A Winter's Night
The pale moon shining from a pallid sky
Lit half the street, and over half she laid
Her folded mantle; through the dark-browed shade
White windows glittered, each a watchful eye.
The dim wet pavement lit irregularly
With shimmering streaks of gaslight, faint and frayed,
Shone luminous green where sheets of glass displayed
Long breadths of faded blinds mechanically.
the night was very still; above, below,
No sound, no breath, no change in anything;
Only, across the squares of damp lit street,
Shooting a mocking double from his feet,
With vague uncertain steps went to and fro
A solitary shadow wandering.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Harlem Shadows
I hear the halting footsteps of a lass
In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall
Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pass
To bend and barter at desire's call.
Ah, little dark girls who in slippered feet
Go prowling through the night from street to street!
Through the long night until the silver break
Of day the little gray feet know no rest;
Through the lone night until the last snow-flake
Has dropped from heaven upon the earth's white breast,
The dusky, half-clad girls of tired feet
Are trudging, thinly shod, from street to street.
Ah, stern harsh world, that in the wretched way
Of poverty, dishonor and disgrace,
Has pushed the timid little feet of clay,
The sacred brown feet of my fallen race!
Ah, heart of me, the weary, weary feet
In Harlem wandering from street to street.
poem by Claude McKay
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Moon Over Bourbon Street
Theres a moon over bourbon street tonight
I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight
Ive no choice but to follow that call
The bright lights, the people, and the moon and all
I pray everyday to be strong
For I know what I do must be wrong
Oh youll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While theres a moon over bourbon street
It was many years ago that I became what I am
I was trapped in this life like an innocent lamb
Now I can only show my face at noon
And youll only see me walking by the light of the moon
The brim of my hat hides the eye of a beast
Ive the face of a sinner but the hands of a priest
Oh youll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While theres a moon over bourbon street
She walks everyday through the streets of new orleans
Shes innocent and young from a family of means
I have stood many times outside her window at night
To struggle with my instinct in the pale moon light
How could I be this way when I pray to God above
I must love what I destroy and destroy the thing I love
Oh youll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While theres a moon over bourbon street
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Lillian Way
night
cold gray against greenish black
street lamp globes against
rectangle buildings
sitting in a parked car
along the deserted alleyways
off santa monica boulevard
car windows fogged
the cold green street lights
filtered through the prism
of a broken windshield
delicate spiderwebs of
white light diffusion
only in L.A.
a prostitute stands
against the bare wall
under a street light
with traffic going by
on the sidewalk
across the street
cocaine sellers asking
“what do you want? ”
“what do you need? ”
beside the building
a bottle and can collector
inspects a long low
excuse for a trash barrel
the prostitute
draws a lot of attention
cars pull to the curb
windows unwind
in the car adjacent
derelicts are fixing dope
shooting up in the
luminous twilight
now the whore has a trick
a car door slams
and tires spin away
much like a river
the wind has stirred up the palm leaves
and palmetto shadows
extra currents for a
3 a.m. late night traffic flow
much like my soft core
more than usually hard core
translucent shadows
on the concave street
vertical street signs
body schisms
poem by Theresa Haffner
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The First Waits
A MEDITATION FOR ALL.
SO, Christmas is here again!--
While the house sleeps, quiet as death,
'Neath the midnight moon comes the Waits' shrill tune,
And we listen and hold our breath.
The Christmas that never was--
On this foggy November air,
With clear pale gleam, like the ghost of a dream,
It is painted everywhere.
The Christmas that might have been--
It is borne in the far-off sound,
Down the empty street, with the tread of feet
That lie silent underground.
The Christmas that yet may be--
Like the Bethlehem star, leads kind:
Yet our life slips past, hour by hour, fast, fast,
Few before--and many behind.
The Christmas we have and hold,
With a tremulous tender strain,
Half joy, half fears--Be the psalm of the years,
'Grief passes, blessings remain!'
The Christmas that sure will come,
Let us think of, at fireside fair;--
When church bells sound o'er one small green mound,
Which the neighbors pass to prayer.
The Christmas that God will give,--
Long after all these are o'er,
When is day nor night, for the LAMB is our Light,
And we live forevermore.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The waning moon
(after Percy Bysshe Shelley)
Shapelessly white it spread its light
ailing like a old withered man
in the darkness of that night
its half a thumb’s span
rising very slow
taking half steps before pausing for breath
it had a whimpering kind of glow
as if it was very near to death
wandering in the elemental space half-insane
trying to find its way through a myriad of bright stars
as if feebleness, atrophy had rotten its fading brain
as if it wore a crisscross of scars
while its colour was a kind of pale
thinly covered by a cloud’s veil.
[Reference: “The waning moon” by Percy Bysshe Shelley.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Escape at Bedtime
The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out
Through the blinds and the windows and bars;
And high overhead and all moving about,
There were thousands of millions of stars.
There ne'er were such thousands of leaves on a tree,
Nor of people in church or the Park,
As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me,
And that glittered and winked in the dark.
The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all,
And the star of the sailor, and Mars,
These shown in the sky, and the pail by the wall
Would be half full of water and stars.
They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries,
And they soon had me packed into bed;
But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes,
And the stars going round in my head.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Change
She leaned out into the soft June weather,
With her long loose tresses the night breeze played;
Her eyes were as blue as the bells on the heather:
Oh, what is so fair as a fair young maid!
She folded her hands, like the leaves of a lily,
'My life, ' she said, 'is a night in June,
Fair and quiet, and calm and stilly;
Bring me a change, O changeful moon!
'Who would drift on a lake forever?
Young hearts weary - it is not strange,
And sigh for the beautiful bounding river;
New moon, true moon, bring me a change! '
The rose that rivalled her maiden blushes
Dropped from her breast, at a strangers feet;
Only a glance; but the hot blood rushes
To mantle a fair face, shy and sweet.
To and fro, while the moon is waning,
They walk, and the stars shine on above;
And one is in earnest, and one is feigning -
Oh, what is so sweet as a sweet young love?
A young life crushed, and a young heart broken,
A bleak wind blows through the lovely bower,
And all that remains of the love vows spoken -
Is the trampled leaf of a faded flower.
The night is dark, for the moon is failing -
And what is so pale as a pale old moon?
Cold is the wind through the tree tops wailing -
Woe that the change should come so soon.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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White Heat
Down between the sunbeams the moneylenders chat
Hiding in the shade outside a council flat
Kids in the lift looking for things to throw
And practising their aim on the heads below
They make their apologies with the quickness of their feet
Then lost in the heat haze that shimmers across the street
Underfoot the pavement is melting
Crumbling for the luckiest girl
The whole world is melting.
(white white heat)
Im still not in until a week next wednesday
Im holidaying on the roof til the big bad wolf goes away
In the street the pavement is melting
Crumbling for the luckiest girl
The whole world is melting.
White heat turns the street upside down.
Down between the sunbeams the debt collectors chat, chat, chat, chat,
Hiding in the shade outside a council flat
By the hairs on my chinny chin chin
I shall not let you in.
In the street the pavement is melting
Crumbling for the luckiest girl
The whole world is melting.
(for the luckiest girl in all the world)
(white, white heat)
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Troth with the Dead
The moon is broken in twain, and half a moon
Before me lies on the still, pale floor of the sky;
The other half of the broken coin of troth
Is buried away in the dark, where the still dead lie.
They buried her half in the grave when they laid her away;
I had pushed it gently in among the thick of her hair
Where it gathered towards the plait, on that very last day;
And like a moon in secret it is shining there.
My half shines in the sky, for a general sign
Of the troth with the dead I pledged myself to keep;
Turning its broken edge to the dark, it shines indeed
Like the sign of a lover who turns to the dark of sleep.
Against my heart the inviolate sleep breaks still
In darkened waves whose breaking echoes o’er
The wondering world of my wakeful day, till I’m lost
In the midst of the places I knew so well before.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Top Man
This is a public warning
Be careful when you're out
We are having freaky weather
There's a lot of it about
On the terraces is it swinging
He's a monkey on the roof
You've seen him on the telly
So let me introduce you're host tonight
T.o.p.m.a.n. he's naughty by nature
T.o.p.m.a.n. on doubles and chasers
T.o.p.m.a.n. guilette or a razor
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
In a crowd it's hard to spot him
But anonymity can cost
He's never cheap or cheerful
He's hugo and he's boss
He's riding through the desert on a camel light
And on a magic carpet he'll fly away tonight
Open sesame
T.o.p.m.a.n. he's naughty by nature
T.o.p.m.a.n. on doubles and chasers
T.o.p.m.a.n. guilette or a razor
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
T.o.p.m.a.n. sees her in double
T.o.p.m.a.n. then pukes on the pavement
T.o.p.m.a.n. likes her all clean and shaven
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
T.o.p.m.a.n. he's naughty by nature
T.o.p.m.a.n. on doubles and chasers
T.o.p.m.a.n. guilette or a razor
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
T.o.p.m.a.n. shooting guns on the high street of love
song performed by by Blur from The Great Escape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Discordants
I. (Bread and Music)
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, belovèd,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
II
My heart has become as hard as a city street,
The horses trample upon it, it sings like iron,
All day long and all night long they beat,
They ring like the hooves of time.
My heart has become as drab as a city park,
The grass is worn with the feet of shameless lovers,
A match is struck, there is kissing in the dark,
The moon comes, pale with sleep.
My heart is torn with the sound of raucous voices,
They shout from the slums, from the streets, from the crowded places,
And tunes from the hurdy-gurdy that coldly rejoices
Shoot arrows into my heart.
III
Dead Cleopatra lies in a crystal casket,
Wrapped and spiced by the cunningest of hands.
Around her neck they have put a golden necklace,
Her tatbebs, it is said, are worn with sands.
Dead Cleopatra was once revered in Egypt,
Warm-eyed she was, this princess of the South.
Now she is old and dry and faded,
With black bitumen they have sealed up her mouth.
O sweet clean earth, from whom the green blade cometh!
When we are dead, my best belovèd and I,
Close well above us, that we may rest forever,
Sending up grass and blossoms to the sky.
IV
In the noisy street,
Where the sifted sunlight yellows the pallid faces,
Sudden I close my eyes, and on my eyelids
Feel from the far-off sea a cool faint spray,--
A breath on my cheek,
From the tumbling breakers and foam, the hard sand shattered,
Gulls in the high wind whistling, flashing waters,
Smoke from the flashing waters blown on rocks;
--And I know once more,
O dearly belovèd! that all these seas are between us,
Tumult and madness, desolate save for the sea-gulls,
You on the farther shore, and I in this street.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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My Canadian Chronicles 16
The tower stood majestic
against the evening sky.
The idea was to go up to the top
and take some photos of the views
that stretched over Calgary.
The plan was OK;
however, the tower had a platform
with a glass floor you could stand on
and look over 500 feet down at the street below.
Everyone said take a picture over there.
Like the fool I am I looked down
and grabbed the nearest post with white knuckles
as I stepped out on the glass.
I moved slowly forwards,
completely mortified.
Looking down I snapped the photo
of my feet on the glass and the street below.
I got off quicker than I got on,
my knees knocking, heart thumping.
It was so disconcerting
just standing on glass and looking down.
It took me a half an hour to gather my composure.
Now ask me if I would do it again
after the initial shock has left my mind.
The answer would be a resounding,
YES!
12 June 2009
poem by David Harris
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You're Gone
(HogarthKellyMosleyRotheryTrewavas)
You're gone. As suddenly as you came to me
Like nightfall followed dawn without a day between
You're gone and suddenly I can't see
I'm in the shadow of you
I'm in the shadow of you
I can see you in my minds rose-tinted eye..
Somewhere you're drifting by
Your heels rolling sparks on the lucky street
While here am I, left behind
Stunned and blind
But I can see you from here
I can see you so clear
You are the light
You are the light
You have the day
I have the night
But we have the early hours together
You're gone, and heaven cries.
A thunderstorm breaks from the northern sky
Chasing you back to the daily grind
You're gone. And where am I?
A haunted life
The ghost of your laughter
The half-empty glass
The half-empty glass
And I wait
'til midnight tolls
Two souls almost touching in the dark
I'll be allright
You are the light
You are the light
You have the day
I have the night
But we have the early hours
We have the early hours
We have the early hours together
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I my steps
As I my steps
Along the grated streets
Of sweet Valletta I retraced
I passed from street to street
And I me thought that I could find
The dwelling where you lived.
For me those streets familiar quite
Became as dearer and dearer
As I from city street to street
My steps retraced their bearer
Aye! Aye! The streets became as dearer
And beautiful more than I had seen
For years and years before:
The pregnant windows frowning black
Unmoving ghosts in city pent
I wandered quite what did they hide
Behind their closed doors:
The small quaint front doors in the street
A few light inches the cobble stones above
With memories faint and dim
And with fast-fretting hither and thither
The hazy residents of those small abodes
Hid from my anxious questioning sight.
And as I passed along the street
A chimney high I saw smiling with glee
As it played child-like with white passing clouds
Above the warm sun shone on the old stones
That dreamt and dreamt and dreamt of years untold.
Aye! Aye! The city old
Above the harbor glideth
In my warm dreams:
The sailing clouds
Above the trees
In the small garden passing:
The green leaves
In their high towers
With each to each
In their wild love-making
To each and each are rustling:
The citizens in city streets
With hurried steps are passing.
And whither do they pass
And thither do they go?
The silent steps
In the small sullen street
I start descending
As if some thief to catch
That in some city nook
From me is hiding:
A lazy cat
Watches with half-open’d eye:
Little beyond
The stench of its urine
Drown’d by the sweet sense
Of roses pent in mortar cask
And hanging from the city wall.
Yes! Time is passing
In this sweet silent city of my dreams:
Let me allow it pass
Into the ocean sea-blue
That in midst of it
Like as in lover’s arms
My senses and myself will sink.
And I will not speak
And I will not sing
If not my lyre speaks
If not my lyre sings.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Shade and Shadow Dark and Night
Shade and Shadow
Dark and Night
Demons move
Beyond your sight
Moving slow
Cross the ground
Never do they make a sound
Shade and Shadow
Dark and Night
A murder has
Taken to flight
Stirring up the
Cold dead air
Does it matter?
Do you care?
Shade and Shadow
Dark and Night
Thoughts fill your mind
You think you might
These toughts they
Circle in your head
More and more you
Wish your dead
Shade and Shadow
Dark and Night
Capitulate
Give up the fight
It's too much effort
To go on
You're going
Going going gone
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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Love in Twilight
There is darkness behind the light -- and the pale light drips
Cold on vague shapes and figures, that, half-seen loom
Like the carven prows of proud, far-triumphing ships --
And the firelight wavers and changes about the room,
As the three logs crackle and burn with a small still sound;
Half-blotting with dark the deeper dark of her hair,
Where she lies, head pillowed on arm, and one hand curved round
To shield the white face and neck from the faint thin glare.
Gently she breathes -- and the long limbs lie at ease,
And the rise and fall of the young, slim, virginal breast
Is as certain-sweet as the march of slow wind through trees,
Or the great soft passage of clouds in a sky at rest.
I kneel, and our arms enlace, and we kiss long, long.
I am drowned in her as in sleep. There is no more pain.
Only the rustle of flames like a broken song
That rings half-heard through the dusty halls of the brain.
One shaking and fragile moment of ecstasy,
While the grey gloom flutters and beats like an owl above.
And I would not move or speak for the sea or the sky
Or the flame-bright wings of the miraculous Dove!
poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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Sketches For A Fine Day
actually i like the sound of
brooms sweeping the street today
a young girl
short for her age
and brown and
bow legged
does her assigned task in the street
gathering dead leaves
as i watch
it is a bright day
the street light is turned off
a young boy's hand is held by her mother
crossing the street
waiting for the school bus
a white dog pisses
on the side of the trunk of the
mahogany tree
a black car from the right side of the village
wheels its way towards the boulevard
a young woman with short blue jeans
jogs along the green valley
the sea is sky
blue and the sun slowly rises from the horizon
like a man's face peeping upon a table's edge
the long line of trees along the faded street
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Generous moon
Moon, little light bulb you look like from
so far away, Bright half light she gives
me her generous illumination.
Her shadow always in sight, bright
and colorful like a neon light. My steps
don't turn against me nor day shake from
fear. You will never fail, night after night
and you'll still be there shining clear, half
moon or full. I bring my lover to see you,
generous moon. Again you make me feel
secured and charmed. The sight of you draws
me to a sense of harmony; my lover, my moon,
I enshrine you both. Dusky twilight evening
still i won't fear as ample as you are.
Enigmatic you are to all beings and
brilliant in your wayfaring.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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Tut-Ench-Amon (Tutankhamen)
Been and seen down flight from chicago
All aboard the African Queen
I am on a night boat down to cairo
Feeling like a tourist with a foreign man abroad
Tells it like he thinks it is, but I know he is fraud
There is a map tucked under his shoulder
and a cap perched on his head
If he looked any older, he might as well be dead
Dressed in army surplus the files around me swarm
On a mission without a purpose, I wish I'd never been born
By the light of a pale moon - Tutankhamen
Half past high noon - Tutankhamen
Put you in the picture - 1884
I'm up to date on the literature
but I have never been here before
There is a black boy on the corner trailing me behind
Stalking like a vulture money on his mind
In the shadow of the giant sphinx the archeological tale
Before the eastern sun sinks I'll be learning braille
By the light of a pale moon - Tutankhamen
Half past high noon - Tutankhamen
They are playing our tune - Tutankhamen
Half past high noon - Tutankhamen
By the light of a, light of a pale moon - Tutankhamen
Half past high noon - Tutankhamen
By the light of a pale moon - Tutankhamen
Half past high noon - Tutankhamen
song performed by by Falco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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