Out of Superstition
A box of glazed sour fruit compact,
My narrow room.
And oh the grime of lodging rooms
This side the tomb!
This cubbyhole, out of superstition,
I chose once more.
The walls seem dappled oaks; the door,
A singing door.
You strove to leave; my hand was steady
Upon the latch.
My forelock touched a wondrous forehead;
My lips felt violets.
O Sweet! Your dress as on a day
Not long ago
To April, like a snowdrop, chirps
A gay 'Hello!'
No vestal-you, I know: You came
With a chair today,
Took down my life as from a shelf,
And blew the dust away.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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A Room In My Heart
My heart was once just like a home
With many rooms and open doors
And I always let love in
It would change the rooms around and then
Leave them empty
'Til one by one I locked each door
And soon forgot what love was for
But I never gave up hopin'
So I left just one door open
In case you found me
So there's a room in my heart for you
If your trust has been stolen too
If you walk softly on this worn out wooden floor
And leave behind you the hurt you've had before
There's a room in my heart for you
We'll paint the walls from blue to white
And set the mood by candlelight
Together we'll keep out the cold
And I'll still be there when we're old
If you'll let me
So there's a room in my heart for you
If your trust has been stolen too
If you walk softly on this worn out wooden floor
And leave behind you the hurt you've had before
There's a room in my heart for you
song performed by by Faith Hill from It Matters To Me
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Tomb
The four walls around me,
The bed in which I lay.
A lock on my door,
Keeps everyone away.
The outside world has nothing,
Not a single thing for me.
For I lost the angel of my life,
An angel as beautiful as she.
I lay within these four walls,
Counting the time go by.
The day quickly comes to an end,
And then I close my eyes.
It is then I dream of her,
As I lie here in my room.
In my dream I leave from here,
This place I call my tomb.
No more walls around me,
No more bed in which I lay.
I have broken from the locks,
That kept me here to decay.
In my dream I am with her,
No longer am I sad.
For in my dream she never leaves,
Destroying everything we had.
In my dream we are happy,
Our love will only grow.
Reaching to the Heavenly skies,
Leaving the world below.
In my dream I'm full of life,
No longer live in gloom.
My angel has pulled me from the trap,
Of this place I call my tomb.
I want to stay in this dream,
For when I am asleep.
No longer do I miss her,
No longer do I weep.
I want to stay in this dream,
I never want to wake.
For when I'm here with my angel,
No longer do I ache.
I want to stay in this dream,
Don't ever pull me out.
I want to stay here forever,
For here there is no doubt.
Eventually my eyes will open,
I see the walls of my room.
Once again I'm locked up,
As I lie here in my tomb.
poem by Adam McKim
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No Lilies For Lisette
Said the Door: "She came in
With no shadow of sin;
Turned the key in the lock,
Slipped out of her frock,
The robe she liked best
When for supper she dressed.
Then a letter she tore . . .
What a wan look she wore!"
Said the Door.
Said the Chair: "She sat down
With a pitiful frown,
And then (oh, it's queer)
Just one lonely tear
Rolled down her pale cheek.
How I hoped she would speak
As she let down her hair,"
Said the Chair.
Said the Glass: "Then she gazed
Into me like one dazed;
As with delicate grace
She made up her face,
Her cheeks and her lips
With rose finger-tips,
So lovely - alas!
Then she turned on the gas."
Said the Glass.
Said the Bed: "Down she lay
In a weariful way,
Like an innocent child,
To her fate reconciled;
Hands clasped to her breast,
In prayer or in rest:
'Dear Mother,' she said,
Then pillowed her head,"
Said the Bed.
Said the Room: "Then the gleam
Of the moon like a dream,
Soft silvered my space,
And it fell on her face
That was never so sweet
As her heart ceased to beat . . .
Then the moon fled and gloom
Fell like funeral plume,"
Said the Room.
"Just a whore,"
Said the Door;
"Yet so fair,"
Said the Chair;
"Frail, alas!"
Said the Glass;
"Now she's dead,"
Said the Bed;
"Sorry doom,"
Said the Room. . . .
Then they all,
Floor and wall,
Quiet grew,
Ceiling too;
Like a tomb
Was the room;
With hushed breath
Hailing Death:
Soul's release,
Silence, Peace.
poem by Robert William Service
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Another Learning
there is a door
between us as though
we are just
two adjacent rooms
to enter into your door
i need to have that key
you keep on telling me
the key was lost and you
do not know
where to find it anymore
there is another door
and you are allowing someone else to come in
at first i say 'This is unfair! ' and
I thought of forcing
that door open
on the other hand
i have my own door too
and the lock is broken
a long time ago i have
thrown out the key
for what use is a door with
a broken lock?
and for what use is your door
to my prayer?
i do not know what force is &
i already stopped begging
i change the frames of my window
i have some other plans in mind
there are nine planets in our
galaxy
there are many galaxies
in unlimited space
and like all those who still hope
they always know
that someone somewhere keeps
on waiting
in a world where doors welcome me
like arms in half-embrace
and so i go to places where
my feet are welcome
& i have learned the happiness
of forgetting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Allegory Of The Cycle Of Doors
and so there is this door that appears before you
and you open it
and then when you enter the room
another door appears
this is the cycle of doors that keep on appearing and you
keep on opening
but the room still appears from a distance
always distant
from your eager feet to enter
you say to enter the room i must please the door
but the room moves away just the same
and the door tells you
to keep the room
you have to burn it and when the room is burned
the door finally disappears
and then both the door and the room shall tell you
now be happy
for you now have a house of your own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Olney poems
1
So through the dark
A recalled reality touched
With the unsteady ease
Found in the debris
OF some lost self
Stood there and waiting
A look of accusation
That stroked our conscience
2
The space of slavery
Carried the forelocks acceptance
Dip the guilty finger
in times Holy stoop
Congratulate our present freedom
of these presented blessings
A forelock touched again
The game plays on
3
And make the lace
To continue a life
Intricate Fragments of desperation
Provide an incidental decoration
A price so agreed
To enjoy a flower
And share the light
Of the communal bounty
4
Cowper brushed his teeth
Daily we passed by
Newton climbed his pulpit
We preached the land
They wrote their hymns
We escaped with drink
Today the forelock touched
Respecting their entwined lives
5
God roams his garden
With dances of creation
Proclaiming the ever paradise
With an outstretched hand
Inviting our forelocks touch
The fruit still entrances
Our obsessed nudity declines
From its cultured slavery
poem by Michael Oliver
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Setting the scene for M lady Lucianne
Few know where shy white violets grow
but I am one of those who do.
Just take my hand and we will go
together to a place I know.
I am prepared to share with you
But you must swear you will not tell
a single soul for if you do.
Too many folks will go there to
grub up the plants and take them home
to plant them in their garden plot.
Where other folks are not welcome
I would not mind if they took some.
But know quite well they’ll take them all
and leave not one single plant behind.
Their greed would be the plants downfall.
There would be none for us to find.
When we go walking hand in hand
along this pretty lovers lane.
I know my love you understand.
The violets grow where nature planned.
That white violets are very rare,
they are not meant to be confined.
They do not need a gardeners care
You will see when we get there.
Their beauty in a natural state.
Where they were intended to be,
I know you will appreciate
why I swear you to secrecy.
But I trust you implicitly
I know that you will not betray
the shy white violets or me.
You are the soul of honesty.
That’s why I am in love with you.
Not only are you sweet and kind
but to your word you’re always true.
and do what you say you will do.
When we get there I will propose
and hope that you will answer yes.
I think you have guessed my purpose
and know exactly why I chose.
To show my violets to you
today and now in early spring,
In fact I am convinced you do.
You know me far too well not to.
4-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Walk Within A Dream
I saw a building old as days
With countless rooms laid within
Walls with cracks and ivy rose
From the earth before me
Slowly I entered that place
Air ran heavy, thick to my lungs
With each taken step
I walked the rooms and halls
Some bare stripped of life
Others as though never touched
Some like a memory kept
Where instruments of music
Lay dust covered, silent
Still brought a song to thought
I saw paintings and pictures
Rich in a veil of colour
Like all the seasons held at once
A beauty found, celebrated
Then a sadness felt
In the shadowed halls
Empty with a loneliness
Another room had windows
Where a wind whistled through
I heard a birdsong carried
It passed in a second step
I thought no more of it
I descended and climbed stairs
Became lost and yet found
I knew this place well
However strange it came to me
Yes I knew this place
I felt the walls, ageless
I smelt the air, familiar
The ground beat to a pulse
A rhythm only I knew
On this my first visit
To that building which once rose
I felt at home, comforted
I looked back became held
As though I had never moved
The entrance still behind me
In spite of all the rooms and halls
Which I had walked
In spite of every step I counted
Numberless, countless, endless
I remained unmoved
Yet moved still moved
My eyes closed I felt myself pulled
Away from that old building
The rooms and walls
The cracks and the climbing ivy
That whistling wind
The music and colour
I awoke and thought
Had I walked a dream
Built upon my heart, soul, mind
Had I just walked myself
No answers came
I lay awake lost in thought
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Open Door
O Mystery of life,
That, after all our strife,
Defeats, mistakes,
Just as, at last, we see
The road to victory,
The tired heart breaks.
Just as the long years give
Knowledge of how to live,
Life's end draws near;
As if, that gift being ours,
God needed our new powers
In worlds elsewhere.
There, if the soul whose wings
Were won in suffering, springs
To life anew,
Justice would have some room
For hope beyond the tomb,
And mercy, too.
And since, without this dream
No light, no faintest gleam
Answers our 'why';
But earth and all its race
Must pass and leave no trace
On that blind sky;
Shall reason close that door
On all we struggled for,
Seal the soul's doom;
Make of this universe
One wild answering curse,
One lampless tomb?
Mine be the dream, the creed
That leaves for God, indeed,
For God, and man,
One open door whereby
To prove His world no lie
And crown His plan.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Is Today the Day
Is today the day
we tell Satan flee
is today the day
we will be free
Is today the day
we curl and run
is today the day
we use that gun
Is today the day
much like before
Is today the day
to close the door
Is today the day
the walls come down
Is today the day
we will abound
Is today the day
we ask Jesus in
Is today the day
life begins again
Is today the day
we help a friend
is today the day
Will we let Him in
(2005)
poem by Linda Fleming
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Home
Years I had been from home,
And now, before the door
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business, - just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.
I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I years had been from home,
I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business,--just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.
I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude V.
'Signor Luigi,' said the Jew,
When the Sicilian's tale was told,
'The were-wolf is a legend old,
But the were-ass is something new,
And yet for one I think it true.
The days of wonder have not ceased;
If there are beasts in forms of men,
As sure it happens now and then,
Why may not man become a beast,
In way of punishment at least?
'But this I will not now discuss,
I leave the theme, that we may thus
Remain within the realm of song.
The story that I told before,
Though not acceptable to all,
At least you did not find too long.
I beg you, let me try again,
With something in a different vein,
Before you bid the curtain fall.
Meanwhile keep watch upon the door,
Nor let the Landlord leave his chair,
Lest he should vanish into air,
And so elude our search once more.
Thus saying, from his lips he blew
A little cloud of perfumed breath,
And then, as if it were a clew
To lead his footsteps safely through,
Began his tale as followeth.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Shatterproof
I see those newly weds
Their eyes wide and believing
They bill and coo at the mention of chez nous
Appearances can be deceiving
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
We papered over all the cracks
And painted a cats lick and a promise
The landlord was a man of few words
And most of them were ominous
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
It was nothing really to write home about
Then one day it all appears too much
Here comes my little hammer and its shatterproof touch
He said, be practical,
These are most unreasonable demands.
Forget about the broken spectacles
And the damage to your hand.
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
And the doctors say Im almost shatterproof
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now And Always
This situation I find myself in
For I have selfishly taken one on the chin
My words I shall never rescind
Casing a breeze trying to catch the wind
Up and out through my front door
Gone is my luck ever more
Like a child grasping at the sand
Granules slips right through my hand
To hold her was impossible to achieve
She once gave me something to believe
Like a can of beets sitting on the shelf
Here I am now left to myself
She never could make up her mind
Her heart she kept hopelessly confined
Seasons when she refused to leave behind
Love to me has always been so unkind
This is something that I know
She would not let her former self go
Writing on the walls I always saw the sign
To cross she would never the borderline
Love once knocked on my door
But now she knocks there no more
I lift my glass to her I’ve toasted
She was my life I once boasted
The task at hand was truly daunted
But she was all I ever wanted
Her fragrance I am truly haunted
Even still the birds me they’ve taunted
These were the best days of my life
I could’ve, I should’ve, and I would’ve made her my wife
But with me she could never be
No one left now to love only me
Her love I could never really claim
Life without her will never be the same
My love I fought hard to contain
For the love I have will always remain
I still love her more than words could ever speak
When she walked in the room my knees would go weak
The honeybees still whisper sunshine’s name
From the mountains to the hills I was ready to exclaim
I would make her laugh or cry with the words I wrote down
Her affect on me was truly profound
She is life and the breath that I took
The precious melodies I once wrote in my songbook
She is way hotter than July
She can cause and egg to fry
She made me sweat on the coldest of days
She made my body shiver when she touched me in certain ways
I have loved her from the start of creation
She fills my wildest imagination
From dimly lit streets to darken allays
I shall love her for now and alway
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Sonnet IV: Thou Hast Thy Calling
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor
For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drip here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! there's a voice within
That weeps...as thou must sing...alone, aloof.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet IV
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems ! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor
For hand of thine ? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door ?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof !
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation ! there 's a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Iv
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems ! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor
For hand of thine ? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door ?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof !
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation ! there 's a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet 04 - Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor
IV
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor
For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! there 's a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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The Sour Lemon Tree
A sour lemon tree flower attracts the bee
While its fruit is bitter not so its flower
White is its flower sweet and very pretty
Only the fruit is bitter and that's just a pity
As the beauty of its flower resist not a bee
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
With fruit that is bitter bears a lemon tree
But useful is its fruit good for everyday use
Once said a bee... your flower is very sweet
It carries fragrance scented out in the street
Yet bears you fruit bitter no one wants to eat
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
A citrus tree with fruit no other tree bears
Then out of the tree came a nice neat voice
'Twas like a voice of one who's very wise
This is what it said trees are not so free
One made a decree for every bearing tree
It's partly the truth
Or see the sour lemon tree
The Creator decides the fruit a tree bears
Whether it be bitter or whether it be sweet
The Creator decrees for every bearing tree
To bring forth fruit ordained for it to bear
Then sweet or bitter bears a tree its fruit
It's the simple truth
Or see the sour lemon tree.
poem by Clarence Prince
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