Improvisations: Light And Snow: 08
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.
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
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Troubled Times
Troubled times again are here.
It seems they leave, then reappear.
But that's an illusion that's not real.
For some it's always what they feel.
The ones who have no say at all,
hungry, thirsty since they were small.
Their troubled times are nothing new,
not like the ones that we're used to.
We equate these times with the price of gas
and think to ourselves 'this too shall pass.'
We equate these times to climate change
and think to ourselves it's all so strange.
What's strange my friends is how we perceive
that troubled times are just what we receive.
Troubled times are never really gone.
They come to some on each new dawn.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I'm The Pied Piper
As soon as he turned it on
The wind outside of his room
Stirred up for a few seconds
He thought to himself
"i'll climb out my window
And go sit out there with my radio"
Out the window he went
Sitting against a small stump
Behind some flowerbeds
The light from his bedroom window he could still see
The music of bach was playing
After a while it began to sound distant
As the young prince gazed at this radio on his knee
The music was floating away from his hearing
What could be happening
He took it off of his knee
And put the radio to his ear
Nothing happened
Then the transistor left his hands
And was floating in the mid-air
Two feet off the ground
As the prince laughed
It suddenly turned around
And it was light green phosphourous in color
Dancing back and forth
The magic transistor
Started moving down his path
He could hear the sound out
Like nothing he had ever heard before
The trees were getting closer together
And flowers glowed with tinges of magic light
As he followed thinking to himself
"what's going on?"
The transistor lifted slowly
Up to the top of a little tree
And sat there
While it slowly became louder
To where the prince could hear it clearly
Fireflies shot across the path in front of the prince
He turned around and couldn't see the light from his window
There he was watching all alone all by himself
He got a hunch to get back to his room
And he turned and ran right back
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bridge Over Troubled Waters
When You're Weary Feelin' Small
When Tears Are In Your Eyes I Will Dry Them All
I'm On Your Side Oh When Times Get Rough
And Friends Just Can't Be Found
Like A Bridge Over Troubled Waters
I Will Lay Me Down
Like A Bridge Over Troubled Waters
I Will Lay Me Down
When You're Down And Out When You're On The Street
When Evening Falls So Hard I Will Comfort You
I'll Take Your Part Oh When Darkness Comes
And Pain Is All Around
Like A Bridge Over Troubled Waters
I Will Lay Me Down
Like A Bridge Over Troubled Waters
I Will Lay Me Down
Sail On Children Sail On By
Your Time Has Come To Shine All Their Dreams Are On Their Way
See How They Shine Oh When You Need A Friend
I'm Sailing Right Behind
Like A Bridge Over Troubled Waters
I Will Ease Your Mind
Like A Bridge Over Troubled Waters
I Will Ease Your Mind
I'll Ease Your Mind
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes from You Light Up My Life
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Small Things
it's so easy to miss
the things that really matter.
the small child looking up
at you, wanting to be
picked up.
the way sunlight dances
on rain wet leaves.
the person you bump into,
that smiles with that look
of something they want to say,
and you're in too big of a hurry
to listen.
the old man in his rocking chair,
waiting on you to call.
the dog that rolls over,
waiting on a belly rub.
the woman staring out the window
while you rattle on about work.
the ants going to and from their hill,
doing life's work.
the rose that opens and closes
without you taking the time
to smell, and to touch.
the hawk flying overhead
in the limitless sky.
the hand that brushes yours,
and you dont notice.
the voice on the phone
that wants to say 'come home'.
but doesnt because you're busy.
small things that come and go.
tiny universes, tiny miracles.
lost in the rush to.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Trusting In The Lord
A need for trust marks the way, as things do change, day to day,
As we become self-assured, things can be changed by The Lord,
For it is The Lord, and Him alone, Who sets the plan for His own,
Having set forth a much larger plan, than in the heart of any man.
God’s Plan shall indeed survive, just as His Will keeps man alive,
And when things appear to fall apart, real Trust must fill our heart.
As Christ leads us, in His Peace, that in dark times will not cease.
While God leads us by His hand, in this sometimes troubled land.
As present days seem to darken, it’s God’s voice we must harken,
While fully trusting in God’s will, to let our troubled heart to be still,
For God alone, does not change, while His plan remains the same,
And in this dark and troubled world, it is this Truth, we must herald.
The Lord God remains in control, through every trial, big and small,
And when His Hand I cannot see, His Truth alone is enough for me,
So as I continue my life down here, I know that God is always near,
Guiding me with Power and Grace, as I continue in this earthly race.
Friend, my trust is not in man or me, but, in The God of all Eternity,
Who alone, holds all things together, not only for now, but forever;
Sustaining all things is Jesus Christ, He, Who gave me Eternal Life,
And if Eternal Life is His to give, He’s able to help me, daily to live.
(Copyright ©07/2010)
From Severe Sorrow He Almost Went Mad
(after Robert Ranke Graves)
From severe sorrow he almost went mad
when he suddenly saw some strange things
in nature and the universe
and maybe it came from to much sorrow;
he noticed small things like falling leaves,
the smallest white flower slowly opening,
the first tiny whistle of a small bird,
thunder hitting far in the distance
even rocks glistening with black metal,
he even saw wings of birds fluttering,
the movement of every small snake,
but between life and death he could not reach
and he could not look at his buried wife
or living go to that other kingdom.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Morning Song Of Senlin
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.
Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chips in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And tie my tie once more.
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:
How small and white my face!—
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air
And bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea. . .
And a sun far off in a shell of silence
Dapples my walls for me. . .
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
Should I not pause in the light to remember God?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!
I will think of you as I descend the stair.
Vine leaves tap my window,
The snail-track shines on the stones,
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones.
It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening,
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,
Unconcerned, I tie my tie.
There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders black with rains. . .
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And surprise my soul once more;
The blue air rushes above my ceiling,
There are suns beneath my floor. . .
. . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness
And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,
My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
And a god among the stars; and I will go
Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak
And humming a tune I know. . .
Vine-leaves tap at the window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Jiminy Cricket
She speaks to me so silently
and says what needs to be heard.
I hear the intent some of the time
and listen to her word.
But there are times I do not heed
the words she says to me.
And I find that if I'd listened
how much better things would be.
It never fails that when I'm troubled
I listen to her speak.
But failure to be attentive to my conscience
are the times that I am weak.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Time
Written by: james henman
When we so much younger girl
I use to laugh and call you names
But now I found myself much older
I cant find no one else to blame
I remember times I tried to lead you
But you never come my way
And when I promised you tomorrow
You were lost for things to say
A time has really turned around
Time has let me down
Time has really turned around
Time has let me down
Takin pictures from my window
I thought Id take a few of you
Time has skipped across my shoulder
And now I have nothin left I can do
Time has let me down
Time has really turned around
Time has let me down
Time has really turned around
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The White Room
Spanna noo na noo na ne na naho
Spanna noo na ne ne naho
Spa noo na naho
Noo na naho
Noo na naho
Spa noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na nehhey
Spa noo na nehhey
Noo na naho
Noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na ne na naho
Spanna noo na ne ne naho
[more spa na noo ne na noo things]
Talk to me, talk to me
If you want to know the things we see
Then step inside our skins
The white room, the white room
We spin, we turn, watch and wait
As the world just creeps on bye
The white room, the white room
Ooohhaaa
Talk to me, talk to me
Far below, a small boat sails,
Catching fish from the sea.
The white room, the white room
We climb the mountain,
Feel the wind,
We climbed to touch the stars.
The white room, the white room
Ooohhaaa
The white room, the white room
[more spetta na noo ne na noo things]
The white room, the white room
The white room, the white room
[more spetta na noo ne na noo things]
The white room, the white room
song performed by by KLF
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Times Of Trouble
Times of trouble come and go.
Some who are troubled
don't even know.
They've had no times
when life was sweet
except for the times when they could eat
scraps of food
disgarded by those
who look at them
and turn up their nose.
Times of trouble come and go.
Some that weren't troubled now will know
the abject horror
of how it feels
to miss your lunch 'and miss your meals.
They'll gather together
and ask the Lord whether
this trouble will leave
so they can believe
again.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Balloon
I almost fell into that hole in your life
And you're not thinking about tomorrow
'Cause you were the same as me
But on your knees
A thousand other boys could never reach you
How could I have been the one
I saw the world spin beneath you
And scatter like ice from the spoon
That was your womb
Comin' down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you get colder
Or are you someone's prayer
You know the lies they always told you
And the love you never knew
What's the things they never showed you
That swallowed the light from the sun
Inside your room
Comin' down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you get colder
And there's no time left for losin'
When you stand they fall
Comin' down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you grow colder
All because I'm
Comin' down the years turn over
And angels fall without you there
And I'll go on to bring you home
All because I'm
All because I'm
And I'll become
What you became to me
song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Answers
I kept my answers small and kept them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bullwark to my fear.
The huge abstractions I kept from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.
But the big answers clamoured to be moved Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.
Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, still I hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow.
And all the great conclusions coming near.
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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Window Left Open...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces.
the broom in the corner wept.
the box in the closet drew breath sharply,
the book on the shelf turned away.
the bulb in the lamp burned out.
the spider packed up its web and left.
the empty nest fell from the tree.
rainwater gushed from the gutters.
the young boy locked in his room
crawled out the window.
the neighbor's dog barked...
god gathered her clothes,
and put on her shoes.
while warships sailed for another land.
drones killed three women on the way to market,
another baby died without having lived.
another factory shut down,
another church burned to the ground,
so many things said and unsaid.
another chapter, another book unread.
things are not what they seem.
another war on pillows fought by silence,
another day in a land untouched.
old trees pray for lightning,
old dogs wait without fear.
old photographs turn yellow and fade.
old men empty their pockets and die.
even Jesus couldnt wait this long....
they say the good die young.
the thief in the garden steals roses,
that he gives to a girl wearing glasses.
while passion weeps waiting for snow.
and leaves prepare to fall...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces...
the moth flew through a window left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Happy The Times Were
Happy the times were when we were free of our troubles
Happy the times were when we rode around in the car with the wind in our hair.
Dancing in the rain in the middle of the street
Running in the sprinklers at the football field at night
We were happy knowing that we weren't going anywhere
Who knew our fun would end sooner than we thought.
Winter came and all of our fun disappeared into the snow and dead leaves.
Happy the times were when everything was in our hands
But now things hang by a loose thread, not making any sense at all
Looking back at the small town with a couple of thousand to keep us company
Looking back as we drive away to the 'supposed' new great life
Happy the times were when we lived in the small town we loved so dear
Happy the times were when we had Sonora.
poem by Kamilla Davila
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Please Dont Turn Out The Lights
Evrytime I need reality, in jeopardy of losing all of me
I just am not stronger, life dont last so long , so baby,
If your turned out the light, if you turned out the light,
Please dont turn out the light, please dont turn out the light
Turn out the lights
Baby, I dont feel too reliable
I can only do what Im liable, but if you want to leave me
Love me and just leave me, baby;
If you turned out the light, if you turned out the light
Please dont turn out the light, please dont turn out the light
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Things Clear Only to Me
The Wind swirls around me,
It swirls and shoots up a tree.
It rustles the leaves,
And over the Dryad weaves.
The wind I can see,
And things clear only to me!
Up a branch the Dryad prances,
And with the wind she dances!
Floating, the wind goes,
Up to the roof, and slows.
To the horse weathervane,
And there it ruffles his mane.
Then down I see him turn,
Not a horse, but flying unicorn!
The wind I run after,
To hear hearty laughter.
Behind the large rock I peek,
The laughing one to seek.
There a joke is read to a troll,
from a very old scroll.
I laugh too as I go,
Now the wind swoops low.
Down to the flowers small,
Where I hear tiny fairies call.
I cannot understand the sound,
Like me with grown-ups around.
Then I watch, and sigh,
As the wind lifts a dragon high.
Up there I cannot go,
Only feel the fire blow!
This is when I turn back,
The wind has gone slack.
I no longer see it swirl,
Or the other things in its' curl.
A blazing sun in the sky,
Is left from the dragon's fly.
On the flowers buzz bees,
No fairies below my knees.
I walk past the stone,
It and I are alone.
The horse up on the roof,
Makes no move, he's aloof.
The tree is empty and still,
The Dryad gone, gone until…
Until the wind comes again,
Swooping through this lane.
Then the wind I will see,
And things clear only to me!
poem by Elisabeth Hines
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New Leaves
In the kitchen window
the coleus I cut down to stumps
to make cuttings for friends
is spreading new leaves to the sun.
Small hairs
the light catches
rise from the new leaves;
red seeps into green
along the veins.
The newest
is brightest.
The plant
cocks intelligent
faces
at the sun
and looks and looks and looks.
I would visit my friends
but feel troubled and shy.
poem by Eric Torgersen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The writers room
The writers room
~
the walls lined with books
a thousand written worlds
open pages litter the floor
ready to begin a new journey
light cascades through window
across the unused bed
a room alive does not sleep
pictures and tokens spread out
points of memory and inspiration
shelves climb to the ceiling
hoarding words and lives
a writers room, paradise
a place to sit read and write
inspiration comes from life
and life is about discovering
all that is beautiful
however ugly it appears
look through the pages
of an open mind
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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