I hear men begging Heaven to let them die:
And, drowning all, a wild-eyed woman's cry.

So Night takes toll of Wisdom as of Sin.
The student's and the drunkard's cheek is thin:
But flesh is not the prize we strive to win.

Now airy swarms of fluttering dreams descend
On souls, like birds on trees, and have no end.
O God, from vulture-dreams my soul defend!

Let fall on Her a rose-leaf rain of dreams,
All passionate-sweet, as are the loving beams
Of starlight on the glimmering woods and streams.

poem by Sidney Lanier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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