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Improvisations: Light and Snow: 01

The girl in the room beneath
Before going to bed
Strums on a mandolin
The three simple tunes she knows.
How inadequate they are to tell how her heart feels!
When she has finished them several times
She thrums the strings aimlessly with her finger-nails
And smiles, and thinks happily of many things.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Improvisations: Light and Snow

I stood for a long while before the shop window
Looking at the blue butterflies embroidered on tawny silk.
The building was a tower before me,
Time was loud behind me,
Sun went over the housetops and dusty trees;
And there they were, glistening, brilliant, motionless,
Stitched in a golden sky
By yellow patient fingers long since turned to dust.

III

The first bell is silver,
And breathing darkness I think only of the long scythe of time.
The second bell is crimson,
And I think of a holiday night, with rockets
Furrowing the sky with red, and a soft shatter of stars.
The third bell is saffron and slow,
And I behold a long sunset over the sea
With wall on wall of castled cloud and glittering balustrades.
The fourth bell is color of bronze,
I walk by a frozen lake in the dun light of dusk:
Muffled crackings run in the ice,
Trees creak, birds fly.
The fifth bell is cold clear azure,
Delicately tinged with green:
One golden star hangs melting in it,
And towards this, sleepily, I go.
The sixth bell is as if a pebble
Had been dropped into a deep sea far above me . . .
Rings of sound ebb slowly into the silence.

On the day when my uncle and I drove to the cemetery,
Rain rattled on the roof of the carriage;
And talkng constrainedly of this and that
We refrained from looking at the child's coffin on the seat before us.
When we reached the cemetery
We found that the thin snow on the grass
Was already transparent with rain;
And boards had been laid upon it
That we might walk without wetting our feet.

When I was a boy, and saw bright rows of icicles
In many lengths along a wall
I was dissappointed to find
That I could not play music upon them:
I ran my hand lightly across them
And they fell, tinkling.
I tell you this, young man, so that your expectations of life
Will not be too great.

It is now two hours since I left you,
And the perfume of your hands is still on my hands.
And though since then
I have looked at the stars, walked in the cold blue streets,
And heard the dead leaves blowing over the ground
Under the trees,
I still remember the sound of your laughter.
How will it be, lady, when there is none left to remember you
Even as long as this?
Will the dust braid your hair?

VII

The day opens with the brown light of snowfall
And past the window snowflakes fall and fall.
I sit in my chair all day and work and work
Measuring words against each other.
I open the piano and play a tune
But find it does not say what I feel,
I grow tired of measuring words against each other,
I grow tired of these four walls,
And I think of you, who write me that you have just had a daughter
And named her after your first sweetheart,
And you, who break your heart, far away,
In the confusion and savagery of a long war,
And you who, worn by the bitterness of winter,
Will soon go south.
The snowflakes fall almost straight in the brown light
Past my window,
And a sparrow finds refuge on my window-ledge.
This alone comes to me out of the world outside
As I measure word with word.

VIII

Many things perplex me and leave me troubled,
Many things are locked away in the white book of stars
Never to be opened by me.
The starr'd leaves are silently turned,
And the mooned leaves;
And as they are turned, fall the shadows of life and death.
Perplexed and troubled,
I light a small light in a small room,
The lighted walls come closer to me,
The familiar pictures are clear.
I sit in my favourite chair and turn in my mind
The tiny pages of my own life, whereon so little is written,
And hear at the eastern window the pressure of a long wind, coming
From I know not where.

How many times have I sat here,
How many times will I sit here again,
Thinking these same things over and over in solitude
As a child says over and over
The first word he has learned to say.

This girl gave her heart to me,
And this, and this.
This one looked at me as if she loved me,
And silently walked away.
This one I saw once and loved, and never saw her again.

Shall I count them for you upon my fingers?
Or like a priest solemnly sliding beads?
Or pretend they are roses, pale pink, yellow, and white,
And arrange them for you in a wide bowl
To be set in sunlight?
See how nicely it sounds as I count them for you --
'This girl gave her heart to me
And this, and this, . . . !
And nevertheless, my heart breaks when I think of them,
When I think their names,
And how, like leaves, they have changed and blown
And will lie, at last, forgotten,
Under the snow.

It is night time, and cold, and snow is falling,
And no wind grieves the walls.
In the small world of light around the arc-lamp
A swarm of snowflakes falls and falls.
The street grows silent. The last stranger passes.
The sound of his feet, in the snow, is indistinct.

What forgotten sadness is it, on a night like this,
Takes possession of my heart?
Why do I think of a camellia tree in a southern garden,
With pink blossoms among dark leaves,
Standing, surprised, in the snow?
Why do I think of spring?

The snowflakes, helplessly veering,,
Fall silently past my window;
They come from darkness and enter darkness.
What is it in my heart is surprised and bewildered
Like that camellia tree,
Beautiful still in its glittering anguish?
And spring so far away!

As I walked through the lamplit gardens,
On the thin white crust of snow,
So intensely was I thinking of my misfortune,
So clearly were my eyes fixed
On the face of this grief which has come to me,
That I did not notice the beautiful pale colouring
Of lamplight on the snow;
Nor the interlaced long blue shadows of trees;

And yet these things were there,
And the white lamps, and the orange lamps, and the lamps of lilac were there,
As I have seen them so often before;
As they will be so often again
Long after my grief is forgotten.

And still, though I know this, and say this, it cannot console me.

XII

How many times have we been interrupted
Just as I was about to make up a story for you!
One time it was because we suddenly saw a firefly
Lighting his green lantern among the boughs of a fir-tree.
Marvellous! Marvellous! He is making for himself
A little tent of light in the darkness!
And one time it was because we saw a lilac lightning flash
Run wrinkling into the blue top of the mountain, --
We heard boulders of thunder rolling down upon us
And the plat-plat of drops on the window,
And we ran to watch the rain
Charging in wavering clouds across the long grass of the field!
Or at other times it was because we saw a star
Slipping easily out of the sky and falling, far off,
Among pine-dark hills;
Or because we found a crimson eft
Darting in the cold grass!

These things interrupted us and left us wondering;
And the stories, whatever they might have been,
Were never told.
A fairy, binding a daisy down and laughing?
A golden-haired princess caught in a cobweb?
A love-story of long ago?
Some day, just as we are beginning again,
Just as we blow the first sweet note,
Death itself will interrupt us.

XIII

My heart is an old house, and in that forlorn old house,
In the very centre, dark and forgotten,
Is a locked room where an enchanted princess
Lies sleeping.
But sometimes, in that dark house,
As if almost from the stars, far away,
Sounds whisper in that secret room --
Faint voices, music, a dying trill of laughter?
And suddenly, from her long sleep,
The beautiful princess awakes and dances.

Who is she? I do not know.
Why does she dance? Do not ask me! --
Yet to-day, when I saw you,
When I saw your eyes troubled with the trouble of happiness,
And your mouth trembling into a smile,
And your fingers pull shyly forward, --
Softly, in that room,
The little princess arose
And danced;
And as she danced the old house gravely trembled
With its vague and delicious secret.

XIV

Like an old tree uprooted by the wind
And flung down cruelly
With roots bared to the sun and stars
And limp leaves brought to earth --
Torn from its house --
So do I seem to myself
When you have left me.

The music of the morning is red and warm;
Snow lies against the walls;
And on the sloping roof in the yellow sunlight
Pigeons huddle against the wind.
The music of evening is attenuated and thin --
The moon seen through a wave by a mermaid;
The crying of a violin.
Far down there, far down where the river turns to the west,
The delicate lights begin to twinkle
On the dusky arches of the bridge:
In the green sky a long cloud,
A smouldering wave of smoky crimson,
Breaks in the freezing wind: and above it, unabashed,
Remote, untouched, fierly palpitant,
Sings the first star.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Simple Man

A simple man with simple ideas,
that’s what he, thinks of himself,
but others look differently at him.
They say that he has a heart way off the charts,
for all the things that he does.
For the words of comfort that he says,
and the support he brings to all he meets.
He cannot see it though;
to him it is just something
he has always done naturally.
To him there is nothing special,
in all that he does.
Being kind is no special trait;
everyone can do it.
Loving everything and everyone that comes his way,
a lot of people out there can do that too.
So why do people choose him?
He is only human after all,
no more thoughtful than most.
Some even think him as an angel,
he smiles at that, and wishes
that he had a guardian angel of his own,
to give him advice when
he trying to ease someone else’s pain.
However, he is a simple man,
who walks through life,
only doing simple things.
The only time you will see him frown,
is when he wants to help someone,
and finds that he cannot.
It s then he feels he is failing them,
because of something he could not do.
Therefore, if you ever meet this simple man,
cheer him up a little bit.
Personally I would like to be like him
and all that he does possess,
but my head is buried in the sand,
too much of the time,
to do all the things he does.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Opening Up To You

Opening up to you,
The night before,
red finger nails!
Dark finger nails!
White finger nails!
Blue finger nails!
To utter it out;
The thoughts of man,
The thoughts of woman,
The thoughts of a child! !
But, holding the torch and to touch you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Inadequate

Inadequate.
It means not enough.
Like water in a glass half full
it is insufficient.
Some necessary bit is absent.
Inadequate is deficient.
It is vitamin C
in the diet of someone suffering from scurvy.
Inadequate is precisely what you feel
when you work yourself tired
for something your heart so desired
and in the end disappoint yourself still.
Inadequate is when you lack the will
to even try because somewhere inside
you just know you will fail.
Inadequate is someone when rejected.
Something inadequate is something defective.
Inadequate can mean not deserving company
almost like you're invisible maybe,
too unimportant to like or hate.
This word 'inadequate'
resounds in my head of late.

poem by Shaqueena Celestin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Invisible Strings

(ian hunter)
One, two, three
Well I woke up this morning - theres a girl in my bed.
How did she get there? was it something I said?
I dont understand it but somehow it seems
She visits me in invisible dreams.
Over and over I try to explain
How did that girl get into my veins?
Did somebody send her - was it my velvet wings?
And how does she touch my invisible strings?
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Ill still be playing my invisible strings
Well maybe she dont have a world of her own
Maybe shes using me just like a phone
And sometimes shes cool and sometimes she stings
And Im all tangled up in invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing those invisible strings
Well she never leaves - Im never alone
I aint in the book but shes still calling home
I tried to lose her - watch the tv
But that womans always picking on me
Well, theres strings round my body, strings round my heart
Id like to know where the string-pulling starts
Id give anything to meet the angel who sends
Invisible ink to my invisible pen
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
Oh yeah

song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everything Works If You Let It (Full Length Version)

(alternate intro)
Everything'll work out if you let it
Everything'll work out if you let it
Everything'll work out if you let it
Let it in your heart
(chorus 1)
Everything works if you let it
If you let it in your heart
Yeah everything works if you let it
If you let it in your heart
She is the girl of his dreams
He wants her, he thinks 'forget it'
He's got a pain in his heart he feels like crying
So lonesome for love he feels like dying
But don't stop the dream
He can fix it, i know he can
He's the world's world's greatest
At the work that he does
When he moves on down the line
(chorus 1)
She is the girl of his dreams
He wants her, he thinks 'forget it'
He'd love to look inside her heart
And see if she agrees
But don't stop the dream
He can fix it, i know he can
He's good, he's great
At the work that he does
And there's magic in the air
(chorus 2)
Everything'll work out if you let it
Everything'll work out if you let it
Everything'll work out if you let it
Let it in your heart
Good times, bad times don't know what to do
Half the time and all the time
Don't know if it's true
Someday, somewhere know if it's true
She'll look inside her heart and decide
It's really you..... whoah
(chorus 2)
(chorus 1 to fade)

song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Guitar At Two In The Morn

Someone strums a guitar, at two in the morn,
Such a melancholy sound.
In the darkest hours before the dawn,
Where only silence does abound.

The body of a woman, weeping in the night,
While somebody strums her strings.
A tortured soul, before first light,
While the guitar gently sings.

poem by Juan Olivarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Anarchist

False to his art and to the high command
God laid upon him, Markham's rebel hand
Beats all in vain the harp he touched before:
It yields a jingle and it yields no more.
No more the strings beneath his finger-tips
Sing harmonies divine. No more his lips,
Touched with a living coal from sacred fires,
Lead the sweet chorus of the golden wires.
The voice is raucous and the phrases squeak;
They labor, they complain, they sweat, they reek!
The more the wayward, disobedient song
Errs from the right to celebrate the wrong,
More diligently still the singer strums,
To drown the horrid sound, with all his thumbs.
Gods, what a spectacle! The angels lean
Out of high Heaven to view the sorry scene,
And Israfel, 'whose heart-strings are a lute,'
Though now compassion makes their music mute,
Among the weeping company appears,
Pearls in his eyes and cotton in his ears.

poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everything Works If You Let It

(alternate intro)
Everythingll work out if you let it
Everythingll work out if you let it
Everythingll work out if you let it
Let it in your heart
(chorus 1)
Everything works if you let it
If you let it in your heart
Yeah everything works if you let it
If you let it in your heart
She is the girl of his dreams
He wants her, he thinks forget it
Hes got a pain in his heart he feels like crying
So lonesome for love he feels like dying
But dont stop the dream
He can fix it, I know he can
Hes the worlds worlds greatest
At the work that he does
When he moves on down the line
(chorus 1)
She is the girl of his dreams
He wants her, he thinks forget it
Hed love to look inside her heart
And see if she agrees
But dont stop the dream
He can fix it, I know he can
Hes good, hes great
At the work that he does
And theres magic in the air
(chorus 2)
Everythingll work out if you let it
Everythingll work out if you let it
Everythingll work out if you let it
Let it in your heart
Good times, bad times dont know what to do
Half the time and all the time
Dont know if its true
Someday, somewhere know if its true
Shell look inside her heart and decide
Its really you..... whoah
(chorus 2)
(chorus 1 to fade)

song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not That Kind Of Girl

Im not that kind of girl who thinks I can change the world
With just a simple twirl of my hair
Ill never break your heart, tear your soul apart
With just a simple spark from my stare
Wont go playing with your insides
Take your wallet for its big size
Wont be suckered in by those foolish games
1:

Oh, oh, Im not that kind of girl
Oh, oh, Im not that kind of girl
Oh, oh, Im not that kind of girl
Oh, oh, Im not that kind of girl
Im not that of girl who think you can rule my world
With just a simple wave of your hand
So dont you push me down, or start to play around
Cause when you see me frown, just beware
Dont go playing with my insides
Tell me stories, tell me big lies
Wont be taken in by those silly games
Repeat 1

Come on, come on
Yo, tell me vc, what kind of girl are you?
Let me know
Im not the kind of girl to make you lose your mind
I wanna be the kind of girl youll never leave behind
Youre gonna take it, never fake it, you know youll see
That Im just the kind of girl I always wanted to be
Im not that kind of girl, Im not that kind of girl
Im not that kind of girl
I like your kind of girl, I like that kind of girl
I like your kind of girl
Im not that kind of girl
I like your kind of girl, I like all kinds of girls
I like your kind of girl
Im not that kind of girl

song performed by by Vitamin C
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mandolin

Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin
Memories oh memories
Lay stains upon your heart
When lovers dance into the trance
You weaved by candlelight
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin
Incessant sound, incessant sound
That stirs the young and pure
Incestuous I kiss my hand
And play the calling drum.
The lover cried into the silk
Many years ago
Your voice laid comfort down upon
His European skin.
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh I saw a runrise likenever before
As mandolin played I cried for more
Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin.

song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tired

I am tired to-night, and something,
The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
Has brought back the past and its pain.
And I feel as I sit here thinking,
That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart’s loose strings,
And is drawing them up in tune.

I am tired to-night, and I miss you,
And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but to-day that I saw you go –
You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely –
I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
But they have not the same old tone.

I am tired; and that old sorrow
Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might suddenly break
Away from a dam’s control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
A wreck with a snow-white sail,
And the hand on my heart-strings thrums away,
But they only respond with a wail.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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About Her (Villanelle)

She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She being found down by the shore, of Ice Lake
She being the frozen nude woman

She being the apparent victim of a madman
She being pretty like a one of a kind snowflake
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman

She, being frozen solid! Said the newsman
She being, negative 33 degrees below zero for God’s sake!
She being the frozen nude woman

She, must be vindicated by the hangman
She must be accounted for, never to forsake
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman

She must have a name? Asked the police man
She must have had some identification for heaven’s sake
She being the frozen nude woman

She was a beautiful woman
She is now but a-heartache
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She being the frozen nude woman

poem by William Cavanagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Anesthetizing Rhythm of Spreadsheet Amnesia

There's blood pouring on my keyboard.
I've picked the scabs covering my finger nails,
Exposing the meat beneath them,
And releasing…

I'm letting the dead skin cells collate
On the touchpad, my finger print
Being worn away as I rub the cursor
Over it.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From My Room

From my room I hear
The wind blow
Strings from icy harp
Filling the dark
Now outside

The morning comes with night
And leaves with night
My heart is in dark
Like flickering light
Pounding on and on
Through to dreams gone

In the dark clouded sky
With beams of low sun flight
Time slowly passes by
With shadows left to right

From my room I hear
Where I now dwell
The dark voices near
Of iciness and its cartel

Strings from icy harp
Filling the dark
Now outside

*Federico García Lorca once wrote:

“From my room I hear
The water jet
A finger of grapevine…”

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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I'VE NEVER KNOWN...by talile ali

I'VE NEVER KNOWN A GIRL AS BRIGHT
I'VE NEVER KNOWN A GIRL AS TRUE
I'VE NEVER KNOWN A WOMAN WHO
MAKES ME FEEL THE WAY THAT YOU DO

I'VE NEVER KNOWN A GIRL SO SIMPLE
I NEVER KNOWN A GIRL SO KIND
ALWAYS GIVING STRANGE THINGS TO PEOPLE
WHENEVER SHE FEELS SHE HAS THE TIME

NO MATTER HOW I TRIED TO DISCOURAGE
HER FROM JUST PLAIN GIVING THINGS
THIS BABE JUST CAN NOT FIGHT HER NATURE
IT'S IN EVERY THING SHE BRINGS

SO IT'S I WHO NEEDS TO BE CHECKED
CAUSE I SEE THAT SHE'S ALL GOOD
SORRY I JUST DIDN'T GET IT
SHARING HER CARING IS UNDERSTOOD

poem by Talile Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Way You Do Me

Girl the way you do me...
Yeah
Ohhh...
Girl the way you do me
Girl my heads on fire
Since our very first kiss
Dreamed of us together
Never dreamed of this
Took me up to your room
To show me who you are
My cup is running over
(maybe its your... bra? )
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Ill tell you how Im feelin
Theres no way to begin
Like winnin half a million
And then kissing through
Girl I know youre moody
You blow hot and cold
Thats the way I like it
Youre what I want (what I want)
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...
Ill paris blues and gap you
Cant wait to unwrap you
You know I am feelin you,
Are you feeling me?
If you didnt phone me
I see the sky turning black
I wish my mom would loan me
A couple of prozac
But I wont let it get to me
I know you just forgot
Cause, girl youre always with me
Even (even) when (when) youre not
Girl the way you do me
Makes me say waz up (waz up)
When youre finished
Im on the floor...
Feelin down, feelin up
Girl the way you do me
Drivin me insane
Ive never felt this way before...

song performed by by 2gether
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bamboo Tunes and Cat Eyed Girl

In the murmuring evenings,
Cat eyed girl, worn ear-rings,
Stands by bamboo cluster,
Putting down pots of water.

Gilded bamboos sing and sway,
And the tired path becomes gay.
Bamboo hearts throb ever;
Unnamed tunes cease never.

Her bamboo throes resounded
In the gloomy wind unbounded.
Melodies of earth does shower
On her soul that does hover.

Finger tip of the wind brings
Sweet tunes from bamboo strings.
Music enters her inner grove,
Where the forlorn dreams rove.

Cuddled bamboos swing and say
What the lovers failed to say.
Never dying natural music
So keeps her hopes rhythmic.

poem by Fabiyas M V
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grumpy Grandpa

Grand-daughter of the Painted Nails,
As if they had been dipped in gore,
I'd like to set you lugging pails
And make you scrub the kitchen floor.
I'm old and crotchety of course,
And on this point my patience fails;
I'd sue my old girl for divorce
If she showed up with painted nails.

Grand-daughter of the Painted Nails,
Like to a Jezebel are you;
Do you expect to snare the males
With talons of such bloody hue?
I could forgive your smudging lips,
Your scarlet cheek that powder veils,
But not your sanguine finger-tips . . .
Don't paw me with your painted nails.

Grand-daughter of the Painted Nails,
Were I the sire of maidens ten,
I'd curse them over hills and dales,
And hold them to the scorn of men
If they had claws of crimson dye;
Aye, though they sang like nightingales,
Unto the welkin I would cry:
"Avaunt, ye hags with Painted Nails!"

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Elderly Dog

The sun is coming down hard the dog sleeps in the shadow
on the terrace. I sit indoors and try to play the mandolin.
Sweaty palms, no good. The dogs comes to the doorway
barks. I put the mandolin on a chair, dog goes back to sleep.
The winter had been long I had looked forward to summer,
but this was too much. We, the dog and I, used to go to
the beach, but dogs aren’t allowed there anymore and
I’m too fucking old. I pick up the mandolin smash it against
the living room wall, a picture of me in uniform falls down,
broken glass everywhere. “Now, see what you have done.”
I shout to the dog, but the old cur doesn’t batter an eyelid.

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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