Sonnet LXXIV. The Winter Night
'SLEEP, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,'
Forsakes me, while the chill and sullen blast,
As my sad soul recalls its sorrows past,
Seems like a summons bidding me prepare
For the last sleep of death--Murmuring I hear
The hollow wind around the ancient towers,
While night and silence reign; and cold and drear
The darkest gloom of middle winter lowers;
But wherefore fear existence such as mine,
To change for long and undisturb'd repose?
Ah! when this suffering being I resign
And o'er my miseries the tomb shall close,
By her, whose loss in anguish I deplore,
I shall be laid, and feel that loss no more!
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Through the Fall of Gentle Rain
While you lay in waiting,
To be set free.
To freely breathe...
Without being instructed.
Your liberties have been limited.
As they thrive in your mental twisted fits.
Who but you weeps,
For the loss of abandoned negligence.
Who else but you keeps,
A doing did too well done alive?
Who other than you,
Can not sleep...
Through the fall of gentle rain,
Dropping to nourish all that grows.
You are the only one that knows...
The deepness felt,
Of a guilt quilted that sits.
Providing not a stitch of comfort.
Who but you weeps,
For the loss of abandoned negligence.
Who else but you keeps,
A doing did too well done alive!
Who other than you,
Can not sleep...
Through the fall of gentle rain,
Dropping to nourish all that grows.
While you lay in waiting,
To be set free...
Your haunting arrives,
To find your clinched fists held...
Onto sorrows snuggled close to soothe,
An anguish that has become a part,
Of invited miseries.
That has become identified with you!
And no one dares or cares to share,
Such unrelenting grief!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not All Losses Are Bad
Loss, most of the time bad. On occasion, great!
SOME TIME A LOSS CAN BE GOOD!
Can loss sometime be happy. You bet! Ask some
divorced couples.
The other guy had a loss and I won!
My ex had a loss, of most of our assets. Yes,
you guessed it, I got 'em!
Insurance companies, now there's some, that
many take great delight,
when they suffer a loss.
When the tax man does an audit, if they have
a loss, we have a win! (best kind of loss)
The person who brings suite against you,
suffers a loss. (Ain't that sweet?)
A hostile mother-in-law, suffers a loss,
when her daughter gets divorced.
When one experiences a weight loss.
Now that's something that would make
millions of people happy!
When the owner of your building, is deemed
to be, 'rent controlled, ' it brings a loss
to the greedy titleholder. (break out the champagne)
When the neighbor you hadn't spoken to for years,
has a loss, of the keys, to her car.
When the kid, who keeps running over your lawn,
with his bike, has a loss, of the two wheel monster.
When you child, who you love, but drives you nuts
with their loud music, has a broken stereo,
and a loss of music. (They're unhappy. You're ecstatic.)
When one has a loss of sleep, because their spouse
was amorous all night. (Ahhhh, the good old days.)
When your in-laws, prepare to come to your house,
for the first time, and have a loss of directions.
When your spouse, who cremates every barbecue
they ever handled, has a loss of the coals.
(Actually you hid them.)
When the know-it-all comes to your home, and
can't say a word, because they had a loss of
their dentures.
Remember...If you have a loss, sometime,
the loss is good!
l Losses Are Sometime Good...
Loss, most of the time bad. On occasion, great!
SOME TIME A LOSS CAN BE GOOD!
Can loss sometime be happy. You bet! Ask some
divorced couples.
The other guy had a loss and I won!
My ex had a loss, of most of our assets. Yes,
you guessed it, I got 'em!
Insurance companies, now there's some, that
many take great delight,
when they suffer a loss.
When the tax man does an audit, if they have
a loss, we have a win! (best kind of loss)
The person who brings suite against you,
suffers a loss. (Ain't that sweet?)
A hostile mother-in-law, suffers a loss,
when her daughter gets divorced.
When one experiences a weight loss.
Now that's something that would make
millions of people happy!
When the owner of your building, is deemed
to be, 'rent controlled, ' it brings a loss
to the greedy titleholder. (break out the champagne)
When the neighbor you hadn't spoken to for years,
has a loss, of the keys, to her car.
When the kid, who keeps running over your lawn,
with his bike, has a loss, of the two wheel monster.
When you child, who you love, but drives you nuts
with their loud music, has a broken stereo,
and a loss of music. (They're unhappy. You're ecstatic.)
When one has a loss of sleep, because their spouse
was amorous all night. (Ahhhh, the good old days.)
When your in-laws, prepare to come to your house,
for the first time, and have a loss of directions.
When your spouse, who cremates every barbecue
they ever handled, has a loss of the coals.
(Actually you hid them.)
When the know-it-all comes to your home, and
can't say a word, because they had a loss of
their dentures.
Remember...If you have a loss, sometime,
the loss is good!
Lullaby, Go To Sleep
I'll ne'er forget the day,
When I was young and gay,
A rolling 'round the floor in Tennessee;
From th' cotton field so white,
My ma would come at night,
And fondly hold me in her arms and say:
Go to sleep, baby mine,
Little birdie in your nest;
Humming bees have left the vine,
Go to sleep and take your rest.
In winter cold and chill,
At night, when all was still,
I'd wake to find her standing over me,
A smile upon her face,
A creepin 'round the place,
She'd tuck the cover over me, and sing:
Go to sleep, baby mine,
Little birdie in your nest;
Humming bees have left the vine,
Go to sleep and take your rest.
So many years have passed,
Since we assembled last,
That dear old soul has gone away to dwell.
If this whole world was mine,
The wealth I would decline,
If I could only hear my mother sing:
Go to sleep, baby mine,
Little birdie in your nest;
Humming bees have left the vine,
Go to sleep and take your rest.
poem by James Ephraim McGirt
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Let The Night Sleep
Let the night sleep
Sleep for ever deep
With the night I sleep
Beyond the world to peep
Universe will sleep
Plants and trees
Birds and bees
Stars and moon
To sleep very soon!
Fruits and flowers
Joy with showers
Will sleep with me and the night
Not to keep the life very tight!
No dawn of the day
Right upto the dooms day!
Sleep permanent
In the world impermanent
I'll sleep without light
My agonies will sleep
My worries will sleep
My pains will sleep
My sins will sleep!
While in sleep
I am pure
I am peace
I am noble!
While my body is asleep
Awake my soul I keep
Sleep akin to death
Death akin to sleep in mirth?
Let the night sleep
Sleep for ever deep
With night I sleep
Sleep to eternity
Soul to merge in Divinity!
poem by Subbaraman N V
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Loss Of...
Loss it seems is the worst kind of sorrow
Loss of dreams, the dreams of tomorrow
Loss of the moments you two should have shared
Loss of opportunities to show her you cared
Loss of the memories you both could have created
Loss of the romance once intense as you dated
Loss of a kiss, caress, or embrace
Loss of that special feeling no one else can replace
Loss of a look, the twinkle in her eye
Loss of the touch as you pass each other by
Loss of a future, from a past of regret
Loss of a last chance, how many do you get
Loss of a promise you never meant to break
Loss of two hearts that forever will ache
(2012)
poem by Michael Ernst
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Demented - failing lives
Thousands sit awake at night
On watch for movements of the day
To hear the creaky-groany boards
The closing door - the moving chair
They estimate what actions keep
The one demented soul awake
And settle only on the loss
Of sound of movement through the wall
Or yet - exhausted - sleep in spite
Of night long wailing out of dreams
A Sisterhood - a Brotherhood
For years their ears attune the need
Which patched and pricked into their soul
Will still advance while there is life
Their life - or life of one they love
In retrospective empathy
Of times when love meant everything
They settle stunned by misery
And cope as well they're able to
Give up when nothing's making sense
To sleep in guilty nightmare's grip
To - waking - find continuance
The fact of small destructiveness
Upon a mind once clear and bright
Shows here in sorrow - loss of self
And loss of will to wash and dress
Or to ensure that meals are made
Or eaten once - not twice nor thrice
That sinks and baths are not the same
As toilet bowls - and floors left clean
Are spread in brown - the stink removes
The will to eat in those who care
Yet loss of smell in failing mind
Allows no deep concerning thought
Of gas or food gone over long
Nor any sense in life still lived
By others round about - nor need
To gather love nor willingness
For those who care - yet cannot care
In spite of all - nor take delight
In love returned - nor hopefulness
Of better times to come.
09Jan2012 CPR
poem by Charlotte Peters Rock
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Sleep, Sleep, My Little One
Sleep, sleep, my little one
‘Tis better in this world of us
To sleep the sleep of the innocents
Than sleep the sleep of the just:
At least you’ll have a greater chance
To avoid long knives and plots
And bloody rendezvous.
For in this world, this world of us
The just is alien and his sleep
Most dangerous negligence:
Long knives will wait at corners round
And plots and darts abound
For all the just around.
For in this world, this world of us,
The sleep of innocents is better than
The sleep of all the just, my little one.
Sleep, sleep, my little one
And let outside the dark wind neigh
And rain and chill make fear
And the sea’s waves make storm and rage
And evil win
And the good disappear
And do not open your eyes sweet one
Before night and storm have passed away.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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To Fine Lady Would-Be
Fine madam Would-Be, wherefore should you fear,
That love to make so well, a child to bear?
The world reputes you barren: but I know
Your 'pothecary, and his drug says no.
Is it the pain affrights? That's soon forgot.
Or your complexion's loss? you have a pot,
That can restore that. Will it hurt your feature?
To make amends, you are thought a wholesome creature.
What should the cause be? Oh, you live at court;
And there's both loss of time, and loss of sport,
In a great belly: Write then on thy womb,
'Of the not born, yet buried, here's the tomb.'
poem by Ben Jonson
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The Sword Of The Tomb : A Northern Legend
'Voice of the gifted elder time!
Voice of the charm and the Runic rhyme!
Speak! from the shades and the depths disclose,
How Sigurd may vanquish his mortal foes;
Voice of the buried past!
'Voice of the grave! 'tis the mighty hour,
When night with her stars and dreams hath power,
And my step hath been soundless on the snows,
And the spell I have sung hath laid repose
On the billow and the blast.'
Then the torrents of the North,
And the forest pines were still,
While a hollow chant came forth
From the dark sepulchral hill.
'There shines no sun 'midst the hidden dead,
But where the day looks not the brave may tread;
There is heard no song, and no mead is pour'd,
But the warrior may come to the silent board
In the shadow of the night.
'There is laid a sword in thy father's tomb,
And its edge is fraught with thy foeman's doom;
But soft be thy step through the silence deep,
And move not the urn in the house of sleep,
For the viewless have fearful might!'
Then died the solemn lay,
As a trumpet's music dies,
By the night-wind borne away
Through the wild and stormy skies.
The fir-trees rock'd to the wailing blast,
As on through the forest the warrior pass'd,-
Through the forest of Odin, the dim and old,
The dark place of visions and legends, told
By the fires of Northern pine.
The fir-trees rock'd, and the frozen ground
Gave back to his footstep a hollow sound;
And it seem'd that the depths of those awful shades,
From the dreary gloom of their long arcades,
Gave warning, with voice and sign.
But the wind strange magic knows
To call wild shape and tone
From the grey wood's tossing boughs
When night is on her throne.
The pines clos'd o'er him with deeper gloom,
As he took the path to the monarch's tomb;
The pole-star shone, and the heavens were bright
With the arrowy streams of the northern light,
But his road through dimness lay!
He pass'd, in the heart of that ancient wood,
The dark shrine stain'd with the victim's blood:
Nor paus'd, till the rock where a vaulted bed
Had been hewn of old for the kingly dead,
Arose on his midnight way.
Then first a moment's chill
Went shuddering through his breast,
And the steel-clad man stood still
Before that place of rest.
But he cross'd at length, with a deep-drawn breath,
The threshold-floor of the hall of Death,
And look'd on the pale mysterious fire
Which gleam'd from the urn of his warrior-sire,
With a strange and solemn light.
Then darkly the words of the boding strain
Like an omen rose on his soul again,
-'Soft be thy step through the silence deep,
And move not the urn in the house of sleep,
For the viewless have fearful might!'
But the gleaming sword and shield
Of many a battle-day
Hung o'er that urn, reveal'd
By the tomb-fire's waveless ray.
With a faded wreath of oak-leaves bound,
They hung o'er the dust of the far-renown'd,
Whom the bright Valkyriur's warning voice
Had call'd to the banquet where gods rejoice,
And the rich mead flows in light.
With a beating heart his son drew near,
And still rang the verse in his thrilling ear,
-'Soft be thy step through the silence deep,
And move not the urn in the house of sleep,
For the viewless have fearful might!'
And many a Saga's rhyme,
And legend of the grave,
That shadowy scene and time
Call'd back, to daunt the brave.
But he rais'd his arm-and the flame grew dim,
And the sword in its light seem'd to wave and swim,
And his faltering hand could not grasp it well-
From the pale oak-wreath, with a clash it fell
Through the chamber of the dead!
The deep tomb rang with the heavy sound,
And the urn lay shiver'd in fragments round;
And a rush, as of tempests, quench'd the fire,
And the scatter'd dust of his warlike sire
Was strewn on the Champion's head.
One moment-and all was still
In the slumberer's ancient hall,
When the rock had ceas'd to thrill
With the mighty weapon's fall.
The stars were just fading, one by one,
The clouds were just ting'd by the early sun,
When there stream'd through the cavern a torch's flame,
And the brother of Sigurd the valiant came
To seek him in the tomb.
Stretch'd on his shield, like the steel-girt slain
By moonlight seen on the battle-plain,
In a speechless trance lay the warrior there,
But he wildly woke when the torch's glare
Burst on him through the gloom.
'The morning wind blows free,
And the hour of chase is near:
Come forth, come forth, with me!
What dost thou, Sigurd, here?'
'I have put out the holy sepulchral fire,
I have scatter'd the dust of my warrior-sire!
It burns on my head, and it weighs down my heart;
But the winds shall not wander without their part
To strew o'er the restless deep!
'In the mantle of death he was here with me now,-
There was wrath in his eye, there was gloom on his brow;
And his cold still glance on my spirit fell
With an icy ray and a withering spell-
Oh! chill is the house of sleep!'
'The morning wind blows free,
And the reddening sun shines clear;
Come forth come forth, with me!
It is dark and fearful here!'
'He is there, he is there, with his shadowy frown!
But gone from his head is the kingly crown,
The crown from his head, and the spear from his hand,-
They have chas'd him far from the glorious land
Where the feast of the gods is spread!
'He must go forth alone on his phantom steed;
He must ride o'er the grave-hills with stormy speed;
His place is no longer at Odin's board,
He is driven from Valhalla without his sword!
But the slayer shall avenge the dead!'
That sword its fame had won
By the fall of many a crest,
But its fiercest work was done
In the tomb on Sigurd's breast!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Fear of a loss
Ring, ring
That was phone,
Mum answered
In a moment
Lost in time
my mum was gone
Granny on the couch
Nervous, anxious, fearful
A Quiet, deathly silence
Filled the emptiness
We were told to pray
I dared not ask why
Praying, wondering, still dared not ask
Then the memory, gripping
Daddy hadn’t come home that day
Fearing the unknown
Dared not question
Fear of hearing
Fear of knowing
Fear of loss
Ring, ring
Granny answered,
Questions, silence, gripped by fear
Bravely, she spoke what we dared not ask
What we feared we would hear
Daddy was gone
We lost him
In the silence of this night
He passed on, quietly
As he had passed through this life
Through our lives
The silence continued
Time had stopped
The heavy quietness
The ominous silence
Overwhelmed my senses
Fear
Loss
My fear of loss
No longer a fear
A reality now
poem by Alessandra Maraschin
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Sonnet LIV.
THE SLEEPING WOODMAN.
Written in April, 1790.
YE copses wild, where April bids arise
The vernal grasses, and the early flowers;
My soul depress'd--from human converse flies
To the lone shelter of your pathless bowers.
Lo!--where the Woodman, with his toil oppress'd,
His careless head on bark and moss reclined,
Lull'd by the song of birds, the murmuring wind,
Has sunk to calm though momentary rest.
Ah! would 'twere mine in Spring's green lap to find
Such transient respite from the ills I bear!
Would I could taste, like this unthinking hind,
A sweet forgetfulness of human care,
Till the last sleep these weary eyes shall close,
And Death receive me to his long repose.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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The Faces Of Winter~
Anguish put on it's Winter face-
It's icy story embroidered into the snow
A brocade of cold that chilled to ones bone
A compassionless season where the sorrow just grows;
Falling through it's window pane of time...
Anguish laid down it's blanket of white
No sleet-only the harsh sting of cold
You know-that cutting winter bite?
You'd swear that it was slicing into you...
Through the darkest of the skies Winter grey-
Anguish put on it's Winter face
And brought a blizzard of sheer despair my way! ;
By: Theodora Onken
June 29,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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Crepuscular Wandering Amidst Tidal Waves of Plague
As dawn approaches, ultimatums of the cold astral plague holders are
Commanded by the icy shards from the whip of winter, in my misery
I am treading among the utter desolate shores of failure, creating my
Invisible elegy with a razor in purgatory
Every scar holds a different memory, in my sanguinary dreams I feel the
Torrent of blood from sadistic propitiation, it is only a call of the
Ancient majesties from the lost regions of the unknown void, I am
Forever condemned into the lamenting winds of winter night
All that lurks to fill within my frozen heart is the bottomless pit of
Sorrows, the emptiness inside myself will become my tomb, my
Apparition rising from the circle of bloodstained knives, I have
Summoned myself only to die in an ocean of my own despair
Happiness is nothing but a kingdom of lies, depression is a realm of
Suffering, death is to be glorified by the wandering departed, all forms
Of existence are different methods of torment, the true path to blissful
Joy is to accept the frostbitten hand of death and fade from this world
poem by Michael Robertson
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Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable
The death of a twelve year old,
Her sister shed tears,
But the body was cold,
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
She felt all had lost hope,
It was her fault,
'I let go the rope! '
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
'I should have pulled her up'
'I lost grip'
'I should'nt have given up! '
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
'You trusted me! '
'And there is no reason....'
' No you shouldn't have, see? '
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
'No! It's not your fault! ',
Said her sister,
Who lay dead in the vault,
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
poem by Ulveena Aitzaz
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To Thomas Woolner
First Snow, February
WOOLNER, to-night it snows for the first time.
Our feet know well the path where in this snow
Mine leave one track: how all the ways we know
Are hoary in the long-unwonted rime!
Grey as their ghosts which now in your new clime
Must haunt you while those singing spirits reap
All night the field of hospitable sleep—
Whose song, past the whole sea, finds counter-chime.
Can the year change, and I not think of thee,
With whom so many changes of the year
So many years were watched—our love's degree
Alone the same? Ah still for thee and me,
Winter or summer, Woolner, here or there,
One grief, one joy, one loss, one victory.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sleepy Mom
Mom is waking in a room
Her heart and soul full of gloom,
Now in the hall of the house,
Not everything is guiet as a mouse
She can't sleep silence, nor do anything with the children
She is sad and crying in sadness, silence;
The pain in her heart violent.
She is weak from walking the hell all night
Wanting to sleep in silence with all her might
She can't do anything but sleep with her children in bed,
Silence; time and time again.
Until you know what you can do and can't do,
Your children won't be safe without you
You can keep them away from the big bad wolf
You can keep a watch on them from any danger,
whether from a friend or from a stranger,
You can sleep in silence now,
Be happy and take a bow,
Protect me from the dark or from a bomb,
you have down your job.
poem by Keith Scott
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Life is Loss
I have given this one most thought.
To learn this lesson you may not want.
But everybody knows and everybody felt
Some have seen more with the hand they've been dealt.
But I’m going to remind you because it seems.
That change is the worst enemy that deems
The fear that you have for the future
Is the loss that you will lose there?
But life is loss but not all loss comes
In the form of death or separation from
Two loves who no longer give
Each other their own life to live.
Because sometimes people have to walk away
From the hurt that they feel each day.
Sometimes people have to let go of the feelings
And move on with the day to day dealings.
Or never find themselves without remorse
And never having any recourse
Of the life that is loss and always having to carry
Those people that which they should bury.
poem by Black Rabbit
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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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The Sad Mother
Sleep, sleep, my beloved,
without worry, without fear,
although my soul does not sleep,
although I do not rest.
Sleep, sleep, and in the night
may your whispers be softer
than a leaf of grass,
or the silken fleece of lambs.
May my flesh slumber in you,
my worry, my trembling.
In you, may my eyes close
and my heart sleep.
poem by Gabriela Mistral
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