Happiness
The great stone Hall is silent
that is now millennia old.
Through the western windows
shines a glorious sun.
It floods the walls and floors,
the tables, chairs and doors,
panelling, pictures, artefacts
and illumines every one
until the wraiths that gather
cry out in their joy,
'Everything is gold!
Whatever is, is gold! '
A majestic cloud
emerges from the southern sea,
slides across the western sky
blotting out the sun.
Light through those western windows
pales to a thin grey day.
It dims the walls and floors,
the tables, chairs and doors,
panelling, pictures, artefacts
pales every one
until the wraiths in the shadows
cry out in dismay,
'Gone is gold, the gold is gone!
All joy has passed away! '
poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Barns..
Barns the cat,
who knows where it's at.
He torments the dog,
as she sleep like a log.
Jumping at the dog through the air,
bouncing, darting across the floors,
On the tables and chairs,
clawing cupboards and doors.
He's got no cares.
Walks up the walls,
taking no notice of ‘get down' calls!
Yes Barns the cat,
who know where it's at!
guy lipmore.
25/06/92
poem by Guy Lipmore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prairie greyhounds (C.P.R. "NO. 1," WESTBOUND)
I swing to the sunset land--
The world of prairie, the world of plain,
The world of promise and hope and gain,
The world of gold, and the world of grain,
And the world of the willing hand.
I carry the brave and bold--
The one who works for the nation's bread,
The one whose past is a thing that's dead,
The one who battles and beats ahead,
And the one who goes for gold.
I swing to the "Land to Be,"
I am the power that laid its floors,
I am the guide to its western stores,
I am the key to its golden doors,
That open alone to me.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Interaction A La Folie à Plusieurs
no matter how you close the doors and windows
cover the chairs and tables
put some glass walls
dust, these unwelcome, particles, always come
and with neglect
they pile upon your favorite spaces and places
you check them with your fingertips
oh, they're thick and plenty
you blow them away with your strong breath
they all come back again
like your enemies wildly laughing always reminding you
that from them, and to them, you shall return.
these are the madness of the majority.
Denial.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walking Tables
How do tables walk as one?
And why do chairs seem to run?
How my rest is desired, and how
Do I kick in the air for relaxation?
My chimney is found with the soot
Of a black utterance, as seemly as light;
The light travels up and down the world,
With smoke, crime is committed, like walking
Chairs and turning tables, this world is one.
With this house may I live alone,
Where wolves like criminals detest you.
Anyone walked a long distance, anyway,
Justice must be allowed, and searched
By the home and heaven.
How do tables and chairs move?
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Need For A New House....Or Home...
early morning
when the doors are still closed and the windows still tipsy
like the whole house
you fly away
the sun comes out with the clouds
early morning you fly away
away from it all
the clouds are floors and grasses
and you are a lonely bird among a flock of chairs
early morning you fly away
thinking about nothing
you fly away and you feel like a leaf inside
that gentle beast
it is a ride-awA Need For A New House....Or Home...ay
among the paradoxes of life
and its ironies
early morning there is this flight that takes you to a stop-over
of your life
no one knows that you are grieving
over a search for what you feel
the one you had which you lost
intentionally
among the flock of chairs landing early morning
on unstable floors
early morning you take a cab
you choose still
which house
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thought tree
as far the floors
they are now wet so
you don't teleport through
doors sneaking towards
perfection the pictures on
the windows will always
show clouds as i am
hiding beneath gates
always in glass clothes
and there
you
are
to
lit
ever
y mind
(11 July 2008)
poem by Selenaru Negrea
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Mouse and House
Underneath the tables responds the mouse,
Inside it weeps, and soaks up water in its house.
Its house is a follower’s abode, of stealth,
May the tables bend and steal the wealth.
In its house we found the treasure of cool surroundings,
There was gold, water and many, many beginnings.
The gold was stationary, like the hostility in the tables,
The real dining occurred in this hole for animals.
poem by Naveed Akram
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At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Remind Me Of Gold
Baby, when I think about you
And thats when I think
I think about gold
You remind me of gold
And when I see the sunrise in the sky
And when I hear your brakes come squealing by
I forget
Everything Ive been told
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
Baby I always think about you
I think of the life and glory you hold
You remind me of gold
And even though there was no sun today
And though you are a thousand miles away
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Most Beautiful Box (Response Number Two)
you can build
the most beautiful box
the world has ever seen.
you can line the walls
with fine jewels,
and carpet the floors.
you can adorn it
with beautiful pictures,
and have windows that face
the morning sun.
you can have doors
that open both ways.
still...
this box cannot hold
the sky, the wind, or the rain!
so it is with political systems.
no system can define freedom.
no system can define justice.
no system can define equality.
only the human heart,
grounded in love,
can do this!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Silver And Gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver & Gold
Words and Music by Johnny Marks.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Splendour
‘Tis Evanoe's,
A house not made with hands,
But out somewhere beyond the worldly ways
Her gold is spread, above, around, inwoven;
Strange ways and walls are fashioned out of it.
And I have seen my Lady in the sun,
Her hair was spread about, a sheaf of wings,
And red the sunlight was, behind it all.
And I have seen her there within her house,
With six great sapphires hung along the wall,
Low, panel-shaped, a-level with her knees,
All her robe was woven of pale gold.
There are there many rooms and all of gold,
Of woven walls deep patterned, of email,
Of beaten work; and through the claret stone,
Set to some weaving, comes the aureate light.
Here am I come perforce my love of her,
Behold mine adoration
Maketh me clear, and there are powers in this
Which, played on by the virtues of her soul,
Break down the four-square walls of standing time.
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Why Am I Needing This?
I am not those dark days lived.
To perform an existing within shadows.
I am not,
One who sits comfortably...
Fixed to fears,
Of my own image appearing...
On walls that I visit forelorned.
I can not accept a misery imposed upon me.
I can not accept...
My own reflection hinting with signs of neglect.
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I am the light that brightly shines...
Beyond closed and locked doors,
My mind has been convinced...
I'm needing more to restrict my addictions.
I'm needing more of this...
To keep and explore!
'I am not those dark days lived',
I say.
'I am not that one existing,
Within the restriction of shadows.'
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I live beyond closed and locked doors!
And yet I am a victim,
Of my own self inflicting addictions.
Why am I needing this...
To keep adventured and explored?
'Why am I needing this?
Why from it I just can't quit? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Christmas Eve, After Mass
The light from the tree
throws gold on my
dark wall.
Night lurks, but
thin windows
keep the wind at bay
as day flows faithfully
to day.
So we wait
for the exuberant sun
to spill reckless warmth
over the grateful Earth.
Life is a prize,
a gift of great value
gold given by the eastern king
to the newborn
child.
So receive it!
Your faith
has saved you.
poem by Steven Federle
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A castle stands ’neath western skies
A castle stands ’neath western skies
Gold shields its roof have studded;
The evening sun behind it dies
Midst cloud banks so newly ruddied.
That castle by no hand is wrought:
Perfectly though it’s gilded;
Its gate soars up to heaven’s court;
Our Lord Himself did once built it.
From thousand turrets sparkles gold,
Amber its gate is gleaming;
The sea reflects its walls of old,
With pillars of sun’s rays teeming.
God’s sun into its castle crowds,
Purple raiment inflaming,
On battlements in rosy clouds
Light’s banner’s glory proclaiming.
Sun’s angel waves the flag of light,
Sets off for distant quarters;
Life, light and day him follow right
Behind night’s loud foaming waters.
And like the sun life seeks the coast
Full of transfiguration
Where sun the east once more will host
With paradise as its station.
poem by Bernhard Severin Ingemann
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Thoughts
Majestic colours
line the room
Red, Orange, Gold.
Champagne bottles
All popped their corks
Stand tall on shelves.
Mirrors, Mirrors
Fretwork frames
Everywhere reflecting
Orange lighting.
Tallow hanging
Like pearl droplets.
Arched doorway
Drapes of velvet
Tied back
Gold sashes.
Pictures, pictures
Hang all around
Past present
Black and white.
Busy, busy
Mind racing
Will I write
I think not..
poem by Hazel Connelly
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As I have pointed out, it is the Christian tradition that is the most fundamental element in Western culture. It lies at the base not only of Western religion, but also of Western morals and Western social idealism.
quote by Christopher Dawson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire and Gold
Fire is gold aflame
Gold is fire solidified
Fire and gold gold and fire
Bring about the sunset of the Indian summer
I presume it caught the eyes of the blind bard
Who created his Helen from its effulgence
No wonder Euripedes hid her in fire
Because privacy of glorious light was her
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Let's Voyage Into The New American House
There are doors
that want to be free
from their hinges to
fly with perfect clouds.
There are windows
that want to be
released from their
frames to run with
the deer through
back country meadows.
There are walls
that want to prowl
with the mountains
through the early
morning dusk.
There are floors
that want to digest
their furniture into
flowers and trees.
There are roofs
that want to travel
gracefully with
the stars through
circles of darkness.
poem by Richard Brautigan
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