Only a Matter of Time
DOWN-SLIPPING Time, sweet, swift, and shallow stream,
Here, like a boulder, lies this afternoon
Across your eager flow. So you shall stay,
Deepened and dammed, to let me breathe and be.
Your troubled fluency, your running gleam
Shall pause, and circle idly, still and clear:
The while I lie and search your glassy pool
Where, gently coiling in their lazy round,
Unseparable minutes drift and swim,
Eddy and rise and brim. And I will see
How many crystal bubbles of slack Time
The mind can hold and cherish in one Now!
Now, for one concious vacancy of sense,
The stream is gathered in a depening pond,
Not a mere moving mirror. Through the sharp
Correct reflection of the standing scene
The mind can dip, and cleanse itself with rest,
And see, slow spinning in the lucid gold,
Your liquid notes, imperishable Time.
It cannot be. The runnel slips away:
The clear smooth downward sluice begins again,
More brightly slanting for that trembling pause,
Leaving the sense its conscious vague unease
As when a sonnet flashes on the mind,
Trembles and burns an instant, and is gone.
poem by Christopher Morley
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Related quotes
Slipping Away
Slipping away, just a heartbeat from disaster
Nothing could make me stay, close your eyes and Ill be gone
Turn the page, yeah, time to start another story
Slipping away, slipping away, time to move along
No reason to stay
Oh, when Im slipping away
Take a look at yourself, youve been running in a circle
Round and round you go, youre a start without an end
Start a new life, yeah, from the city of the gypsies
Running away, slipping away, right behind the plow
Slipping away
Slipping away
Nobody to pay
Look out, cause Im slipping away
Rockin the glass, I wont leave you my reflection
A future without a past, no more road to take me back
Come if you will, just dont question my direction
Running away, slipping away, we can find the sun
Slipping away
Slipping away
Got nobody to pay
And youre slippin away
No more running in a circle
Its time to move along
Round, round, round we go
A start without an end
So Im slipping away
Slipping away
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fish with no tail
as i gaze out of nature... i have seen a fish without a tail
impossible but its true, first things came up to my mind
is, ask whether its worth to give time to remember all
the scene or perhaps, just a memories of a simple
goodbye
as the fish swim, deep beneath the crystal blue water, i
couldn't remember the minutes, the hours past, nay i felt
that i haven't taken my meal, it seems all are just a blink
of a second in my eyes
it keeps on bubbling, even in a thousands seconds it
stay in the water, until i notice that the fish fail to surface
beneath the running water, for the absence of the tail
the body is nothing
all is just a mirror of a fish that, every movement of the
body, the twist of the tail has to follow, its a paradox to
believe that we see the tail of other fish, nay never we
saw that we don't have tail of our own
like the fish it swim, with no direction, only an inspiration
that we can do, yet as it goes there we go, tail that swim
in the water stream with no affection of what to do
now i see, how to swim, in water, lou! where i may go...in
the world of stream when everybody is frame......
poem by Antonio Liao
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I Am Time
i am time, more than that, i do not have only hands
i have feet, but like time,
i only move on, i cannot stop, i do not think anymore,
i just run
and i go round and round
not moving that far, i only move in the mind,
like time, i do not see, i have long plucked my eyes
from my sockets, but i still feel, like time,
i know what darkness is
what coldness is, and what anticipation is,
i sense the loneliness of my journey
the eternity of my dreams,
i heal because i forget,
and there is one thing that i wish, like time
weary of its round-the-clock work,
it wants rest, but there is none,
it wishes death, but still unknown.
i am time, and like the river i flow,
like the mirror, i reflect the lights of the world,
uncluttered, unfettered, unbeholden to no one
and there you are wanting to hold me,
like sand, i slip from the fingers
of this world, to space they say
i bend, i tell no one,
i am always moving,
and gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Afton Water
1 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
2 Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
3 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
4 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
5 Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
6 Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
7 Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
8 I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
9 How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
10 Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;
11 There daily I wander as noon rises high,
12 My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
13 How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
14 Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
15 There oft, as mild Ev'ning sweeps over the lea,
16 The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
17 Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
18 And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
19 How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
20 As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.
21 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
22 Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
23 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
24 Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream
poem by Robert Burns
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Good Man
Album : Silencer (2001)
You never had much style about you
We never knew the reason that you
You sat around almost every hour
And quickly lost your bargaining power
You can't be me
I'm convinced you're twice the man we are
And you cannot clear your mind
Cos in our eyes we're fine
And you're running out of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're blind
And its such a waste of time
The threads you wore were something tragic
The words you spoke were so emphatic
The records that you make are tasteless
And eloquence with you is wasted
So whats your method, whats your scheme?
The whole scene knows what you already mean
And you cannot clear my mind
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're running out of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're blind
And its such a waste of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're running out of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're such a waste of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're running out of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're such a waste of time
song performed by by Zed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Afton
'Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
poem by Robert Burns (1791)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Can Streams Flow Along The River Sides?
Can the streams run upto the oceans far?
Can they run along the side of the rivers known?
You were a river and I a stream
Who flowed together once.
Using the sixth sense I read your mind
The one none could read before.
Each line written on your mind
Unveiled a portrait painted never.
You were a river and I a stream..
Aside my failing senses old
Triumphed my sixth sense young.
You, the river got flooded
And I, the stream was drowned.
Denouncing the last reason left you kept even my soul off-
An act someone else could have done.
Each word spoken at my funeral often
Unravelled the mystery of your mind.
Along the side of the river of your ego,
May I flow as a stream entwining you ever in the next life too?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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My Time for M lady Ann Beard
Hoar frost on trees can imitate
the snow white blossoms of the spring.
On this I choose to meditate
to clear my mind of everything.
The whirling thoughts which madly dance
and try to hold my interest.
Cannot disturb my quiet trance
they cease to spin and fall to rest
My mind is clear as a deep pool
reflecting nothing but the sky.
The placid depths are clear and cool.
I’m only conscious I am I.
This is my time to simply be
If only temporarily.
2-Jan-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sweet Afton
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forebear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills,
There daily I wander as noon rises high
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays,
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
song performed by by Nickel Creek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silent Muse
``Why have you silent been so long?''
In tones of mild rebuke you ask.
Know you not, kindly friend, that Song
Is the ``Gay Science,'' not a task?
It is but when it pleaseth God
The blackthorn blows, the acorns fall;
The Muse ignores a mortal's nod,
And will not come to beck and call.
If I, to catch the ear of men,
Should go on singing day by day,
What other, better, were I then,
Than screeching chough or scolding jay?
But save the unseen source be stirred,
The happy numbers will not flow:
Then one is like a songless bird
That crouches in the drifted snow.
Say, did you ever sit and dream,
When summer clouds are white and still,
Beside a slow unsounding stream
That winds below some rustic mill?
The languid current scarcely moves;
At times you almost doubt it flows;
Loitering in shallow sandy grooves,
It makes no music as it goes.
The sluice is down, the mill-race still,
Nor in mid-stream nor water's edge
Comes faintest ripple, tiniest rill,
To stir the flag, or sway the sedge.
Beside the dozing stream you doze,
For nothing wakes in air or sky:
It feels as if Time's eyelids close,
And 'tis the same to live or die;
To be a passive part of all
That rounds Heaven's universal plan,
Of things that soar, of things that crawl,
Of mindless matter, as of man.
When slowly through the noonday sleep
A phantom something seems to stir,
Like waves of dewy light that creep
Along gray chords of gossamer.
At first it is nor sight nor sound,
But feeling only, inward sense
Of motion slowly rising round,
You know not where, you know not whence.
Then, noiseless still, but plain to see,
The languid waters wake and wind;
The wave before now fears to be
O'ertaken by the wave behind.
The race, long pent, from out the mill
Comes rushing, rippling, gleam on gleam;
The runnels rise, the shallows fill,
And deep and happy flows the stream.
The lazy sedges sway and swerve,
The reedmace rocks its heavy head;
Past many a bend, and bay, and curve,
The river revels through its bed.
And as it twists, and curls, and sweels,
From out its leaping heart there come
Sounds sweet as far-off village bells,
Or swarming bee-hive's honeyed hum.
Through quaking grass and waving weed
Rises and falls the river-theme;
Vibrating rush and trembling reed
Are but the harpstrings of the stream.
Once more the gold-ribbed gravel trills
With quavering trebles clear and cool,
Blent with the deeper note that fills
The plunging weir and swirling pool.
Bed, bank and channel, chant and chime,
And fall and freshet, as they run,
Though ignorant of tune and time,
Sing in melodious unison.
And so, if I be shaped to sing
What kindly hearts are pleased to hear,
And blissful were did Nature bring
A rush of music all the year;
Seasons there are it doth not flow,
When Fancy's freshets will not come,
The springs of song seem shrunk and low,
And all my being dry and dumb.
When suddenly from far-off source,
Unseen, unsounding, deep, immense,
Something, with swift resistless force,
Flushes the heart and floods the sense;
And as though Heaven and Earth did drain
Into that deep mysterious spring,
Brims all the windings of the brain;
Then like replenished stream I sing.
The will can not the stream control,
Its currents are divinely sent,
And thought and feeling, mind and soul,
Are rapt in rhythmic ravishment.
And on they flow, when once they start,
To some ordained but unguessed goal,
Through all the channels of the heart,
And all the reaches of the soul.
Then come the wingëd words that skim
The surface of earth's discontent
To soar up to the ether dim,
Faint heard from far-off firmament.
But, till the music stirs and swells
Within my breast, forbearing be;
Nor lightly waken slumbering bells
Above a silent sanctuary!
poem by Alfred Austin
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Stream Of Consciousness
Stream of consciousness
Thoughts that come at random
With no foresight and no plan
My fingers type at their own volition
With no structured idea at hand
I live in an environment of inquietude
In an ambiance of unease and perhaps fear
There’s a weight upon my forehead
A sense of loss of things I hold dear
Today’s a day much like any other
I read, I eat, yet feel so incomplete,
and blandly smiling at me in calm so replete
On my desk, photos of sisters and brother
Just to sit and compose idle randomness
At my desk, takes my mind away for a bit
Yet at the back of my mind sits emptyness
And knowing I cannot escape from it
This bit of inane exposition
Is from my fingers and not of my mind
I try to stop all conscious thought
And let my fingers write blind
My busy fingers put a name
To unconscious sentiments so sad
Stream of consciousness
says more of the same…and that..
I’m slowly going mad
poem by David Whalen
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Sonnet 2
my mind's eye from outer eye remove.
make senseless the argument of sense
that beauty not subject to sense prove
nor object to time that takes you hence.
then, mind from eye withdrawn,
in dark, sense may shine bright
and mind itself your beauty form,
forming mind to your illuminate.
but not thought's sense to hear
nor sense of mind in sense feel,
dimensional sight and intelligent ear
bereft of mind from mind would reel.
no war between your feature and form
exists except in eye - that does harm.
poem by Doug Bentley
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In The Slight Ripple, The Mind Perceives The Heart
In the slight ripple, the fishes dart
Like fingers, centrifugal, like wishes
Wanton. And pleasures rise
as the eyes fall
Through the lucid water. The small pebble,
The clear clay bottom, the white shell
Are apparent, though superficial.
Who would ask more of the August afternoon?
Who would dig mines and follow shadows?
"I would," answers bored Heart, "Lounger, rise"
(Underlip trembling, face white with stony anger),
"The old error, the thought of sitting still,
"The senses drinking, by the summer river,
"On the tended lawn, below the traffic,
"As if time would pause,
and afternoon stay.
"No, night comes soon,
"With its cold mountains, with desolation,
unless Love build its city."
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Gently on the Stream of Time
Gently on the stream of time,
We are floating day by day,
In life's native boats sublime
We soon anchor in the bay.
We'll soon anchor in the haven,
Where the weary are at rest,
In that blissful port called Heaven,
Where are roaming now the blest.
CHORUS:
Be gentle, time be gentle with us,
While we are on life's troubled stream,
May life's foaming billows o'er us
Break away as day serene.
Gently on the stream of time,
We will swiftly glide along,
Till we reach the realm divine,
Then we'll join the heavenly throng,
Where our friends have gone before us
Waiting on the other shore.
In that home they sing in chorus,
"Welcome home the rich and poor."
Gently on the stream of time,
We shall shortly pass away,
We shall reach the heavenly clime
If God's commands we obey.
Gently on the stream of time
We are going one by one,
Listening to the evening chime
On life's journey going home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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This is the last time....
This is the last time
The last time you will ever see me
The last time I will look into your eyes
The last words we’ll ever exchange
And the last memory I have of you
This is the last time…
The last time I believe your sweet lies
The last time I remember our past
The last time I thank you for your friendship
And the last time I hate you for leaving me
This is the last time…
The last time I blame myself for this broken heart
The last time I cry over you
The last time I feel our past happiness slipping away
And the last time I see you as anything more than a stranger
This is the last time…
The last time I’ll ever give into my delusions of you
The last time I’ll say your name with such recognition
The last time I’ll erase the future I had drawn in my mind
And the last time I’ll ever bother you
This is the last time… I promise.
poem by Nikki Taboada
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Awakening
A slumberous sense of seclusion
As sleep is drifting from my eyes,
I look upon the translucent shade of the morning dew
While I, moving slowly do arise.
Watching the rain dripping from the eaves
Silhouetted in gold from the rising sun,
My mind gradually awakening
Now a new day has begun.
Through dimly, dancing dawns first light,
With sound of the rains chime,
The horizon still not clear
Just sweet thoughts of a shadowy time.
A light gust of wind gently lifts
The dead and dying leaves
Settling softly upon the ground
As light as the morning breeze.
The suns light a smile of gold
On the landscapes new days light,
Now stand and look at the rainbow
A gorgeous scene for mortal sight..
© 2012 Hazel
poem by Hazel Connelly
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Fish don't eat on Saturday
swim the crystal clear of fresh water,
eat the purest smooth of food and breathe
the Lasting oxygen of eternal life, as the fin
guide the righteous direction of hope and
peace to where the heavenly home await
gently swim toward the horizon of nowhere
to rest, yet! It never stop where it begin, thou
the turmoil of stream, passage the tunnel of
temptation every force leaves no excuse in
every force the fish live
a little breathe takes a lifetime hope of
Eternal reward, the endless desire of human
soul, rest the entire race of salvation of men;
window in the nature of lifelong survival,
always find time for the Lord to listen, like the
wings of the bird look a resting place
to nestle to breed and smell the harmony of its
journey, till the end waits the beginning of
growth the day never waits the dawn to come
fin find to move fast, whereby dirt always the
path to see fresh lasting life to live freely in
next afterlife …
poem by Antonio Liao
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Only When I Sleep
You're only just a dream boat
Sailing in my head
You swim my secret oceans
Of coral blue and red
Your smell is incense burning
Your touch is silken yet
It reaches through my skin
Moving from within
And clutches at my breast
But it's only when I sleep
See you in my dreams
Got me spinning round and round
Turning upside down
But I only hear you breathe
Somewhere in my sleep
Got me spinning round and round
Turning upside down
But it's only when I sleep
And when I wake from slumber
Your shadow's disappeared
Your breath is just a sea mist
Surrounding my body
I'm working through the daytime
But when it's time to rest
I'm lying in my bed
Listening to my breath
Falling from the edge
But it's only when I sleep
See you in my dreams
Got me spinning round and round
Turning upside down
But I only hear you breathe
Somewhere in my sleep
Got me spinning round and round
Turning upside down
But it's only when I sleep
But it's only when I sleep
It's reaching through my skin
Moving from within
And clutches at my breast
But it's only when I sleep
See you in my dreams
Got me spinning round and round
Turning upside down
But I only hear you breathe
But it's only when I sleep
Got me spinning round and round
Up to the sky
Where angels fly
I'll never die
Hawaiian high
song performed by by The Corrs from Talk On Corners
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking-Glass River
Smooth it glides upon its travel,
Here a wimple, there a gleam--
O the clean gravel!
O the smooth stream!
Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
Pave pools as clear as air--
How a child wishes
To live down there!
We can see our colored faces
Floating on the shaken pool
Down in cool places,
Dim and very cool;
Till a wind or water wrinkle,
Dipping marten, plumping trout,
Spreads in a twinkle
And blots all out.
See the rings pursue each other;
All below grows black as night,
Just as if mother
Had blown out the light!
Patience, children, just a minute--
See the spreading circles die;
The stream and all in it
Will clear by-and-by.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Arduous Jubilation
The mind of a crazy person
A happy place to be
Only in the crazy
Is the mind truly free
No inebriation
No mind numbing drugs
Free of life time hang-ups
No slipping on the rugs
Dancing in my folly
Laughing at the moon
Caring less what happens
Acting a buffoon
Suspending time in bubbles
Colors can be clear
Exploring less than normal
That’s what I’m doing here.
Ha ha
Free to be me.
July 4,2008
Lisa M. Callicott
poem by Lisa M. Callicott
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