Zudora
Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .
She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.
'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'
She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.
'Why don't we do a sketch together--
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'
She will not turn to him--will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.
'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,--my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound
Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going
Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing.
She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes
Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,--
And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . .
She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell.
'Yes. We might do an act together.
That would be very nice.'
He kisses her passionately, and thinks
She's carnal, but cold as ice.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Related quotes
Turns and Movies: Zudora
Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .
She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.
'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'
She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.
'Why don't we do a sketch together--
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'
She will not turn to him--will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.
'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,--my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound
Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going
Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing.
She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes
Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,--
And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . .
She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell.
'Yes. We might do an act together.
That would be very nice.'
He kisses her passionately, and thinks
She's carnal, but cold as ice.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Wood And The Shore
The low bay melts into a ring of silver,
And slips it on the shore's reluctant finger
Though in an hour the tide will turn, will tremble,
Forsaking her because the moon persuades him.
But the black wood that leans and sighs above her
No tide can turn, no moon can slave nor summon.
Then comes the dark: on sleepy, shell-strewn beaches,
O'er long pale leagues of sand and cold, clear water
She hears the tide go out towards the moonlight.
The wood still leans… weeping she turns to seek him,
And his black hair all night is on her bosom.
poem by Muriel Stuart
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NEW Breath Of Life
I look has the sun rises to bring the end of a cold night
The breeze of the morning sun wakes up the world
But there are parts that don’t get touched by the sun
The dark figures rest in the shadows
The wait for the night to come alive
Blood thirsty with a moments notice
There are some people that can go into the shadows
They are outsiders of the mortal race
They want to learn about the magic that make up life
The dark figures tell the outsides about the way of the night
They ask an outsider to join their side
The outsider agrees without hesitation
He becomes a creature of both night and day
He gets a new breath of life
The power of love, hate and pain went thought his body
The day sun shined and hurt his eyes
He is becoming a werewolf
With blood boiling in his veins
He thinks what he did to his life
I am a creature of the night he yells to the moon
That this a sound he hears in his ears
He opens his eyes and finds that it was all a dream
Or was it
That night the full moon rise
And fur goes around him and he howls long and loud
Blood lust in his new eyes looking for a kill
He takes on a bear and eats until full
And runs away and wakes up to the sun again
Does not remember anything
Except a new breath of life
poem by Thomas Henderson
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Aura
The air was dark
The moon was dark
The night was dark
The cloud was dark
The heat was dark
The stars were black
The birds were black
The eyes were black
The shadows were black
The planes were black
A sound of night
The hearts of night
A chase at night
A fall at night
No help at night
The night is night
Where is my sight
I have no sight
Your light was sight
No light no sight
No one in sight
The dark in sight
Don't call my name
What's my name
They call my name
That's not my name
Who said its my name
I have no name
You took my same
It was our same
She was our same
She's now your same
Its all the same
I'm not the same
Judas and my hand
You took my hand
'I do' my hand
You kissed my hand
You broke my hand
You fell my hand
A tear in sand
A heart in sand
A body in sand
Alone in sand
A dust in sand
At home in sand.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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Miss Pinkie and Her Ship Of Love
Take me, Miss Pinkie says,
take me. A plump bundle
of pinkness, dyed hair, grey
at the roots, the blue eyes
whiskey soaked, the mouth
open, the naked skin, the full
moon flowing in. All aboard
who are coming aboard, she
says to the room, and he beside
her says, are you sure? now
of all times? yes, she says, lift
the anchor, set sail, take note
of the rough seas, the rise and
fall of the waves, and he looking
back sees moonlight on his naked
butt, the sound of Mahler's 6th
echoing from the other room,
and he sensing the high seas
and moving surf, climbs aboard,
set eyes to the horizon of bed
board and cool blue walls, and
hears the sirens sing, hears the
creak of bed and bones as he and
Miss Pinkie, on the love ship, hold
tight and smile, as it rises and falls.
poem by Terry Collett
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Here Comes The Moon
Everybodys talking up a storm
Act like they dont notice it
But here it is and here it comes . . .
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Impulse always quickens when its full
As it turns my head around me
Yes it does and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Gods gift I see thats moving up there into the night . . .
Though dark the mirror in the sky reflects us our light:
Looks like a little brother to the sun
Or mother to the stars at night
And here it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Breath is always taken when its new
Enhance upon the clouds around it
Yes it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon.
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dark Dark Moon......
Dark dark moon
Dark dark moon
No no no no no, don't show me your face...!
Dark dark moon
Dark dark moon
No no no no no, no my eyes won't turn...!
Dark dark moon
Dark dark moon
No no no no no, please don't talk to me...!
Dark dark moon
Dark dark moon
No no no no no, please please don't go away....!
poem by Rowving Smith
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Long Flowing Robe
Cruising makes some people get uptight
But nothing beats a lonely friday night
Friday night, nothing much to do but hang around
Think I might just grab myself a cab and head downtown
And for hours, I hang around the dance hall crowd
I feel like a boor
But then I turned around and cast my eyes to the door
In a long flowing robe
She appeared at the ballroom door
I was hard-pressed to know
What I hoped she was looking for
Coming on at first may not seem right
But nothing beats a lover at first sight
What a sight, nothing can compare with simple grace
Its all right, I see it in the look upon her face
That she wants me the same way that Im wanting her
In fact maybe more
But as I take her hand
She turns and heads for the door
In a long flowing robe
She took off through the ballroom door
I was hard-pressed to know
What did she go and do that for
Friday night, nothing left to do but go to bed
Sleeping tight, when something stirring deep inside my head
Said wake up and cast your eyes to the door.
In a long flowing robe
She appeared at the bedroom door
I was hard-pressed to know
What I knew she was looking for
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nocturne
The earth, still heavy and warm with afternoon,
Dazed by the moon:
The earth, tormented with the moon’s light,
Wandering in the night:
La, La, The moon is a lovely thing to see—
The moon is an agony.
Full moon, moon rise, the old old pain
Of brightness in dilated eyes,
The ache of still
Elbows leaning on the narrow sill,
Of motionless cold hands upon the wet
Marble of the parapet,
Of open eyelids of a child behind
The crooked glimmer of the windown blind,
Of sliding faint remindful squares
Across the lamplight on the rocking-chairs:
Why do we stand so late
Stiff fingers on the moonlit gate?
Why do we stand
To watch so long the fall of moonlight on the sand?
What is it we cannot recall?
Tormented by the moon’s light
The earth turns maundering through the night.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Eyes Waterfalling
Let me out to play
Let me find a way - to be
Let me feel the sun
Life has just begun for me
Eyes waterfalling, a world full of tears
Eyes waterfalling, but nobody hears
Laughter all around
Its lonely looking down - from here
Fuel my shallow pride
And teach me how to hide my fear
Eyes waterfalling, a world full of tears
Eyes waterfalling, but nobody hears
Theyve got control of my life
I cant break away
Theyve shaped my destiny
No use the boy in me
I go to join my friend
Hell bring me joy again
Eyes waterfalling, a world full of tears
Eyes waterfalling, but nobody hears
I lost control in the night
And drifted away
Eyes waterfalling, a world full of tears
Eyes waterfalling, but nobody hears
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Before Choir One Friday Eve
Before choir practice
before entering
the vestry door
you and Judith
stayed behind
and waited until
the others
had gone inside
and Judith said
look at those stars
and how dark blue
the sky is
you gazed up
at the evening spread
of dark blue
and stars
and moon
to one side
and you put
your hand
around her waist
and drew her close
and she lay
against you
and you said
I read some place
that some
of those distant stars
burned out
centuries ago
and what we see
is the ghostly glow
of dead stars
and she turned your head
towards her
and kissed you
and the pressing
of her lips on yours
and her hands
on your waist
and her 13 year old
breasts pushing
against your
14 year old chest
and the sound
of the choir starting up
in practice in the church
and the flight of bats
across
the evening sky
and she holding you near
and the lips engaged
and the eyes closed
and the breathing
taken in
coming up for air
and behind you
the aging graves
the tombstones
with moss
and half lit
by moonlight
and star's glow
and you held her
in place face to face
with your hands
upon the cheeks
of her behind
eyes still closed
in the land
of the love sucked
blind.
poem by Terry Collett
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Variations On Nothing
That negligible bit of sand which slides
Without a sound and settles in the hourglass,
And the fleeting impressions on the fleshy-pink,
The perishable fleshy-pink, of a cloud...
Then a hand that turns over the hourglass,
The going back for flowing back, of sand,
The quiet silvering of a cloud
In the first few lead-gray seconds of dawn...
The hand in shadow turned the hourglass,
And the negligible bit of sand which slides
And is silent, is the only thing now heard,
And, being heard, doesn't vanish in the dark.
poem by Giuseppe Ungaretti
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The Vigil
THE rain is falling on the roof,
And no sound else disturbs the wife,
Except the trees and winds at strife,
Now near at hand and now aloof;
But listening, leaning evermore,
She waits a knock upon the door.
Her hair is braided round her head;
Her eyes are large and fierce and bright;
Her shapely throat is soft and white;
And on her mouth there burns the red
Of that rich, storied gem that shone
Upon the breast of Prester John.
Upon the couch her husband lies.
How is it that he lies so still?
Why sleeps he there so pale and chill,
The lamplight on his lidded eyes?
Has she not fire, and more than fire
To thrill his flesh with hot desire?
Anon she lifts her rounded arms
As though to feel that she is free;
And her large eyes exultantly
Light up, as when the dawn-glow charms
With roseate lights that gleam and glance
Twin pools to sudden radiance.
The rain is falling on the roof;
Yet, though her ears are open wide,
There is no other sound outside —
No fall of foot, nor tramp of hoof.
And on his couch with lidded eyes
The husband, cold and pallid, lies.
The midnight sky is wild and black
And drenches earth with ceaseless tears;
And now it seems to her she hears
Hoof-strokes upon the sodden track;
And now she rises, sweet as sin,
To let the late night-strayer in.
The lamplight gleams upon his face,
And glistens on his reddened spur;
He stretches out his arms to her
And folds her in a rude embrace. . . .
How can it be the husband lies
So still, with heavy-lidded eyes?
Perchance he neither sees nor hears,
And sleeps unmoved by chance or change.
And yet. . . .and yet, it seems so strange —
If he be dead there should be tears.
Not love nor smiles, nor midnight bliss,
Nor mouths that marry in a kiss.
The loud winds thrust upon the door,
The raindrops plash against the roof,
The trickles from a waterproof
Make little pools upon the floor;
No foe between, no more apart,
They stand, heart throbbing back to heart.
Anon she says: 'He died this morn.
He did not die a whit too soon;
Life's day, alas, makes towards its noon.
He should have died when love was born.
He should have died long since. And now
Kiss me again — my mouth, my brow!'
poem by Roderic Quinn
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My Father’s Son
Once
when I was still a baby boy
obsessed, thrilled with dark night sky
father said, shut your eyes tightly
then sailed I into dark night sky
dreaming of my arms
dipping in deep, dark-blue velvety
palpating golden sheen of the golden full moon
snatching twinkling stars.
But
i fell like lead
just before hard ground
to my father’s arms- veinated, calloused
his chirped nails safely grabbed
then
i opened my eyes
stretching my empty arms, pink nails
for a earnest glimpse of
a dip of deep, dark-blue velvety
golden sheen of the golden full moon
snatched twinkling stars.
and I felt sad.
Then-
father buried his head on my nape
his grizzly beard tickling my face
making little ‘blurp’ ‘blurp’ sounds
my shrill laughter
accosting his deep throaty laughter
echoing my disappointment into dark night sky
before sailing me into dark night sky
back to his rough-gentle arms
again
again
and again
to dip in deep, dark-blue velvety
palpate golden sheen of the golden full moon
snatching twinkling stars.
“Drink all Ma’s omena* soup
to be taller, reach the dark night sky”
father said, following my gaze
into the dark night sky
static radio bleating reggae
golden full moon bathing us in golden sheen
just me and my father
sleeping in his rough-gentle arms
dreaming of my arms
dipping in deep, dark-blue velvety
palpating golden sheen of the golden full moon
snatching twinkling stars
poem by Manuel Odeny
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Dark Air Dark Light
Where lifeless rivers weep
With shame, into the deep,
She sleeps a pained sleep:
Flows with rot.
killed by ugly progressing war,
She has lived so far
To live where darkness are
Alas! Sad lot.
She left the bright morn,
She passes meadows of corn,
For world sad and porn,
And dark springs.
Through dark like black veil,
She sees the sky, pale,
And hears the birds' mail,
That sadly sings.
Dark air and dark light,
Moves over bed and breast;
Her face is without rest,
Mothers only wasteland.
She lives with ugly pain,
Crossing over hill and plain,
You cannot feel the sail
Upon your hand.
Dark air and dark lore,
Upon stinking and thorny shore;
Rot, rot at every core
Till hunger shall cease:
Sleep that no sound shall cut;
Night that no morn shall shut,
Till all greed is met,
With perfect peace.
poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Scenes In London III - The Savoyard In Grosvenor Square
HE stands within the silent square,
That square of state, of gloom;
A heavy weight is on the air,
Which hangs as o'er a tomb.
It is a tomb which wealth and rank
Have built themselves around—
The general sympathies have shrank
Like flowers on high dry ground.
None heed the wandering boy who sings,
An orphan though so young;
None think how far the singer brings
The songs which he has sung.
None cheer him with a kindly look,
None with a kindly word;
The singer's little pride must brook
To be unpraised, unheard.
At home their sweet bird he was styled,
And oft, when days were long,
His mother called her favourite child
To sing her favourite song.
He wanders now through weary streets,
Till cheek and eye are dim;
How little sympathy he meets,
Sudden his dark brown cheek grows bright
His dark eyes fill with glee,
Covered with blossoms snowy-white,
He sees an orange tree.
No more the toil-worn face is pale,
Nor faltering step is sad;
He sees his distant native vale,
He sees it, and is glad.
He sees the squirrel climb the pine,
The doves fly through the dell,
The purple clusters of the vine;
He hears the vesper-bell.
His heart is full of hope and home,
Toil, travel, are no more;
And he has happy hours to come
Beside his father's door.
Oh, charm of natural influence!
But for thy lovely ties,
Never might the world-wearied sense
Above the present rise.
Blessed be thy magic every where,
Oh Nature, gentle mother;
How kindlier is for us thy care,
Than ours is for each other.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Man Child
All day he lay upon the sand
When summer sun was bright,
And let the grains sift through his hand
With infantile delight;
Just like a child, so soft and fair,
Though he was twenty-five -
An innocent, my mother -care
Had kept so long alive.
Oh it is hard to bear a cross
For five-and-twenty years;
A daft son and a husband's loss
Are woes out-weighing tears.
Yet bright and beautiful was he,
Though barely could he walk;
And when he signaled out to sea
His talk was baby talk.
The man I loved was drowned out there
When we were ten weeks wed.
'Tis bitter hard a boy to bear
That's fathered by the dead.
And now I give my life to him
Because he needs me so;
And as I look my sight is dim
With pity, love and woe. . . .
Then suddenly I see him rise,
Tall, stalwart and serene . . .
Lo! There he stands before my eyes,
The man he might have been.
"Dear Mother mine," I hear him say,
"The curse that bound me fast,
Some miracle has swept away,
And all you pain is past.
Now I am strong and sane and free,
And you shall have your due;
For as you loved and cherished me,
I'll love and cherish you."
His kisses sooth away my pain,
His clasp is paradise . . .
Then - then I look at him again
With terror in my eyes:
For down he sinks upon the sand,
And heavy droops his head;
The golden grains drift through his hand . . .
I know - my boy is dead.
poem by Robert William Service
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Evening Song of the Thoughtful Child
Shadow children, thin and small,
Now the day is left behind,
You are dancing on the wall,
On the curtains, on the blind.
On the ceiling, children, too,
Peeping round the nursery door,
Let me come and play with you,
As we always played before.
Let's pretend that we have wings
And can really truly fly
Over every sort of things
Up and up into the sky.
Where the sweet star children play--
It does seem a dreadful rule,
They must stay inside all day.
I suppose they go to school.
And to-night, dears, do you see,
They are having such a race
With their father moon--the tree
Almost hides his funny face.
Shadow children, once at night,
I was all tucked up in bed,
Father moon came--such a fright--
Through the window poked his head;
I could see his staring eyes,
O, my dears, I was afraid,
That was not a nice surprise,
And the dreadful noise I made!
Let us make a fairy ring,
Shadow children, hand in hand,
And our songs quite softly sing
That we learned in fairyland.
Shadow children, hin and small,
See, the day is far behind;
And I kiss you--on the wall--
On the curtains--on the blind.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Pictures Of You
Pictures of you
Its just pictures of you, through the bedroom door
With that sly little grin, says you want it some more
But theres people around, and they dont look so nice
Tell me why dont they move, this has happened before
This has happened before
Its just pictures of you
In darkness
Pictures of you
Id been sleeping for hours,
When you came to my house
Youd been lost in a crowd, said you had to get out
You were covered with tears and you said you were sad
So you wanted to play
Yes, you wanted to play
Well you touched me and smiled, as you let yourself go
Oh, but something was wrong, cause your touch was so cold
Like youd been in the ground and you asked if you could
Stay
And I said no!
Its just pictures of you
In darkness
(pictures of you)
In that lovely white dress, oh your skin was so white
With the moon in your eyes, on that cold winter night
When your lips were so soft, that I though they would
Melt,
And the sound of your breath and the way that you felt
And I said yes
And I said yes
Its just pictures of you with a knife in your hand
With a rose in your teeth lying nude in the sand
Its just pictures of you, standing high on a cliff
With the wind in your hair, and a smile on your lips
And your eyes were so wild, when you started to laugh
Blending in with the wind, sounded just like a scream
Why do pictures of you
Come to me when I dream
In darkness
Pictures of you
Pictures of you
Pictures of you
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stream of Gaiety Vavroovahana Patra
Wife’s sweet conversation is an ocean of merriement;
Is a brook of enchantment.
In despair husband is happy with her consolation;
Kisses, congratulates, frees tension.
Husband derives profound peace with embracement;
She is tranquil as the distant firmament.
Her innocence allures day and night;
She is an ever flowing rivulet of delight.
Wife is a Heavenly Beauty;
In solitude provides delight.
Is the Queen of the night;
The kiss is a stream of gaiety.
Wife plays with passion;
Is the creator of creation.
Is a good advisor;
Is the sweet lovely mother.
Wife’s vermillion is the symbol of chastity;
In husband’s eyes she is a Deith.
On Earth she is a peerless Beauty;
In husbands lap lives with delight.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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