En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Improvisations: Light And Snow: 07

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.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Improvisations: Light and Snow

I

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.

II

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.

IV

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.

V

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.

VI

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.

IX

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.

X

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!

XI

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.

XV

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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New Years Prayer

(j.buckley)
Oooooo
Fall in light, fall in light
Fall in light, fall in light.
Feel no shame for what you are
Feel no shame for what you are
Feel no shame for what you are
Feel no shame for what you are
Feel no shame for what you are
As you now are in your heart
Fall in light
Feel no shame for what you are
Feel no shame for what you are
Feel it as a water fall
Fall in light, ooh.
Fall in light, fall in light
Fall in light, ooh.
Fall in light, fall in light
Fall in light, grow in light.
Stand absolved behind your electric chair, dancing.
Stand absolved behind your electric chair, dancing.
Past the sound within the sound
Past the voice within the voice.
Ah. ah. ah.
Leave your office, run past your funeral,
Leave your home, car, leave your pulpit.
Join us in the streets where we
Join us in the streets where we
Dont belong
Dont belong
You and the stars
Throwing light
Oooooo (repeat)
Fall, fall.
Ooooo
Fall in light, fall in light
Fall in light, ooh.
Fall in light, fall in light
Fall in light, grow in light.

song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Primrose Hill

A man opened his window and stared up primrose hill
Out there enjoying themselves Ive seen them from this sill
Green splashed with white and red going brown
Children baiting animals running up and down
I stare out of this window
See the world go past
Slipping from the newspapers stacked against the wall
Piles of colour supplements squeeze between his fall
For a fleeting second I was up that hill
Although Ive never been there I wish I was there still
I stare out of this window
See the world go past
Ive read and looked at everything
I know it off by heart
Deliveries every day newspapers and food
Never had to venture out the phone has been removed
Open up the window and stare up primrose hill
Sitting here its dark outside and everything is still
I stare out of this window
See the world go past
Ive read and looked at everything
I know it off by heart

song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weather Be Good Weather Be Bad

as i look out the window
i see the sun rise
before my very eyes
i feel its warmth & power upon my face

as i look out the window
i see the rain fall
before my very eyes
i feel its cool calming effect on my soul

as i look out the window
i see the snow fall
before my very eyes
i feel that cold bitterness on my skin

as i look out the window
i see the trees sway
before my very eyes
i feel the love it offers surround me

as i look out the window
i relise that
weather be good, weather be bad
i'm alive

poem by Faye Burford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 10

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!

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Love Is Gone...

it is at this moment
when i ask you
not to say any word

it is enough that you
set aside my hand
and refuse the rose
of its vase

i know how to close
a door
and close it
permanently

i have done it so many
times
and always without a sound

like air that gets in the
window
lift an embroidered drape
and leaves
smoothly

the trees outside
do not have a hint
a leaf sometimes
fall off
for no reason at all

love? shall it be redefined?
in how many words?
never mind

the words will find themselves
on paper
again
the pen can always wait
and the hands
tired sleep like sands on
the shore
undisturbed by
ebbs....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unused, but perfectly good words

Lonely words, in need of some usage
Perfectly good, yet almost unknown
Let’s take a quick look in my dictionary book
Let’s not leave these words all alone

For example, under A: The word “Abscission”

It’s quite usual to say “leaves fall from the trees”
But we could also say, with utmost precision
We could use a word that we very rarely see
When we say “leaves fall from trees in abscission”

That’s probably the first time… in quite a long time
That word, that means “the natural parting of a leaf from a tree”
That that word, has now… seen the light of day
could become quite common, if used by you and me

I can just hear people exclaiming, as they peer up above
As the fall’s colors fill their vision
“We’re amazed, we’re agog, we’re simply in love
At the trees…in the Fall… in abscission”

We can do it, you and I, we can set this word free
But in our mission, must not show indecision! ! !
We must casually let it drop, in daily conservation, you and me
And this Fall will become filled with “abscission”

poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Window

I was staring out the window
The whole time he was talking to me
It was a filthy pane of glass
I couldn't get a clear view
As he went on and on
It wasn't the outside world I could see
Just the filthy pane that I was looking through
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
I was never focused on just one thing
My eyes got fixed when my mind got soft
It may looked like I'm concentrated on a very clear view
But I'm as good as asleep
I bet you didn't know
It takes a lot of it away if you do
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
Because the fact in fact
Whatevers in front of me is covering my view
So I can't see what I'm seeing in fact
I only see what I'm looking through
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window
Then forget what I had to say
So again I've done the right thing
I was never worried about that
The answer's always been in clear view
But even when the window's clean
I still can't see for the fact
That when it's clean it's so clear
I cant tell what I'm looking through
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window
Then forget what I had to say
I had to break the window
It was in my way
Better that I break a window
Then forget what I had to say
Or miss what I should see
Or breaking him or her or me

song performed by by Fiona Apple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I Am Writing This

when i begin to write the words
i pause
for some regrets and i look
at another window
where life is
unfolding a scene
it is something lustful out there
but i watch closely
what is it in them that clicks
to a switch of my flesh
and then i write again
because outside it is colder
and the temperature is freezing
some muscles
and then i write again
closing another window
i go inside
and open another door
i find the words
but i stop right there
right here
the words that need only to
be spoken
they cannot be written.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No place for a courting-candle

A girl’s voice laughing softly
cuts through the night
and enters by the room’s window
and wide awake
I (six year old child) sneak out
to find the source of the excitement.

Gardiël studies with Martin
that boards with us
and both are matriculating
because he complains
that his eyes burn
from the old paraffin lamp
that gives light
at their farm house
where there’s no electricity.

A bright electric lamp
burns in the room
hanging ten centimetres
beneath the ceiling
and big moths
fly dark brown around it
caught in flight paths.

Another table lamp
throws a bright yellow glow
that brings heat in the chilly
highveld winter.

I see them through the window
drinking coffee and eating rusks,
before both of them
again turn pages in books

and crawl into the shelter of a bush
to stay hidden from them
and suddenly somebody moves
next to me
and I see her bend
to pickup small stones
that she throws lightly
against the room’s window.

The window opens wide
and I hear them talking softly
without hearing what they say
and the girl again laughs
before she walks to the front door
that opens noiselessly.

l’Envoi
It must have been only ten minutes
before uncle Hendrik (Gardiël’s dad)
comes running along,
open the garden gate with might
almost run the front door
out of its sockets
and with a walking stick in his hand
(that is stronger than a broom)
smashes out the light in the roof,
the table lamp
and the window
in Martin’s room

and I hear lashes
with thudding sounds
fall on both boys
and the girl
screaming hysterically
while she
also get lashed
and he shouts in anger
that this is no place
for a courting-candle.

[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Walls

In your heart there are oceans
In your heart there are flowering trees
Look inside and live inside these walls
Your body yearns
In your dreams, youve seen castles
In your dreams youve been kings and queens
Youve ridden white horses past these walls
Your body yearns
Im not one to say I know what you go through
I only wanna open wide the window and let sunlight through
For you
In your face, I see longing
In your face, I see hopes and fears
Youve been locked for too long behind these walls
Your body yearns
Im not one to say I know what you go through
I only wanna open wide the window and let sunlight through
For you
Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me
What youre feeling
Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me
What you need
Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me
Everything
Take my hand and Ill lead you
Take my word that Ill not deceive you
I only want to carry you on beyond these walls
Your body yearns
Im not one to say I know what you go through
I only wanna open wide the window and let sunlight through
For you

song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Window Of Opportunity

In every life occasionally
a window opens before us,
a window of opportunity.
It may not be a window to money,
but a window to more friends.
When we pass through it could lead us
to friends in many lands.
So the next time a window opens
just walk on through
you’ll never know
what lies beyond it there.
It could open
to the greatest treasure there,
love and friendship
just for you.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snowflakes Falling

Snowflakes, falling, from miraculous heights.
Snowflakes, falling, on a cold winter's night.

Snowflakes, falling, airy and light.
Snowflakes, falling, on a cold winter's night.

Snowflakes, falling, a blanket of white.
Snowflakes, falling, on a cold winter's night.

Snowflakes, falling, crystalline delight.
Snowflakes, falling, on a cold winter's night.

poem by Ben Payton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There'll be no one in the house...

There'll be no one in the house
Save for twilight. All alone,
Winter's day seen in the space that's
Made by curtains left undrawn.

Only flash-past of the wet white
Snowflake clusters, glimpsed and gone.
Only roofs and snow, and save for
Roofs and snow-no one at home.

Once more, frost will trace its patterns,
I'll be haunted once again
By my last year's melancholy,
By that other wintertime.

Once more, I'll be troubled by an
Old unexpiated shame,
And the icy firewood famine
Will press on the window-pane.

But the quiver of intrusion
Through those curtains folds will run.
Measuring silence with your footsteps,
Like the future, in you'll come.

You'll appear there in the doorway
Wearing something white and plain,
Something in the very stuff from
Which the snowflakes too are sewn.

poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deeper Than The Holler

(Paul Overstreet/Don Schlitz)
Well I've heard those city singers singin 'bout how they can love
Deeper than the oceans higher than the stars above
Well I come from the country and I know I ain't seen it all
But I heard that oceans salty and the stars they sometimes fall
But that would not do justice to the way I feel for you
So I have to sing this song about all the things I knew
My love is deeper that the holler, stronger than the rivers
Higher than the pine trees growin' tall upon the hill
My love is purer than the snowflakes that fall in late December
And honest as a robin on a springtime window sill
And longer than the song of the Whippoorwill
From the backroads to the broadway shows with a million miles between
There's a least a million love songs that people love to sing
And everyone is different and everyone's the same
So this is just another way of sayin' the same thing
My love is deeper that the holler, stronger than the rivers
Higher than the pine trees growin' tall upon the hill
My love is purer than the snowflakes that fall in late December
And honest as a robin on a springtime window sill
And longer than the song of the Whippoorwill
My love is deeper that the holler, stronger than the rivers
Higher than the pine trees growin' tall upon the hill
My love is purer than the snowflakes that fall in late December
And honest as a robin on a springtime window sill
And longer than the song of the Whippoorwill

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Spaces

In a room long left vacant, he sits at the window looking out, cobwebs adorn the room like Christmas decorations. The window glass dirty from neglect.
In his reverie he hears the joy now past, sounds of fun and laughter. Long gone but not forgotten.
A movement in the corner of his eye, a glimpse of a reflection in the window pane, but he learnt long ago not to focus on them as they would vanish.
Darkness falls and the moon rises over the garden and casts it glow on her face, she has returned to him again this evening to bestow her smile on him, her lips move, no sound, but words perfect, fall upon his ears.
Without him turning she stands beside him, slips her hand in his, just to let him know.

poem by Robert Green
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gone

The black-eyed Susans
are gone,
the question of fall
has begun.
Winter will arrive
at last,
the scarlet summer
is past.
We've filled our sacks full
of spun gold,
and been enraptured by the tales
of fantastic stories told.
Now outside the window
of our heart,
we see
the cold snowfall start.
Friendly fires
fade,
as do the plans in youth
we once made.
Illusions of summers perfection
shatter,
with the weight of things
that no longer matter.
The black-eyed Susans
are gone,
they've sung their last
sweet song.
Even fall now
is nearly done,
a chill in the air prophesies
winter has thus begun.

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hero Of The Day

The window burns to light the way back home
A light that warms no matter where they go
They're off to find the hero of the day
But what if they should fall by someone's wicked way
Still the window burns
Time so slowly turns
And someone there is sighing
Keepers of the flames
Do you feel your name?
Did you hear your babies crying?
Mama they try and break me
Still they try and break me
Excuse me while I tell them how to feel
These things return to me that still seem real
Now deservingly this easy chair
But the rocking starts the wheels of dispair
Don't want your hate
But the fist I make
For you can hold no fear
No not on me
So please excuse me while I tell them how I feel
But now the dreams end
And now the dreams end
They everlast the night
So build a wall
Behind it crawl
And hide until it's light
So can you hear your babies crying now?
Still the window burns
Time so slowly turns
And someone there is sighing
Keepers of the flames
Did you hear your name?
Did you hear your babies crying?
But now the dreams end
And now the dreams end
They everlast the night
So build a wall
Behind it crawl
And hide until it's light
So can't you hear your babies crying now?
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try
Mama they try
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try and break me
Mama they try
Mama they try

song performed by by Metallica from Load
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tenderly you come

tenderly you come
to touch the locks of hair
that rest there on the pillow
feathered in a dream

i sleep my silence long
two words for its spell
and no silence for a word

you touch my face and line it
up in warmth through glass
that stands there instead of window
sundialed roomed so spacious

i sleep my silence long
two words for its spell
and no silence for a word

you open eyes of a closure
'neath unfaithful sky
to write me there word cloudward
wipe me away or melt

in my sleep silence long
two words for its spell
and no silence for a word

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Intersecting Paths

Counting steps
But how many in that
10X12 space and
How many times?
The steps measured
In certain uncertainity

Yes...one
No...two
Went the count

A pen looted in broad day light

Hearts waiting for a release!
But permenantly sealed...

Yes...no Yes...no!
Left their impressions
On either cheek

Sealed hearts fluttered their wings, in vain
Fell flat in a heap, tired!

The tired hearts in the heap morphed:
Words, scents, sentences...
Pink and perfumed on palms
Stubborn pinkperfume!

The airconditioner hanging on the window
Whirred like a routine fan. Failed to lick the heat

No remote!

Did Cavafy say anything
On intersecting paths?
I've to check...

After an aesthetic dislocation
Words found their way
In the mild chillness of the east balcony
On an early winter morning
Before the break of dawn

Words, do they need light?
They lead light
Or turn light into darkness
The pen too didn't want light

It went on lighing its way
And rested on the 'Three pillars of Zen! '

poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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