In the forest
List to the forest-voice murmuring low:
All that it saw when alone with its laughter,
All that it suffered in times that came after,
Mournful it tells, that the wind may know.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Evangeline: Preface
THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,-
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Wandering Singers
WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
With lutes in our hands ever-singing we roam,
All men are our kindred, the world is our home.
Our lays are of cities whose lustre is shed,
The laughter and beauty of women long dead;
The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings,
And happy and simple and sorrowful things.
What hope shall we gather, what dreams shall we sow?
Where the wind calls our wandering footsteps we go.
No love bids us tarry, no joy bids us wait:
The voice of the wind is the voice of our fate.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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A Guiding Voice
Sometimes we hear a guiding voice
that leads us away from danger.
The voice warns us
in times of troubles.
It tells us to go or beware.
Sometimes it comes in dreams
that we feel torments our soul.
This is a guiding voice
that tells us which way to go.
Some say it is a guardian angel
who watches over us
by day and by night,
telling us which way is wrong,
and which way is right.
We may never know whom
that voice belongs to,
only that it helps us
to live our life through.
poem by David Harris
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Cry In The Wind
Are these your words with laughter
Is this your voice begging to be spared
Oh, you seemed so unassailable, you seemed so far away hey hey
Is this a voice begging to be spared
Is this your voice ?
Please, dont speak to me for a while
Are these your words with laughter
Is this your voice begging to be spared
Oh, you seemed so unassailable, you seemed so far away hey hey
Are these your words with laughter
Is this your voice ?
Catch my thoughts on the run
You kissed my hand
Like a friend in the heat of a fight
While those enemies scream
In the heat of a fight
I walked into my dream
Oh fall
Oh fall into your call
I jump I jump I jump
Jump out of time
Out of the fight
Jump jump
Jump out of time
I cry in the wind
I cry in the wind . someone is telling me
A frenzied thing
I cry in the wind I cry
A whisper in my ear
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wind Whispers
The wind whispers to me,
It tells me things,
Things about you that I didn’t know before,
It reminded me of all the good times we had together,
It makes me sad to think that you’re not here any more.
The wind whispers to me,
It reminded me of the day we met,
Out in the rain, soaking wet,
You offered me your umbrella,
And I fell in love with you that night.
We had lots of fun days after that,
Until you went and said goodbye,
I never saw your face again,
And I never will,
Until I die.
The wind whispers to me,
It sounds just like you did,
Happy, all the time,
Until that day three months ago,
When you died.
The wind whispers to me,
And tells me that all is well,
It tells me that your happy,
And I can sleep at night,
Knowing that you didn’t end up in hell.
The wind whispered to me again last night,
And told me to be happy,
It said, even though your gone,
I should continue with my life,
But I will love you until the end of time.
poem by Rachel Brewer
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Sonnet: My Inner Voice
When mind tells me, ’I am punished enough,
And it were better I followed the world, ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, tho’ ’tis tough’.
This extra-suffering makes my heart cold.
When mind tells me, ‘I must avenge my foes,
Who made me suffer without a reason, ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, forget woes.’
God will teach them in His own way lesson.
When mind tells me, ‘Tis time, be worldly-wise, ’
My woes are mainly due to poverty;
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, Be soul-wise! ’
That’s the way you earn your Eternity!
When mind tells me, ‘Your mind and body’s weak! ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, God will speak! ’
(7-29-2000)
poem by John Celes
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You Are Human
Fancy a jelly-like idealist, a manly felonious criminal
Of ill-repute; He does all that pain for your summary
And these poets carry pots of words on their heads,
Telling or reporting, murmuring or completing,
Just like the idiom in the wind tells -
You mattered as if you were human.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Paradigm Shift Pen
murmuring brain capsulated the ideas of fine ink,
where the bright ideas poise for a golden pen, yet
tremble of the angry and joy knight of the hand
that goes to the unwilling end
why have it gone to the ink, even good ideas
landed with spoiled things, what when wrong for
only the threshold pen receives the pain; published
in an awesome paper as it tell the whole world has
gone forever until when
laughter burst, as tears fall down to the ground
and the face looks like a murmuring pin in the
middle of the night and I heard a voice of cried
sings, wondering where to go as it leaves in vain
tell now of my misery, whom I kept it long
before you came on my penny, just as what you
say I pick it up in my ink, wishing all the happening
be on the way
find my wish and spray the best, the ink is ready
to say that you are willingly Free …..
poem by Antonio Liao
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Love your enemies!
Should an enemy be in the friend's list?
Should an enemy be in the ban's list?
When the enemy is in the friend's list,
Either the enemy is dubious or a friend,
When the friend is in the Ban's list,
Either the friend is dubious or a foe,
When that famous enemy of someone,
Was listed in the friend's list of the same,
How many of you shocked and never asked?
As a vocal person, I never raise my voice against abuse,
As I am still confused with the traits of the artists,
Who are good at acting as predators and victims.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Voice From The Wilderness
There are times when we wander;
we are filled with anger, hate and despair.
Then we hear a voice from the wilderness,
beckoning us to come there.
A warming voice,
filled with love and compassion.
We follow on that way
and listen to the voice,
as it guides us on our way.
The voice then tells us,
there is a truth in everything we seek.
That if we follow the right path,
we will find it there.
All we have to do
is open our heart to everyone,
for the purest heart
cannot ever be put under.
Therefore, we carry on
to our destined future,
wherever that may be.
27 October 2007
poem by David Harris
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People Choose To Lay Up On Their Backsides
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
Hear them talk about their pains,
And those agonies they reveal.
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
And...
Listen how they boast about,
Reasons why they choose NOT to heal.
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
People like to stay flat on their back-
Sides!
People like to moan and that's a fact.
People like to stay flat on their back-
Sides!
People like to feel that keep it real...
To suffer!
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.'
'I have suffered this.
And,
I suffer from that.'
And...
People choose to lay up on their backsides!
Listen to their reasons NOT to heal!
'I have suffered this.
I have suffered that.
I have suffered this.
And...
I suffer from that.'
People choose to lay up on their backsides!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Other Voice
There is no other voice I miss as much
When I'm far from my home, your laughter, your touch
There's no music on earth I'd rather hear
No other voice but yours
Your birdsong in the morning
You're the wind in the trees
The lapping of night waves on tropical seas
You're the sound of my heart beat, my breathing, my life
The lullabye rocking our babies to sleep at night
And through the dead of the voices I scream in my head
There is only one voice that sings love songs instead
There is no other sound that speaks straight to my heart
There is no other voice
not even a choice
There is no other voice but yours
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Shopping List
Finding recipes,
List the ingredients on yellow lined paper,
Someones building,
A cake for another,
Hundreds and thousands and paper tins,
Underlined self raising flour.
I'd like to see the smile on her face,
When she realises the effort he makes,
I'd like to hear the laughter illuminate the place,
As they devour the cakes.
Little little shopping list,
What happiness you bring,
Little little shopping list,
Where have you been.
poem by Craig Turner
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This Wind
This wind it howls, this wind it moans,
A mournful eerie sound.
This wind gathers fallen autumnal leaves,
Just to dash them to the ground.
This wind makes fools of washing lines,
On its travels throughout the nation.
This wind plays with all the locomotives,
Huddled at St.Pancras railway station.
This wind buffets and shakes the aeroplanes,
As they seek a calmer, foreign sky.
This wind will grow tired soon enough,
Then it will surely die.
The Autumn Wind
I.
HUSH, moaning autumn wind! be still, be still!
Thy grieving voice forbiddeth hearts to rest;
We hear thee sweeping down the lonely hill,
And mournful thoughts crowd o'er the human breast.
Why wilt thou haunt us, with thy voice unkind,
Sadd'ning the earth? Hush, moaning autumn wind!
II.
Toss not the branching trees so wildly high,
Filling the forest with thy dreary sound:
Without thy aid the hues of summer die,
And the sear leaves fall scatter'd to the ground.
Thou dost but hasten, needlessly unkind,
The winter's task, thou moaning autumn wind!
III.
Sweep not thro' Ocean's caves with hollow roar,
Driving our fair ships to some rock-bound strand!
While the vex'd sea foams wrathful to the shore,
The seaman's wife looks shuddering from the land,
And widow'd hearts for many a year shall find
Death in thy voice, thou moaning autumn wind!
IV.
Round our calm dwellings, when our hearths are gay,
Roam not, oh howling spirit of Despair!
As tho' thou wert a creature seeking prey,
And where the land look'd richest, found it there.
We have enough of memories unkind
Without thy voice, thou moaning autumn wind!
V.
Thee the sad mourner lists, and turns to weep,
In the blank silence of her lonely home;
The sick man hears, and starts from broken sleep,
And the night-wanderer sighs--compell'd to roam;
While the poor shiver, for their huts unkind
Bar thee not out, thou searching autumn wind!
VI.
Back to the barren hill and lonely glen!
Here let the wandering of thy echoes cease;
Sadly thou soundest to the hearts of men,--
Hush thy wild voice, and let the earth have peace;
Or, if no chain thy restless will can bind,
Sweep thro' the desert, moaning autumn wind!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Woman In Flight
Woman in flight, like a feather in the wind
I love her despite, the empty promises she uses to bind
She changes her mind, and her voice is always sweet
She leads me blind, like a fire she's the heat
She has a pretty voice, in tears and in laughter
I have no choice, I keep on chasing after
I can't rejoice, I'm a slave and she's my master
But she is always lying, always a miserable character
Who can trust her, who can ever be happy with her
Who can love her, who can ever be loving to her
I concur, i'm an amateur to her
But it will never occur, that she is the one i prefer
Woman in flight, like a feather in the wind
He has a pretty voice, always gentle always sweet
poem by Lucas Miganda
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The Sick Wind Moans, Moans The Sick Wind
The sick wind moans, moans the sick wind
There mystery lies in its every moan:
It tells all and nothing yet it tells
How careful hides it the secret in its breast.
The old oak hears the sick wind
And hearing it understands its own
And weeps the old oak without a cry.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Night and Wind
The night is light and chill,
Stars are awake in the sky,
There's a cloud over the moon;
Round the house on the hill
The wind creeps with its cry
Between a wail and a croon.
I hear the voice of the wind,
The voice of the wind in the night,
Cry and sob and weep,
As the voice of one that hath sinned
Moaning aloud in its might
In the night when he cannot sleep.
Sleep? No sleep is about.
What remembering sin
Wakes and watches apart?...
The wind wails without,
And my heart is wailing within,
And the wind is the voice of my heart.
poem by Arthur Symons
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You can look at the New York Times Bestseller List and you can be pretty sure that the writers on that list don't know each other very well.
I Recognize Your Voice
I recognize your voice, your cheerful laughter,
when I enter a room full of people
and even your soft steps each day
catches me with a tingle time after time,
through your beauty that flowers continually.
I recognize your voice, your cheerful laughter,
sometimes it feels as if you are waiting on me
but constantly you do astound me
and even your soft steps each day
has a kind of skipping to them
and with being in love I am stupid.
I recognize your voice, your cheerful laughter,
sometimes hear it echoing at night
although your face is disguised by the darkness
and even your soft steps each day,
but our love is not a game of force
and still continually you turn my life upside down.
I recognize your voice, your cheerful laughter
and even your soft steps each day
poem by Gert Strydom
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