When I Have Passed Away
When I have passed away and am forgotten,
And no one living can recall my face,
When under alien sod my bones lie rotten
With not a tree or stone to mark the place;
Perchance a pensive youth, with passion burning,
For olden verse that smacks of love and wine,
The musty pages of old volumes turning,
May light upon a little song of mine,
And he may softly hum the tune and wonder
Who wrote the verses in the long ago;
Or he may sit him down awhile to ponder
Upon the simple words that touch him so.
poem by Claude McKay
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Related quotes
Nothing's So Far Away (As Yesterday)
Another evening, the rain falling down
It's been a long time, since you've come around
A little laughter, and we had it all
It's so misleading, the things you recall
Turning the pages
We open the cages
Now I know that
Nothing's so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothing's so far away
Take a look at the person inside
You realize there is nothing to hide
I remember the things that we said
So very simple the lives that we led
Turning the pages
We open the cages
Now I know that
Nothing's so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothing's so far away
I recall how it used to be
And I can feel it, feel it surrounding me
Turning the pages
We open the cages
Now I know that
Nothing's so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothing's so far away
I recall how it used to be
And I can feel it, feel it surrounding me
Oh, nothing's so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothing's so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothing's so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothing's so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Song
I wrote a song
It's called 'my life'
I tried my best to make it a good one
I'd never written a song
Twas indeed my first
I had an eraser
I couldn't clean my mistakes though
It turned out to be a long song
A hundred and twenty pages worth
A page a year
I made a mess of it
Blue pen made a mark
As depression took a quarter of it
Yellow pen made an entrance
I decided it was better than blue
Red pen tried to hurt me
As all anger was kept inside
Green pen whispered a note
I wished I had my neighbour's song
So many colours on just one song
Twenty-five pages were dark
I knew not which way to go
I tried to turn a page but couldn't
I basked in pages gone
Hence left several pages blank
Twenty-five pages were wet
As tears serenaded my heart, it did the pages
Too much pain in one song
Tried to change the words
The things I thought all made the song
On a scale of good to bad, bad stole the day
I searched and found other songs titled 'my life'
I wrote my song the way they had
My song was like a painting
One in utter disharmony
One drawn by a clueless artist
But an artist whose passion burned his painting
I set my heart on fire on page 35
There had to be more
And more I had
On page 120, my eyes were dim and hands tired
Since pages couldn't be turned
My mind sat, and looked back
What had I done?
I'd been mountain high
I'd been valley low
I'd been good
I'd been bad
I'd been....
I lay my head on my song
Took my last breath
But before I did
I held a girl
Who had a song called 'my life'
She read my song
And shed a tear
And said I had written....a masterpiece.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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On Reading Blake's 'Little Black Boy
Two centuries or even more gone by
Since William Blake wrote 'The little black boy'
He told in verse how black skin equalled white
And in what he wrote of course the poet was right.
He wrote the famous verses at a time
When to be black was looked on as a crime
A lesson in human love perhaps one day
That others might learn from what he had to say.
His verses put him in a higher place
When he wrote of the equality of race
And in history the great poet made his mark
When he preached that white was no greater than dark.
But even in the twenty first century
Some with the Poet's views still do not agree
Some still say black is not as good as white
But of course these people live in darker light.
A lesson here for all humanity
From bard who lived in eighteenth century
That racial discrimination is unwise
As all different races equal in God's eyes.
poem by Francis Duggan
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When Poems Write Themselves
When poems write themselves
To save good eating for last
They refrigerate desserts but
Set them out a while to ponder
on blocks of delivered ice rapped
In preservative newspapers
Until Just before supper is served
Plates are stacked by older
Siblings the coal is stored
In the indoor shed for the evening
Warmth that is there to keep
Comfort before the blessings and
Bible reading verses are marked
The pages tucked the songs
We sing will themselves sung
From memory or hidden verse
By the unison that remembers
Opening sonnet words but
Drowns in long forgotten lines.
poem by Lee B. Mack
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Nothings So Far Away
Written by dewey bunnell, bill mumy, and robert haimer, 1991
Found on encore: more greatest hits and highway.
Another evening, the rain falling down
Its been a long time, since youve come around
A little laughter, and we had it all
Its so misleading, the things you recall
Turning the pages
We open the cages
Now I know that
Nothings so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothings so far away
Take a look at the person inside
You realize there is nothing to hide
I remember the things that we said
So very simple the lives that we led
Turning the pages
We open the cages
Now I know that
Nothings so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothings so far away
I recall how it used to be
And I can feel it, feel it surrounding me
Turning the pages
We open the cages
Now I know that
Nothings so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothings so far away
I recall how it used to be
And I can feel it, feel it surrounding me
Oh, nothings so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothings so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothings so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
Nothings so far away as yesterday, wo, oh
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Barricades Of Heaven
Running down around the towns along the shore
When I was sixteen and on my own
No, I couldnt tell you what the hell those brakes were for
I was just trying to hear my song
Jimmy found his own sweet sound and won that free guitar
Wed all get in the van and play
Life became the paradox, the bear, the rouge et noir
And the stretch of road running to l.a.
Pages turning
Pages we were years from learning
Straight into the night our hearts were flung
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from
All the world was shining from those hills
The stars above and the lights below
Among those there to test their fortunes and their wills
I lost track of the score long ago
Pages turning
Pages we were years from learning
Straight into the night our hearts were flung
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from
Childhood comes for me at night
Voices of my friends
Your face bathing me in light
Hope that never ends
Pages turning
Pages torn and pages burning
Faded pages, open in the sun
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from.
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from.
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Song
it's a little bit funny, this feeling inside
I'm not not of those, who can easily hide
I don't have much money, but boy if i did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live
If i was a sculptor, huh, but then again no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much, but it's the best i can do
My gift is my song, and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody, this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
That i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses, well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while i wrote this song
It's for people like you, that keep it turned on
So excuse me forgetting, but these things i do
You see i've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is, what i really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes i've ever seen
And you can tell everybody, this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
That i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
That i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world...(fade out)
song performed by by Ronan Keating
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Song
(bernie taupin & elton john, 1969)
It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside
I'm not one of those, who can easily hide,
I don't have much money, but boy if i did
I'd buy a big house where we could both live.
If i were a sculptor, but then again no,
Or a man who sells potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much, but it's the best i can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you.
And you can tell everybody, this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done,
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
That i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of those verses, you know what, make me cross
But the sun's been quite kind while i wrote down this song,
It's for people like you that keep it turned on.
So excuse me forgetting, but these things that i do
You see i've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is, what i, what i really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes i've ever seen.
And you can tell everybody, this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done,
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
What i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.
I hope you don't mind, i hope you don't mind
What i put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world.
While you're in the world
While you're in the world
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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String Between Cups
It was those strings between those cups
Carrying conversations no satellite could pick up
It was that easy laid-back living'
Undisturbed by the bad news on the television
It was those simple words of love, passed through the strings between us
Undisturbed by society's lust for a pleasure that seems to be all touch
Yes, it's those undisturbed words
We had both previously heard
Before… But once more…
We knew we had never really felt
But what we had was enough, there was no need to bluff
We both played well with the cards we were dealt
Those strings between those cups
Reverberated from the talks between us
The ones that I like to recall most
And we never had fancy things or long strings
So we always stayed close
For undisturbed conversation, About the steps we had taken
And it was those undisturbed words
We had both previously heard
But we never really felt were real
Because touch was a word associated with feel
Until true passion had made us whole
Now feel is a word associated with soul
Some things aren't always as they seem to be
And we never had any magazines to see
How we should make love or how we should dress
That's advice on this life that never left us impressed
And those strings between those cups carried conversation best
Carrying in them all the words we had once heard before
But between us those words seemed to mean so much more
poem by Johnathan Stokes
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Love Resurrection
I want to be just you and me
The music to play
To hide in a lonely place
To taste a bottle of red wine
To kiss you full of passion
Like there is no tomorrow
You are the sea, i am the wind
Touch you softly, touch you wildly
Your body dynamite alight
Your breath stops the time
Your kiss, frozen me, burning me
Your glance like magnet
We roll like the river, from bed
to walls, from tables to rugs
Like a piano melody our fingers
Touching wet body
Let it never end
Passion, eternity
To this room the death will come
And if tomorrow comes
Don't be afraid
It's a love resurrection
poem by Yiannis Baki
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Forgotten Lyrics
your making
your turning
my own song
into
what's it's not supposed
to be
i'm lying
lying to your face
i'v forgotten these lyrics
to this song
oh what you gonna do
about it
about what now
i'm running away
i want to (do something)
wont to
be forgotten
i'm lying
lying to your face
i'v forgotten these lyrics
to this song
oh what you gonna do
about it
about what now
i'm falling down
i wont let you help me
words can not describe
the hatedred i feel
so should i
oh will i
let you bring me back
ha
i dont think so
i'm lying
lying to your face
i'v forgotten these lyrics
to this song
oh what you gonna do
about it
about what now
i'm lying
lying to your face
i'v forgotten these lyrics
to this song
oh what you gonna do
about it
about what now
i'v forgotten these lyrics
to this song
oh what you gonna do
about it
about what now
poem by Bethany Seed
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Play Me
Written by: neil diamond
She was morning
And I was night time
I one day woke up
To find her lying
Beside my bed
I softly said
Come take me
For Ive been lonely
In need of someone
As though Id done
Someone wrong somewhere
I dont know where
Come lately
You are the sun
I am the moon
You are the words
I am the tune
Play me
Song she sang to me
Song she brang to me
Words that rang in me
Rhyme that sprang from me
Warmed the night
And what was right
Became me
You are the sun
I am the moon
You are the words
I am the tune
Play me
And so it was
That I came to travel
Upon the road
That was thorned and narrow
Another place
Another grace
Would save me
You are the sun
I am the moon
You are the words
I am the tune
Play me
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Mr. Henry Lawes, Who Had Then Newly Set a Song of Mine
Verse makes heroic virtue live;
But you can life to verses give.
As, when in open air we blow,
The breath, though strained, sounds flat and low;
But if a trumpet take the blast,
It lifts it high, and makes it last:
So in your airs and our numbers dressed,
Make a shrill sally from the breast
Of nymphs, who, singing what we penned,
Our passions to themselves commend;
While love, victorious with thy art,
Governs at once their voice and heart.
You, by the help of tune and time,
Can make that song which was but rhyme.
Noy pleading, no man doubts the cause;
Or questions verses set by Lawes.
As a Church window, thick with paint,
Lets in a light but dim and faint,
So others, with division, hide
The light of sense, the poet's pride;
But you alone may truly boast
That not a syllable is lost:
The writer's and the setter's skill
At once the ravished ears do fill.
Let those which only warble long,
And gargle in their throats a song,
Content themselves with
ut, re, mi
:
Let words, and sense, be set by thee.
poem by Edmund Waller
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Dancing To The Tune Of Life
the dance of life pulsates
like blood rushing inside our hearts
turning left turning right
we rotate we vibrate
we collide we slide
we tumble we gargle
we dangle we tangle
it does not matter what steps to take
forward or backward
we dance the dance of life to the tune of life
what matters most is we just do it
such a short moment
not meant to be wasted
let us dance before the next moment comes
soon the dance is over
we rest if we must but we can always say
we danced to the tune of life
we were so happy
we did not have the words of regrets
we reach the edge and then we fall
we are gone and then forgotten
we do not have to tell them
we were once here and we did our best
that this place was never ours
we had the best of times
we wrote the best lines
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Turn To Stone
The city streets are empty now the lights dont shine no more
And so the songs are way down low turning turning turning
A sound that flows into my mind the echoes of the daylight
Of everything that is alive in my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
The dying embers of the night a fire that slowly fades till dawn
Still glow upon the wall so bright burning burning burning
The tired streets that hide away from here to everywhere they go
Roll past my door into the day in my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Yes, Im turnin to stone cos you aint comin home.
Why you aint comin home if Im turnin to stone?
Youve been gone for so long and I cant carry on,
Yes, Im turnin, Im turnin, Im turnin to stone.
The dancing shadows on the wall the two-step in the hall
Are all I see since youve been gone turning turning turning
Through all I sit here and I wait I turn to stone I turn to stone
You will return again some day to my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song About The Moon
If you want to write a song about the moon
Walk along the craters of the afternoon
When the shadows are deep
And the light is alien
And gravity leaps like a knife off the pavement
And you want to write a song about the moon
You want to write a spiritual tune
Then nah nah nah
Presto
Song about about the moon
If you want to write a song about the heart
Think about the moon before you start
Because the heart will howl
Like a dog in the moonlight
And the heart can explode
Like a pistol on a june night
So if you want to write a song about the heart
And its ever-longing for a counterpart
Write a song about the moon
The laughing boy
He laughed so hard
He fell down from his place
The laughing girl
She laughed so hard
The tears rolled down her face
Hey songwriter
If you want to write a song about
A face
Think about a photograph
That you really cant remember
But you cant erase
Wash your hands in dreams and lightning
Cut off your hair
And whatever is frightening
If you want to write a song
About a face
If you want to write a song about
The human race
Write a song about the moon
If you want to write a song about the moon
You want to write a spiritual tune
Then do it
Write a song about the moon
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eternal Circle
I sang the song slowly
As she stood in the shadows
She stepped to the light
As my silver strings spun
She called with her eyes
To the tune is a-playin
But the song it was long
And Id only begun
Through a bullet of light
Her face was reflectin
The fast fading words
That rolled from my tongue
With a long-distance look
Her eyes was on fire
But the song it was long
And there was more to be sung.
My eyes danced a circle
Across her clear outline
With her head tilted sideways
She called me again
As the tune drifted out
She breathed hard through the echo
But the song it was long
And it was far to the end
I glanced at my guitar
And played it pretendin
That of all the eyes out there
I could see none
As her thoughts pounded hard
Like the pierce of an arrow
But the song it was long
And it had to get done
As the tune finally folded
I laid down the guitar
Then looked for the girl
Whod stayed for so long
But her shadow was missin
For all of my searchin
So I picked up my guitar
And began the next song
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Killing Me Softly With His Song
[lauryn - verse one] - (pras in parentheses)
Yo! yo! what?!
I heard he sang a good song, yeah!
Yo...i heard he had a style
And so, i came to see him and listen for awhile! (yo, yo, yo, yo...unh,unh)
What?! yo! yo! yo! yo! yo!...and there he was, this young bra!
(just a lil' kid chillin' on a...unh)
Ha-ha! stranger to my eyes! (c'mon, what?! unh, ahh!)
[chorus] - (wyclef & pras in parentheses) {pras in brackets}
Strummin' my pain with his fingers, yo! (one time!)
Singing my life with his words...two times! (two times!) {come on!}
Killing me softly with his song...killing me softly! {yo! unh-uh! unh-unh-
Unh-unh!}
With his song, telling my whole life! {ha! unh, unh!}
With his words, killing me...softly! yo, yo...yo! yo! yo! yo!
{yo-yo-yo-yo-yo-yo, unh!}
With his...song! (yo l-boogie!) (throw 'em off the bridge!) - wyclef
[bridge]
[chorus 1x]
song performed by by Fugees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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"Transcendentalism: A Poem in Twelve Books"
Stop playing, poet! May a brother speak?
'T is you speak, that's your error. Song's our art:
Whereas you please to speak these naked thoughts
Instead of draping them in sights and sounds.
—True thoughts, good thoughts, thoughts fit to treasure up!
But why such long prolusion and display,
Such turning and adjustment of the harp,
And taking it upon your breast, at length,
Only to speak dry words across its strings?
Stark-naked thought is in request enough:
Speak prose and hollo it till Europe hears!
The six-foot Swiss tube, braced about with bark,
Which helps the hunter's voice from Alp to Alp—
Exchange our harp for that,—who hinders you?
But here's your fault; grown men want thought, you think;
Thought's what they mean by verse, and seek in verse.
Boys seek for images and melody,
Men must have reason—so, you aim at men.
Quite otherwise! Objects throng our youth, 't is true;
We see and hear and do not wonder much:
If you could tell us what they mean, indeed!
As German Boehme never cared for plants
Until it happed, a-walking in the fields,
He noticed all at once that plants could speak,
Nay, turned with loosened tongue to talk with him.
That day the daisy had an eye indeed—
Colloquized with the cowslip on such themes!
We find them extant yet in Jacob's prose.
But by the time youth slips a stage or two
While reading prose in that tough book he wrote
(Collating and emendating the same
And settling on the sense most to our mind),
We shut the clasps and find life's summer past.
Then, who helps more, pray, to repair our loss—
Another Boehme with a tougher book
And subtler meanings of what roses say—
Or some stout Mage like him of Halberstadt,
John, who made things Boehme wrote thoughts about?
He with a "look you!" vents a brace of rhymes,
And in there breaks the sudden rose herself,
Over us, under, round us every side,
Nay, in and out the tables and the chairs
And musty volumes, Boehme's book and all—
Buries us with a glory, young once more,
Pouring heaven into this shut house of life.
So come, the harp back to your heart again!
You are a poem, though your poem's naught.
The best of all you showed before, believe,
Was your own boy-face o'er the finer chords
Bent, following the cherub at the top
That points to God with his paired half-moon wings.
poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Between the pages
Between the pages
~
between the pages
we line ourselves in verse
where we play out a story
of our own making
the turns and twists
brought through words
etched upon the page
ink flows to its own beat
like a raging heart
pouring out before the eyes
a world becomes forgotten
lost in the celebration
between pages
each line shared
written
in its own breath
creation begins
time lapses
into our verse
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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