Everyday Movement
Everyday Movement
Millions of scattered translucent dewdrops,
mark many secluded and misty hilltops,
sparkling gems enchased on the flora,
waiting to be picked up by the morning’s aurora.
Lethargic clouds float in a cerulean sky,
climbing up and up onto a mountain high,
endlessly drifting in a cobalt coloured seamless stream,
rising out of Thunder’s reach into an afternoon dream.
A wild white stag darts between the trees,
following a faint scent; caught upon the breeze,
startled by evening thunder’s earthly laughter reprise,
It carelessly leaves a trademark trail for hunters to surmise.
Rolling surf rides the peaks of ocean waves,
the shining moon pulling reign so the crests’ behaves,
clammy crabs breach sandy beachheads; wary of stalkers,
while lunar light leaves an argent passage to halcyon waters.
poem by Dale Mullock
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A Mountshannon October Morning
The stranger sat upon the park bench,
and looked across the Lough.
Smoke from his pipe
blended with the cool morning breeze.
The distant mountains patchwork of green
sat under the hand of dawn’s rolling mist.
The white capped dark waters rolled endlessly against the shore,
nudging the sheltering boats against their moorings,
and washed over shoreline rocks
speckled with lichen and moss.
A pair of swans with their signets sheltered
in the calmer waters of the harbour
away from the white capped waves.
The sun edged its way into the sky,
from behind the sleeping mountains,
spreading red and oranged fingers
to touch the retreating night clouds.
The village adopted ginger cat
made his morning patrol
along the harbour’s sleeping boats,
in a search for breakfast.
The autumn coloured tree leaves,
fluttered in the morning breeze
as the wind and waves rolling
over the shore bound rocks disturbing
the dawning silence.
poem by David Harris
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My Soul is Awakened
My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.
I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!
poem by Anne Brontë
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Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day
My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring,
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For, above, and around me, the wild wind is roaring
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.
I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray,
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Thunderstorm
A moment the wild swallows like a flight
Of withered gust-caught leaves, serenely high,
Toss in the windrack up the muttering sky.
The leaves hang still. Above the weird twilight,
The hurrying centres of the storm unite
And spreading with huge trunk and rolling fringe,
Each wheeled upon its own tremendous hinge,
Tower darkening on. And now from heaven's height,
With the long roar of elm-trees swept and swayed,
And pelted waters, on the vanished plain
Plunges the blast. Behind the wild white flash
That splits abroad the pealing thunder-crash,
Over bleared fields and gardens disarrayed,
Column on column comes the drenching rain.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Mystery Mountain
Mountain of mystery,
Rising high above the clouds.
Mountain of magic,
Standing tall and proud,
Your magical veins
Flowing silver and gold,
Your cumulus cloud glows misty red,
As apollo sets beyond your head.
Releasing the pressure built over the years
The mountain is crying hot lava tears
Molten rock created under vibrations of
Sub-terranean thunder
Ejecting boulders like pieces of sand
The mountain is
Giving birth to the land.
Under your feet you feel a rumble
As thousands of rocks are starting to tumble
Above the trees where the buzzard flies
Swirling vapors begin to rise
Beneath those misty peaks you hide
A tremendous force boiling deep inside.
song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Out Of This Town
Edwin McCain
Get Out Of This Town
Im rolling thunder with the top down
Its time to get out, get out, get out
Crescent City high-life
Dancing with the devils wife
Just like some voodoo dream
Living on 4th and Magazine
A black rose and a chicken bone
I dont know if Ill make it home
Another night at Snake and Jakes
Just a little more than I can take
Its time to get out of this town
Theres no more fun to be found
Im rolling thunder with the top down
Its time to get out, get out, get out
Its time to get out of this town
Theres no more fun to be found
Im rolling thunder with the top down
Its time to get out, get out, get out
Lear jets and limousines
Found my way to the Vegas scene
Hit hard on a sixteen
The pit boss is getting mean
Just waiting on my car
Rolling like the Junkyard
Three days and some big scars
That's what it takes to be a rock star
Its time to get out of this town
Theres no more fun to be found
Im rolling thunder with the top down
Its time to get out, get out, get out
It's time to get out of this town
There's no more fun to be found
I'm rolling thunder with the top down
It's time to get out, get out, get out
I'm falling down
I'm falling down
Its time to get out of this town
Theres no more fun to be found
Im rolling thunder with the top down
It's time to get out, get out, get out
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moonlight Sestina
While reading Li Po, I fall
Asleep, and dream of the moon
My body lies on white
Cool sheets, flooded in a pool
Of moonlight. Lost in a dream
I lie in light, floating.
Like a full moon floating
On waves, I feel the fall
And rise, the tide of these dream
Currents. Closer, the moon
Approaches to my pool
Of flesh, shining me white.
From the glare of waxing white,
Gauze curtains – breeze floating -
Shield this rippling pool,
Become a waterfall,
And break the mirror moon-
Light through wet prisms, I dream.
Is this Shechinah? my dream
Self asks. At once the cold white
Chills me to ice. The moon
Swells until it's a floating
City, waiting to fall -
Atlantis – in the pool.
I yearn to be that pool
Skin, transparent as dream.
Instead I fear the moon fall:
I cannot part the white
Sea of thighs, Still floating
Whole, I cry to the moon:
“I am not ready, Moon”
Silence shimmers my pool,
But brightness fades, Floating
Away. Then from the dream
I emerge, weeping white
Tears that shine like star-fall.
Li Po's moon plunge sank dream
Deep. Whirlpool of lunar white
Drowns us; floating, we fall.
poem by Lillian Susan Thomas
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Climbing
High up in the apple tree climbing I go,
With the sky above me, the earth below.
Each branch is the step of a wonderful stair
Which leads to the town I see shining up there.
Climbing, climbing, higher and higher,
The branches blow and I see a spire,
The gleam of a turret, the glint of a dome,
All sparkling and bright, like white sea foam.
On and on, from bough to bough,
The leaves are thick, but I push my way through;
Before, I have always had to stop,
But to-day I am sure I shall reach the top.
Today to the end of the marvelous stair,
Where those glittering pinacles flash in the air!
Climbing, climbing, higher I go,
With the sky close above me, the earth far below.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Where The Land Meets The Ocean
The great white waves of the Pacific how loudly they do roar
And crash against the volcanic rocks that guard the ocean shore
The silver gulls above the beach are calling as they fly
And the terns dive in shallow waters for small sea things from the sky,
The feeling is so refreshing on your skin saltwater spray
'Tis nice to be by the ocean on a breezy Autumn day
In a place far off of the highway and far from the noisy street
A place where Nature reign Supreme where the land and ocean meet
The huge surf waves are rolling foamy and white as snow
At the awesome power of Nature my wonder only grow
Though not a seafaring person from land I love to watch the big waves roll
It has been a watery grave for many an ocean out of control
Where the land meets the ocean on a March evening in the Fall
A memory for to cherish and in the future to recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A spring evening
Outside the irises flower yellow and purple
and I haven’t seen a red one yet
and there are some pink and white blossoms
on the fruit trees
and the streetlights burn continually
glowing orange-yellow
all day and all night
as if the municipality
does not know how to do things right
and in the fading evening light
the moon is full and white
and the evening star is already shining bright
and a hot breeze sweeps in
through the open windows
and I wonder when the first spring rain
is going to fall
and in the distance I see thunder
crashing down
in blue-white flashes, but the storm
is blown away and again the sky is clear
and the black speckled by stars.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Runnable Stag
When the pods went pop on the broom, green broom,
And apples began to be golden-skinn'd,
We harbour'd a stag in the Priory coomb,
And we feather'd his trail up-wind, up-wind,
We feather'd his trail up-wind-
A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,
A runnable stag, a kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
A stag, a runnable stag.
Then the huntsman's horn rang yap, yap yap,
And 'Forwards' we heard the harbourer shout;
But 'twas only a brocket that broke a gap
In the beechen underwood, driven out,
From the underwood antler'd out
By warrant and might of the stag, the stag,
The runnable stag, whose lordly mind
Was bent on sleep though beam'd and tined
He stood, a runnable stag
So we tufted the covert till afternoon
With Tinkerman's Pup and Bell- of-the-North;
And hunters were sulky and hounds out of tune
Before we tufted the right stag forth,
Before we tufted him forth,
The stag of warrant, the wily stag,
The runnable stag with his kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
The royal and runnable stag.
It was Bell-of-the-North and Tinkerman's Pup
That stuck to the scent till the copse was drawn.
'Tally ho! tally ho!' and the hunt was up,
The tufters whipp'd and the pack laid on,
The resolute pack laid on,
And the stag of warrant away at last,
The runnable stag, the same, the same,
His hoofs on fire, his horns like flame,
A stag, a runnable stag.
'Let your gelding be: if you check or chide
He stumbles at once and you're out of the hunt
For three hundred gentlemen, able to ride,
On hunters accustom'd to bear the brunt,
Accustom'd to bear the brunt,
Are after the runnable stag, the stag,
The runnable stag with his kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
The right, the runnable stag.
By perilous paths in coomb and dell,
The heather, the rocks, and the river-bed,
The pace grew hot, for the scent lay well,
And a runnable stag goes right ahead,
The quarry went right ahead--
Ahead, ahead, and fast and far;
His antler'd crest, his cloven hoof,
Brow, bay and tray and three aloof,
The stag, the runnable stag.
For a matter of twenty miles and more,
By the densest hedge and the highest wall,
Through herds of bullocks lie baffled the lore
Of harbourer, huntsman, hounds and all,
Of harbourer, hounds and all
The stag of warrant, the wily stag,
For twenty miles, and five and five,
He ran, and he never was caught alive,
This stag, this runnable stag.
When he turn'd at bay in the leafy gloom,
In the emerald gloom where the brook ran deep
He heard in the distance the rollers boom,
And he saw In a vision of peaceful sleep
In a wonderful vision of sleep,
A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,
A runnable stag in a jewell'd bed,
Under the sheltering ocean dead,
A stag, a runnable stag.
So a fateful hope lit up his eye,
And he open'd his nostrils wide again,
And he toss'd his branching antlers high
As he headed the hunt down the Charlock glen,
As he raced down the echoing glen
For five miles more, the stag, the stag,
For twenty miles, and five and five,
Not to be caught now, dead or alive,
The stag, the runnable stag.
Three hundred gentleman, able to ride,
Three hundred horses as gallant and free,
Beheld him escape on the evening tide,
Far out till he sank in the Severn Sea,
Till he sank in the depths of the sea
The stag, the buoyant stag, the stag
That slept at last in a jewell'd bed
Under the sheltering ocean spread,
The stag, the runnable stag.
poem by John Davidson
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To The River Arve
Not from the sands or cloven rocks,
Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow;
Nor earth, within her bosom, locks
Thy dark unfathomed wells below.
Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream
Begins to move and murmur first
Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,
Or rain-storms on the glacier burst.
Born where the thunder and the blast,
And morning's earliest light are born,
Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast,
By these low homes, as if in scorn:
Yet humbler springs yield purer waves;
And brighter, glassier streams than thine,
Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,
With heaven's own beam and image shine.
Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees;
Warm rays on cottage roofs are here,
And laugh of girls, and hum of bees--
Here linger till thy waves are clear.
Thou heedest not--thou hastest on;
From steep to steep thy torrent falls,
Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,
It rests beneath Geneva's walls.
Rush on--but were there one with me
That loved me, I would light my hearth
Here, where with God's own majesty
Are touched the features of the earth.
By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,
Still rising as the tempests beat,
Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,
Among the blossoms at their feet.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Nature' S Kindergarten
Deep, blue sky,
Overcast
With clouds white.
Gentle breeze
Kissing the branches, trees, leaves
And the nascent buds in between
Caressing
The concrete crust.
Stronger it blows
Trees take to the floor
Branches conduct the choir
White to grey
Synergy high
Bang the floor
Dance
To tunes of thunder
Lightening strikes
In the milieu
Pours the virile
The entire show
In silence bids bye.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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My Soul, Afire
The rising sun sets my soul afire
At the dawning of every new day-
I see life as a new beginning-
Cardinals, robins, blue jays and finches
Carry on with their tune as the
Orchestra of a gentle spring like breeze
Rustles the newly unfolded leaves upon every tree-
Alone to enjoy the mystery of the woodlands-
The sun’s rays shining through the
Branches of the maple trees-
Dogwood blossoms both crimson pink and white
Against a sky of cerulean blue
Evoke a chorus from my spirit-
A hymn of freedom and ecstasy, as
My spirit and soul have been reborn.
As the day progresses
I am overcome by fear and
At the noon of the day the sun rises above the mountains
The world comes out from hiding-
This is the time when strangers become invasive,
Clouds overtake the light and
The rain begins to fall.
Thunder would clap and rain would pour downward in a
Spitefully intrusive manner
Quenching the magical flames
That had my spirit and soul dancing to the
Early morning symphony that the world has
Maliciously taken aback-
When the night takes over
I see the full moon ascend over the horizon and the
Stars are bright-
The stars are bright and Mars is a brilliant red while
Venus winks at me with its eyes of green-
Stars and planets are gratifyingly beautiful in their own way, though
Light years away-
If I listen vigilantly-
I can hear ancient music imminent from
The stars and planets in the vastness of the universe as
The moon appears above the treetops-
It shines its light upon me and sets my spirit dancing and once again-
Sets my soul afire-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Another Near To Perfect Day
In the sky the sun brightly shining the blue sky with some clouds of gray
On an afternoon in late October another near to perfect day
The white surf waves are gently rolling one reason no surfer in sight
And the silver gulls on the white beach search for food in the warm sunlight
An artist may well sketch such beauty and writers about it may write
By the coastal town on the surf beach there is beauty in peace and quiet
Today the ocean is not roaring no big waves for surfers to ride
The waves on the beach gently lapping so timid the sea at low tide
In the park the magpie larks calling the only notes they sing pee wee
And wattlebirds on the flowering coastal banksias their harsh calls familiar to me
On a beautiful day in the Springtime of around 24 degrees
And there is a cool sort of freshness in the cool freshening coastal breeze
Save for the silver gulls the beach is deserted and so clean is the fresh coastal air
A good memory to keep and to cherish and a good memory with others to share.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Rising So Low As If Falling From The Sky
Rising so low as if falling from the sky
the light of the silver moon is so bright
that it blots out stars, it looks as if
it is part of the high hill
gleams upon the snow capped peaks,
leaving them sparkling,
creates another kind of world
and your eyes catch me.
Sometimes there are sparkling stars
in your glance that turns my heart
crazily like a Ferris wheel
making it spin almost out of control
as if there are elemental forces
that are at you disposal
with the power of wind,
of rain, thunder and furious cyclone
or at other times the sieving tranquil rain
that brings refreshment and joy to the heart,
your eyes become the only stars shining
at me in this dark night with a own sheer light
and you really know me, know the road
that for years I have been travelling on
which always returns back to you,
even if it leads away from everything.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Threads Of Passion
You ignite Northern Lights in my universe
Like a gift from the goddess Aurora
With you I float in cool azure oceans
Aware of the darkness in the depths below
You are sailing on still waters waiting
Anticipating the storms from the horizon
With thorns of sea cucumbers invading
I inflict puncture wounds seeping surrender
You help me float out into the distance
Waiting with hourglasses for my arrival
With the white foam of breaking waves
I create fluffy dream clouds of aspiration
You set the sea surf by my heartbeat
Letting the tide surround me with silence
Out of reefs I built fragile castles on sand
That are later destroyed by infinite currents
Smiling I push the muddy water of rivers
Defrauding you - I seize your breathing
My salty tears mingle with green seas
That carry you away to another coast
You swim with lethal blue-ringed octopus
While I am drowning in sea grass and algae
Together we crash against rocky shores
And dive from icebergs into warm oceans
You are watching me through dark shades
With dark eyes that hide your emotions
Like in black waters I see the moon reflecting
Is it me or is it you that needs protecting
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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We’ll go to the mountain, you and I
We’ll go to the mountain
that overlooks the sea
climb up one of its peaks
and from high
where it almost
touches the clouds
on Helderberg Mountain view
the dark blue sea,
see trees lined in rows.
I’ll spread a blanket
from where you’ll face
into the breeze
which will play
with your auburn hair
and maybe we’ll catch
some wild doves in the trees
up there
and see them frolic and
count the houses
along the golden shore
and wait for some time
and then some more.
We’ll have a picnic
and eat some roasted chicken
and potato salad
if you want,
and drink some fresh water
from a mountain spring
and have some apple pie
if we brought some along
and later have some champagne
and you’ll be mine
and I will be yours
and when we are done
we will go home again
while we watch the beach,
the ocean and the sky
and down we’ll walk
just you and I.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A night at a garden
A river crossing in the forest gloom ground
Brings me down from a hill secluded and tall
The garden roses that once we stroll
Is empty and forgetful of you and me
And lost it seems in troubles that circle endlessly around
Here at the head of a tinkling fall
The rivulet at the chasm trying to pass its way to the sea
The rivulet struggles the mounting rocks at the fall
As I do to hear you once again whisper
In odor and in color
“Be among the roses tonight”
Come into the garden of roses love
For the frightening black bat night has flown
Come into the secret garden dove
I am here at the gate but the moon alone
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad
And the musk of the roses in the night air is blown
For the breeze down the bank bay moves
And the garden of love is as high
Being to faint in the din of a remote horse hooves
On a bed of daffodils sky
To faint in the light of the rising sun I love
To faint waiting in its light and die
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Sing Aurora Sing
See the symphony of light o’er the sea.
Softly the agony resends softly.
Free rising orb setting harmony free.
Brightly absorb with a song so brightly.
Aurora light from morning aurora.
Song of the night is now operas' song.
Flora delight; like blossoms of flora.
Long is the sight with emotions so long.
Rising crescendo with morning rising.
Serene innuendo leaves mind serene.
Surprising opera; light surprising.
Pristine genera of human pristine.
So open your heart let the light sing so.
Know symphony light, and your mind will know.
Author Notes:
Shadow Sonnet with internal rhyme.
Shadow Sonnet created by Amera M. Andersen may be written in any sonnet style. The Shadow takes place at the beginning and ending of each line as the words are identical or homophonic.
14 lines
9 or 10 syllables per line
Should have a volta or pivit
Iambic pentameter is not necessary
poem by Amera Andersen
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