White Heliotrope
The feverish room and that white bed,
The tumbled skirts upon a chair,
The novel flung half-open where
Hat, hair-pins, puffs, and paints, are spread;
The mirror that has sucked your face
Into its secret deep of deeps,
And there mysteriously keeps
Forgotten memories of grace;
And you, half-dressed and half awake,
Your slant eyes strangely watching me,
And I, who watch you drowsily,
With eyes that, having slept not, ache;
This (need one dread? nay, dare one hope?)
Will rise, a ghost of memory, if
Ever again my handkerchief
Is scented with White Heliotrope.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half The World
Half the world lives,
Half the world makes,
Half the world gives
While the other half takes.
Half the world hates,
Half the world runs away,
Half the world's late,
Half the world praises the day.
Half the world is,
Half the world was,
Half the world thinks,
Half the world does.
Half the world lies,
Half the world burns,
Half the world cries
While the other half turns.
Half the world cares,
Half the world weeps,
Half the world shares,
Half the world keeps.
Half the world sings,
Half the world laughs,
Half the world brings,
Half the world tries to be the other half.
End.
White Picket Fence
i've cut off the curls
I shaved half my face
Became half the man you asked to replace.
I'm willing to save you
You said you're worth saving
But half of my appetite's lost half it's craving
Stand in the mirror
That's me beside you
The one with the smile, the one who abides you.
Don't mind the madman
The killer, the lover
He's slowly fading one into the other.
Where is that white picket fence
That i painted myself in the late days of april?
Where are the daffodil mountians?
I know that they're somewhere around here by the garden.
You say that you're happy
Well you should know better
I see that you've sewn up that rip in your sweater
That some lover tore off you
That left you both shaking
That bled deep inside you the wound you'd forsaken
Where is that white picket fence
That i painted myself in the late days of april?
Where are the daffodil mountians?
I know that they're somewhere around here by the garden.
Don't fear i will save you
Don't shout you'll awaken
The corpse in the desert staked out beside you
I cut off his wing
And shaved half his face
But i thought that i saw his eyes...move
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Boy You Have Known
(d. pickerill/p. odonoughue)
This song is for listening to
On nights youre all alone
Blank face at the window pane
Or a silent telephone
Chorus:
And its all about a boy you have known
With black hair or brown hair
And hands made of stone
He had eyes like the (deeps? ) in the sky
Hair like the clouds youve seen floating by
And my sky was your cloud
You made the first smile I had ever worn
Chorus
Do you wonder if he knows now
Of the pain behind your eyes
The scorching in your throat
Or the half forgotten sighs
Do you try hard to sleep
And feel old memories
Creeping to the dark folds of night
? ? ? your glance and made me dance
The first dance I had ever seen
Chorus
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song
YOU are as gold
as the half-ripe grain
that merges to gold again,
as white as the white rain
that beats through
the half-opened flowers
of the great flower tufts
thick on the black limbs
of an Illyrian apple bough.
Can honey distill such fragrance
as your bright hair-
for your face is as fair as rain,
yet as rain that lies clear
on white honey-comb,
lends radiance to the white wax,
so your hair on your brow
casts light for a shadow.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Watching Me Fall
I've been watching me fall for it seems like years
Watching me grow small, i watch me disappear
Slipping out my ordinary world, out my ordinary eyes
Yeah slipping out the ordinary me into someone else's life
Into someone else's life...
There's a thin white cold new moon and the snow is coming down
And the neon bright tokyo lights flicker through the crowd
I've been drifting around for hours and i'm lost and i'm tired
When a whisper in my ear insatiable breathes
"why don't you follow me inside?..."
Yeah the room is small, the room is bright
Her hair is black, the bed is white
And the night is always young
Is always young... always young
The night is always young...
Yeah i've been seeing them strip to the bone in the mirror on the wall
Seeing her swallow him whole like it's not me at all
She holds out her hands and i follow her down to my knees
And the sucking inside insatiable smiles
"you will forget yourself in me..."
Yeah the room is small, the room is bright
Her eyes are black, the bed is white
And the night is always young
And the night goes on and on
And the night is always young
And the night is never over and over and over and over and over...
And this it's gone
And this it's gone
Yeah then it's gone
Yeah it's a cruel mean cold new day and outside the snow is still coming down
And in the blood red tokyo bed i watch me coming round
She pulled him down for hours
Deeper than i've ever been
And as i fall in the mirror on the wall
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
I'm watching me scream
Yeah i've been watching me go for it must be years
Watching me get slow, i watch me disappear
And one day, yeah i know, i won't come back at all...
And always over and over in his ordinary eyes
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
I'm watching me fall
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Living For The Weekend
I awake eyes half open
Trying to survey the room
Making sense of where I am
A place I know too well
Through the curtains I watch
A half moon cross the sky
While car doors open, close
Engines start and drive away
A train passes into the distance
On the nearby line
I lay there waiting to rise
Shower, dress and catch the bus
Then sit there listen to music
While I stare out the window
Each street, people passing
Its another weekday morning
Another step in the old routine
I reach the office, hang my coat
Switching on the computer
I leave it bleeping into life
Before I make the first coffee of the day
Filtered black and strong, one sugar
Then I sit there sifting through papers
Doing my job nine to five
Till I go home and bed
I live for the weekend
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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River Lilies
Saw a boy three lilies white,
Lilies in the river,
Half heart-open to the light,
Full of golden arrows bright,
Each a silver quiver.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Said the boy, “I’ll pluck you there,
Lilies in the river!”
Said the lilies, “If you dare
You shall drown, or homeward fare
Dripping and a-shiver!”
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Wilful still the boy would clasp
Lilies in the river;
Tumbled in ere he could grasp,
Scrambled out with puff and gasp,
Plucked no lilies ever.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Multitudes Turn In Darkness
The half-shut doors through which we heard that music
Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence,
The stars wheel out, the night grows deep.
Darkness settles upon us; a Vague refrain
Drowsily teases at the drowsy brain.
In numberless rooms we stretch ourselves and sleep.
Where have we been ? What savage chaos of music
Whirls in our dreams? We suddenly rise in darkness,
Open our eyes, cry out, and sleep once more.
We dream we are numberless sea-waves, languidly foaming
A warm white moonlit shore;
Or clouds blown windily over a sky at midnight,
Or chords of music scattered in hurrying darkness,
Or a singing sound of rain
We open our eyes and stare at the coiling darkness,
And enter our dreams again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 13: The half-shut doors through which we heard that music
The half-shut doors through which we heard that music
Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence.
The stars whirl out, the night grows deep.
Darkness settles upon us. A vague refrain
Drowsily teases at the drowsy brain.
In numberless rooms we stretch ourselves and sleep.
Where have we been? What savage chaos of music
Whirls in our dreams?—We suddenly rise in darkness,
Open our eyes, cry out, and sleep once more.
We dream we are numberless sea-waves languidly foaming
A warm white moonlit shore;
Or clouds blown windily over a sky at midnight,
Or chords of music scattered in hurrying darkness,
Or a singing sound of rain . . .
We open our eyes and stare at the coiling darkness,
And enter our dreams again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 01: The round red sun heaves darkly out of the sea
The round red sun heaves darkly out of the sea.
The walls and towers are warmed and gleam.
Sounds go drowsily up from streets and wharves.
The city stirs like one that is half in dream.
And the mist flows up by dazzling walls and windows,
Where one by one we wake and rise.
We gaze at the pale grey lustrous sea a moment,
We rub the darkness from our eyes,
And face our thousand devious secret mornings . . .
And do not see how the pale mist, slowly ascending,
Shaped by the sun, shines like a white-robed dreamer
Compassionate over our towers bending.
There, like one who gazes into a crystal,
He broods upon our city with sombre eyes;
He sees our secret fears vaguely unfolding,
Sees cloudy symbols shape to rise.
Each gleaming point of light is like a seed
Dilating swiftly to coiling fires.
Each cloud becomes a rapidly dimming face,
Each hurrying face records its strange desires.
We descend our separate stairs toward the day,
Merge in the somnolent mass that fills the street,
Lift our eyes to the soft blue space of sky,
And walk by the well-known walls with accustomed feet.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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On Count Voronstov
One half Milord, one half in trade,
One half a sage, one half a dunce,
One half a crook, but here for once
There's every hope he'll make the grade.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Love Half Realized
Even in the dream
Never lay your lashes
For half-realized love.
Half curtailed dreams
Torment the eyes.
Implant not half-recalled memory,
In the terrain of heart, for it pricks
And wheezes restlessly therein,
Rattles agonizingly,
And flashes like lightening in the blood.
Let go away love half-realized
For Love, Fondness,
And Love Madness
Are always unfulfilled, half-realized.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Drowsy Day
THE air is dark, the sky is gray,
The misty shadows come and go,
And here within my dusky room
Each chair looks ghostly in the gloom.
Outside the rain falls cold and slow —
Half-stinging drops, half-blinding spray.
Each slightest sound is magnified,
For drowsy quiet holds her reign;
The burnt stick in the fireplace breaks,
The nodding cat with start awakes,
And then to sleep drops off again,
Unheeding Towser at her side.
I look far out across the lawn,
Where huddled stand the silly sheep;
My work lies idle at my hands,
My thoughts fly out like scattered strands
Of thread, and on the verge of sleep—
Still half awake — I dream and yawn.
What spirits rise before my eyes!
How various of kind and form!
Sweet memories of days long past,
The dreams of youth that could not last,
Each smiling calm, each raging storm,
That swept across my early skies.
Half seen, the bare, gaunt-fingered boughs
Before my window sweep and sway,
And chafe in tortures of unrest.
My chin sinks down upon my breast;
I cannot work on such a day,
But only sit and dream and drowse.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Opposites
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Walked out into the street
And splashed in all the pubbles till
She had such shocking feet
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Stayed quietly in the house
And sat upon the fender stool
As still as any mouse.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Her hands were black as ink;
She would come running through the house
And begging for a drink.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Her hands were white as snow;
She did not like to play around,
She only liked to sew.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Lost hair ribbons galore;
She dropped them on the garden walks,
She dropped them on the floor.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
O thoughtful little girl!
She liked to walk quite soberly,
It kept her hair in curl.
The Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
When she was glad or proud
Just flung her arms round Mother's neck
And kissed her very loud.
The Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
Was shocked at such a sight,
She only offered you her cheek
At morning and at night.
O Half-Soled-Boots-With-Toecaps-Child
Your happy laughing face
Does like a scented Summer rose
Make sweet the dullest place.
O Patent-Leather-Slipper-Child
My dear, I'm well content
To have my daughter in my arms,
And not an ornament.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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A Decent Man
a decent man comes out
from a room: black shiny coat
red tie, a diamond pin, a white polo shirt
a well cut hair a la james bond
eyes covered with a reading glass
you get the impression that he is well-read
and trained to the gentleness of a well-bred
progeny, he is cool and calm and
always gives you the sense of
a deep listener
his wisdom flows from his
attentive eyes
keen and ponderous
you think he has no capacity for
sin or mischief
you feel that he is elevated from
the rest of us
but that is not exactly true.
one night, a cold air blows from
the sea and feels his room with
quivers. He has entertained thoughts
about the woman in Bahamas.
Or the girl from Ipanema.
He rings the phone asking for
the name of a woman. Cathy.
He needs a night. He is hot
as a cinder, as an iron rod
red as flame.
and then the woman comes
barely dressed and well scented
luscious lips and abundant bosom.
soft hair and sleepy eyes.
he opens the door and she closes it.
he asks her to undress and dance
before him. and they made love
in front of the mirror by the wall.
the man has assumed the shadow
of a mad dog as he makes
the push and pull until he is
through. At that moment the decent
man has become a mad dog just like
any mad dog with saliva flowing
along the streets of the slums.
for in truth, a decent man is as decent
only as he is dressed under the sun.
As soon as he gets naked inside his room,
this decent man faces the truth of his being.
in the secret of a moonlit night,
the shadow of the decent man
is just this dog, and nothing more.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like An Angel Passing Through My Room
Long awaited darkness falls
Casting shadows on the walls
In the twilight hour I am alone
Sitting near the fireplace, dying embers warm my face
In this peaceful solitude
All the outside world subdued
Everything comes back to me again
In the gloom
Like an angel passing through my room
Half awake and half in dreams
Seeing long forgotten scenes
So the present runs into the past
Now and then become entwined, playing games within my mind
Like the embers as they die
Love was one prolonged goodbye
And it all comes back to me tonight
In the gloom
Like an angel passing through my room
I close my eyes
And my twilight images go by
All too soon
Like an angel passing through my room
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mirror Mirror....!
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Why you show me the face of this girl
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Dont you know that she is no more...!
When I shave there she is
Peeking over my shoulder
Starry eyes open wide
Smiling smiling.... that cheeky smile
Washing my face I can see
Glancing through my fingers
There she is mocking at me
Laughing laughing.... her funny laugh
About to leave combing hair
She is there behind me
Little dainty head of hers
Resting resting.... on my shoulder
Teary eyes about to cry
Half closed into a line
Pleading pleading....pleading with me
Please please please do not go....!
Please please please do not go....!
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Why you show me the face of this girl
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Dont you know that she is no more...!
poem by Rowving Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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