For An Allegorical Dance Of Women By Andrea Mantegna
(In the Louvre)
SCARCELY, I think; yet it indeed may be
The meaning reached him, when this music rang
Clear through his frame, a sweet possessive pang,
And he beheld these rocks and that ridged sea.
But I believe that, leaning tow'rds them, he
Just felt their hair carried across his face
As each girl passed him; nor gave ear to trace
How many feet; nor bent assuredly
His eyes from the blind fixedness of thought
To know the dancers. It is bitter glad
Even unto tears. Its meaning filleth it,
A secret of the wells of Life: to wit:—
The heart's each pulse shall keep the sense it had
With all, though the mind's labour run to nought.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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I Am Mirror
The function of the psychoanalyst.
Lead vocal: leo sayer
Suppose i were to tell you that the meaning of dreams
Is not all that it seems and the ultimate truth is a lie.
And you are just a puppet who can dance on a string.
Do you feel anything?
Would you laugh? would you care? would you cry?
But the meaning of life is a mystery, how can anyone disagree?
And the music is a symphony which we play in a minor key.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
So if you are confused and don't know which way to go.
You will certainly know. from the moment we're living we die.
And if it's all a crazy game you don't want to play
Tell me what you can say.
It's a joke. it's the truth. it's a lie.
But the meaning of life is a mystery that we don't understand.
And the music is a rhapsody if you're happy the way that you are.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
And the meaning of life is a mystery though we live it from day to day.
But the music of live should be harmony so that anyone here can play.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am A Mirror
Lead vocal: leo sayer
Suppose I were to tell you that the meaning of dreams
Is not all that it seems and the ultimate truth is a lie.
And you are just a puppet who can dance on a string.
Do you feel anything?
Would you laugh? would you care? would you cry?
But the meaning of life is a mystery, how can anyone disagree?
And the music is a symphony which we play in a minor key.
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and youre the clown. and if I dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
So if you are confused and dont know which way to go.
You will certainly know. from the moment were living we die.
And if its all a crazy game you dont want to play
Tell me what you can say.
Its a joke. its the truth. its a lie.
But the meaning of life is a mystery that we dont understand.
And the music is a rhapsody if youre happy the way that you are.
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and youre the clown. and if I dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
And the meaning of life is a mystery though we live it from day to day.
But the music of live should be harmony so that anyone here can play.
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and youre the clown. and if I dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bitter Tears
In the mist
Of my endless search
The best in life
Becomes clear
The rest just begins
To fade by itself
Thats a trick I learnt
Though it took so long
Bitter tears taste so sweet
Chorus
Im seeing my way
For the first time in years
When the love around
Begins to suffer
And you cant find love
In one
In one another
Push away those bitter tears
Bitter tears
And I thought I was doing no wrong
And I thought I was doing no wrong
In the hour of your needs
Lips are trembling
Cause youre gonna be free
Realise what were doing here
The time is right to kill your fears
Bitter tears taste so sweet
Chorus
And I thought I was doing no wrong
Push away those bitter tears
Push away those bitter tears
Push away those bitter tears
Push away those bitter tears
Thats what they call doing no wrong
Thats what they call doing no wrong
Push away those bitter tears
Push away those bitter tears
Push away those bitter tears
Thats what they call doing no wrong
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Vision
Wherever my feet may wander
Wherever I chance to be,
There comes, with the coming of even' time
A vision sweet to me.
I see my mother sitting
In the old familiar place,
And she rocks to the tune her needles sing,
And thinks of an absent face.
I can hear the roar of the city
AAbout me now as I write;
But over an hundred miles of snow
My thought-steeds fly tonight,
To the dear little cozy cottage,
And the room where mother sits,
And slowly rocks in her easy chair
And thinks of me as she knits.
Sometimes with the merry dancers
When my feet are keeping time,
And my heart beats high, as young hearts will,
To the music's rhythmic chime.
My spirit slips over the distance
Over the glitter and whirl,
To my mother who sits, and rocks, and knits,
And thinks of her "little girl."
And when I listen to voices that flatter,
And smile, as women do,
To whispered words that may be sweet,
But are not always true;
I think of the sweet, quaint picture
Afar in quiet ways,
And I know one smile of my mother's eyes
Is better than all their praise.
And I know I can never wander
Far from the path of right,
Though snares are set for a woman's feet
In places that seem most bright.
For the vision is with me always,
Wherever I chance to be,
Of mother sitting, rocking, and knitting,
Thinking and praying for me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Haunted Streets
Lo, haply walking in some clattering street--
Where throngs of men and women dumbly pass,
Like shifting pictures seen within a glass
Which leave no trace behind--one seems to meet,
In roads once trodden by our mutual feet,
A face projected from that shadowy mass
Of faces, quite familiar as it was,
Which beaming on us stands out clear and sweet.
The face of faces we again behold
That lit our life when life was very fair,
And leaps our heart toward eyes and mouth and hair:
Oblivious of the undying love grown cold,
Or body sheeted in the churchyard mould,
We stretch out yearning hands and grasp--the air.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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What Is...?
What is the meaning of hate?
Is it the dislike of someone different than you?
Or is it the loathing of something simple like broccoli?
What is the meaning of discrimination?
Is it the hatred of someone of a different background?
The hatred of skin color;
Or is it the bitter taste of being different from everyone else?
What is the meaning of uniqueness?
Is it the purpose of being odd and unusual?
The adaptation to your own life and style;
Or is it the stereotypical clan that society has put you?
What is the meaning of life?
Is it that time keeps moving; leaving us in the dust is leaves behind?
The endless stream of consciousness that everything has;
Or is it the meaningless and indefinable thing we give every day?
What is the meaning of death?
Is it that grim reaper knocking at your door?
The inky blackness of nothing;
Or is it something that can’t be defined only experienced when it is time?
Many questions are asked everyday without even meaning to ask them.
They are hidden within the minds of those who are too afraid to speak out;
To let THEIR voices be heard.
So I ask you these questions in hope that you will ask them yourself;
To find the meaning of it for yourself and not what others say it is.
One final question is all I leave you with.
What is the meaning of everything that you thought you knew?
poem by Regan Meade
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First Love
My long first year of perfect love,
My deep new dream of joy; She was a little chubby girl,
I was a chubby boy.
I wore a crimson frock, white drawers,
A belt, a crown was on it;
She wore some angel's kind of dress
And such a tiny bonnet,
Old-fashioned, but the soft brown hair Would never keep its place;
A little maid with violet eyes,
And sunshine in her face.
O my child-queen, in those lost days
How sweet was daily living!
How humble and how proud I grew,
How rich by merely giving!
She went to school, the parlour-maid
Slow stepping to her trot;
That parlour-maid, ah, did she feel
How lofty was her lot!
Across the road I saw her lift
My Queen, and with a sigh
I envied Raleigh; my new coat
Was hung a peg too high.
A hoard of never-given gifts
I cherished, priceless pelf;
'Twas two whole days ere I devoured
That peppermint myself.
In Church I only prayed for her
'O God bless Lucy Hill;'
Child, may His angels keep their arms
Ever around you still.
But when the hymn came round, with heart
That feared some heart's surprising
Its secret sweet, I climbed the seat
'Mid rustling and uprising;
And there against her mother's arm
The sleeping child was leaning,
While far away the hymn went on,
The music and the meaning.
Oh I loved with more of pain
Since then, with more of passion,
Loved with the aching in my love
After our grown-up fashion;
Yet could I almost be content
To lose here at your feet
A year or two, you murmuring elm,
To dream a dream so sweet.
poem by Edward Dowden
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Cloud Of Meaning Over My Head
There is always a cloud of meaning over my head, I know
But I always look down on the ground
Never look up in the sky as my head is stuck with heat of life under my feet running into the shoes of tomorrow
I don't know how I can construct meaning out of dust in the heat
But I know meaning is over my head staring down at me
Absurdity is not meaning but life itself is meaning
Who's the Girl?
Who's the girl in the mirror?
Who's the girl in the frame?
Who's the girl with the smile that has faded off her face?
Who's the girl with the tears slowly rolling off her cheeks?
Who's the girl that cared about you?
Who's the girl that gave up everything?
Who's the girl that can't smile?
Who's the girl that's in denial?
Who's the girl that hit the ground, thinking that you'd catch her now?
Who's the girl that was betrayed?
Who's the girl that's in pain?
Who's the girl in the shadows?
Who's the girl in the shade?
Who's the girl whose light can't shine?
Who's the girl that's been left behind?
Who's the girl in that world that's been left? , There's no doubt.... she's not there.
Who's the girl that was once deep inside your heart?
Who's the girl that has cried and slowly died inside her mind?
Who's the girl you've forgotten?
Who's the girl you have hurt?
Who's the girl that has left?
Who's the girl?
Who is she?
You've forgotten her....
poem by Evelyn Castillo
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Night's Rituals
I can feel the river flow
in night-time Tsunami's
washing over me
as I am bath myself
cleansing in my secret thoughts
elevating my gentling soul
amid the ritual of it.
It is a grounding sense I gain.
I feel the centering
that thoughts, mind and soul bring
the yogaing,
the quietude
where the day's vortex
swings into orbit
and quiets itself
all around me.
It may be in the combing of the hair
the bathtub scents
the gentle rustlings
of the bed room sheets
the candle light bent
toward your glowing face
all these
are the gentle anticipations
the bare feet paddings;
the night time scents
which mean the most-
no almost the most-
to me.
Your arms reaching
are really foremost
and I take their meaning
and lie down beside you
in the all Consumming Night.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My Secret Joy
If it were not for you
It seems that every day would be
A life unfulfilled.
Winter then forever and no smile of spring.
An icy lake without a melted heart within.
You are my secret joy.
When first I saw your face
A satisfaction took the place of sad distraction.
I knew my mind had been in a phase of leaving,
You drew me back a pace, with you I saw commitment,
This time there could be no dreaming,
No time for grieving what was past.
My secret joy was here with me.
So many times, I saw her face in your face.
That special wisdom of her eyes in your eyes,
I knew a child I thought was gone for always
Had brought joy home.
I watch you watch the joy you have made
Wonder if you know the joy that you gave
Would like you to know that the joy that you made
Is my joy too.
However long before the joy that you made.
That little blue the two of you gave.
I had a little joy of my own.
Even though the joy that I made,
Has gone the road that life takes.
Singing love songs to the joys of her own,
I see reflections of the Joy that I made,
In the eyes and the heart of the Joy, she has made.
I can see pink joy reflected in blue joy,
When I see it.
My secret joy.
poem by Susan Casey
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The Irony of Love
Irony is a literary or rhetorical device.
The essayist Henry Watson Fowler wrote:
“any definition of irony
—though hundreds might be given,
and very few of them would be accepted—
must include this,
that the surface meaning
and the underlying meaning of
what is said are not the same.'
He left out that any definition of
Irony must include that it is cruel.
I never understood
The meaning of irony
Or how cruel it can be,
Until you told me,
That though you may love me,
You find it difficult to
Hear the words
“I love you” from me.
You see, some three years ago
You jokingly said
'I love you' to me,
And I begged you
Never to utter those words again.
Not because I did not want to hear them,
But because they were difficult for me.
They carried heart-felt consequences
That I did not want to face.
So, I shut out my heart and followed my head.
And in life filled with so many regrets,
It was the biggest mistake I ever made.
The irony,
After some thousand days have past,
You uttered the same
Imprudent sentiment to me.
This sentiment is the definition of irony –
The surface meaning
And underlying meaning are not the same.
Because although I asked you not to say
“I love you”,
It is all I wanted to hear.
The cruelty,
That now that heaven has at last
Blessed, cursed me with
Clarity of the heart,
And I want to say what I mean
With no different underlying sentiment,
You tell me you do not
Want to hear these words from me.
But the most ironic and cruelest part,
Will be,
If you make the same mistake I made
And keep from me what is within your heart.
poem by Hal Caufield
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O Pulchritudo
O Saint whose thousand shrines our feet have trod
And our eyes loved thy lamp's eternal beam,
Dim earthly radiance of the Unknown God,
Hope of the darkness, light of them that dream,
Far off, far off and faint, O glimmer on
Till we thy pilgrims from the road are gone.
O Word whose meaning every sense hath sought,
Voice of the teeming field and grassy mound,
Deep-whispering fountain of the wells of thought,
Will of the wind and soul of all sweet sound,
Far off, far off and faint, O murmur on
Till we thy pilgrims from the road are gone.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Lost
You left me with the autumn time;
When the winter stripped the forest bare,
Then dressed it in his spotless rime;
When frosts were lurking in the air
You left me here and went away.
The winds were cold; you could not stay.
You sought a warmer clime, until
The south wind, artful maid, should break
The winter's trumpets, and should fill
The air with songs of birds; and wake
The sleeping blossoms on the plain
And make the brooks to flow again.
I thought that the winter desolate,
And all times felt a sense of loss.
I taught my longing heart to wait,
And said, 'When Spring shall come across
The hills, with blossoms in her track,
The she, our loved one, will come back.'
And now the hills with grass and moss
The spring with cunning hands has spread,
And yet I feel my grievous loss.
My heart will not be comforted,
But crieth daily, 'Where is she
You promised should come back to me? '
Oh, love! where are you? day by day
I seek to find you, but in vain.
Men point me to a grave, and say:
'There is her bed upon the plain.'
But though I see no trace of you,
I cannot thiink their words are true.
You were too sweet to wholly pass
Away from earth, and leave no trace;
You were to fair to let the grass
Grow rank and tall above your face.
Your voice, that mocked the robin's trill,
I cannot think is hushed and still.
I thought I saw your golden hair
One day, and reached to touch a strand;
I found but yellow sunbeams there -
The bright rays fell aslant my hand,
And seemed to mock, with lights and shades,
The silken meshes of your braids.
Again, I thought I saw your hand
Wave, as if beckoning to me;
I found 'twas but a lily, fanned
By the cool zephyrs from the sea.
Oh, love! I find no trace of you -
I wonder if their words were true?
One day I heard a singing voice;
A burst of music, trill on trill.
It made my very soul rejoice;
My heart gave and exultant thrill.
I cried, 'Oh heart, we've found her - hush! '
But no - 'twas the silver-throated thrush.
And once I thought I saw your face,
And wild with joy I ran to you;
But found, when I had reached the place,
'Twas a blush rose, bathed in dew.
Ah, love! I think you must be dead;
And I believe the words they said.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Lonely Dancer
I had no heart to join the dance,
I danced it all so long ago-
Ah! light-winged music out of France,
Let other feet glide to and fro,
Weaving new patterns of romance
For bosoms of new-fallen snow.
But leave me thus where I may hear
The leafy rustle of the waltz,
The shell-like murmur in my ear,
The silken whisper fairy-false
Of unseen rainbows circling near,
And the glad shuddering of the walls.
Another dance the dancers spin,
A shadow-dance of mystic pain,
And other partners enter in
And dance within my lonely brain-
The swaying woodland shod in green,
The ghostly dancers of the rain;
The lonely dancers of the sea,
Foam-footed on the sandy bar,
The wizard dance of wind and tree,
The eddying dance of stream and star;
Yea, all these dancers tread for me
A measure mournful and bizarre:
An echo-dance where ear is eye,
And sound evokes the shapes of things,
Where out of silence and a sigh
The sad world like a picture springs,
As, when some secret bird sweeps by,
We see it in the sound of wings.
Those human feet upon the floor,
That eager pulse of rhythmic breath,-
How sadly to an unknown shore
Each silver footfall hurryeth;
A dance of autumn leaves, no more,
On the fantastic wind of death.
Fire clasped to elemental fire,
'Tis thus the solar atom whirls;
The butterfly in aery gyre,
On autumn mornings, swarms and swirls,
In dance of delicate desire,
No other than these boys and girls.
The same strange music everywhere,
The woven paces just the same,
Dancing from out the viewless air
Into the void from whence they came;
Ah! but they make a gallant flare
Against the dark, each little flame!
And what if all the meaning lies
Just in the music, not in those
Who dance thus with transfigured eyes,
Holding in vain each other close;
Only the music never dies,
The dance goes on,-the dancer goes.
A woman dancing, or a world
Poised on one crystal foot afar,
In shining gulfs of silence whirled,
Like notes of the strange music are;
Small shape against another curled,
Or dancing dust that makes a star.
To him who plays the violin
All one it is who joins the reel,
Drops from the dance, or enters in;
So that the never-ending wheel
Cease not its mystic course to spin,
For weal or woe, for woe or weal.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Who would be able to think?
I. Who would be able to think?
Who would be able to think
that your eyes as pretty
as stars shining in the heaven?
Who would be able to think
how restless my heart is beating,
that you are more beautiful than I had known before?
Who would be able to think
that your eyes are so pretty?
II. Who would be able to think?
Who would be able to think
that your eyes are prettier
than the sun hidden by banks of fog,
than the stars shining in heaven,
that the tears glittering on your cheeks
comes with a deep meaning?
Who would be able to think
that your eyes are prettier
than the glowing champagne which I am pouring
that the look in them would bring me to a confession
about feelings which hide in my heart like a lizard
while we touch glasses
and who would be able to think this?
III. Who would be able to think?
Who would be able to think
that your eyes are prettier than stars,
that you bring new meaning, to stars hanging in the sky
that your tears glowing against your cheeks
comes with a deep meaning?
Who would be able to think
while we touch glasses
that you are lovelier than I could comprehend before,
that you bring new meaning, to stars hanging in the sky
and when I pour sparkling champagne
the look in your eyes, could bring me to a confession?
Who would be able to think
how restless my heart is beating,
about feelings which hide in my heart like a lizard
that you bring new meaning, to stars hanging in the sky,
how deep I drown in the depths of your eyes
and that for a life long I have missed you?
Who would be able to think
that you bring new meaning, to stars hanging in the sky?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Question Meaning
The meaning of the question
Is to always question meaning,
The meaning of life,
And the life of meaning.
The life unquestioned
Means very little,
Just as a life left meaningless,
Without question, has very little life.
Therefore, we all should daily question
The meaning of life,
By doing so, life's Meaning
Will unquestionably, each day, find us.
Remember: we are free to question meaning;
May we become free enough to
Let it freely question us.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Old Poet
I will be glad because it is the Spring;
I will forget the winter in my heart--
Dead hopes and withered promise; and will wring
A little joy from life ere life depart.
For spendthrift youth with passion-blinded eyes,
Stays not to see how woods and fields are bright;
He hears the phantom voices call, he flies
Upon the track of some unknown delight.
To him the tender glory of the May,
White wonder of the blossom, and the clear,
Soft green leaves that opened yesterday,
This only say: Forward, my friend, not here!
They breathe no other messages than this,
They have no other meaning for his heart;
Unto his troubled sense they tell of bliss,
Which make, themselves, of bliss the better part.
Yea, joy is near him, tho' he does not know;
Her unregarded shape is at his side,
Her unheard voice is whispering clear and low,
Whom, resting never, seeks he far and wide.
So once it was with us, my heart ! To-day
We will be glad because the leaves are green,
Because the fields are fair and soft with May,
Nor think on squandered springtimes that have been.
How Can I Love Again
How can I love again
When the darkness is holding my heart beats
How can I feel happy again
When the tears are washing my face
Through the years
How can I smile again
When the
sadness is stirring
Within my soul for long years
How can my heart beat for love again
When it stopped beating before long years
The meaning of love
Since the day on Is so dirty
The love that at the past
Used to have the meaning of pure emotions
Is now so nasty
The love that I have found in your heart
It's just reminding me how silly I was
When I felt in your love
You were my hero
That I have figured him in my imagination
And disappeared at once
The love has no meaning for me now
Has no place in my heart
No one can convice me
To believe again
No one can make me trust in love once again
The loneliness is my only lover
Till forever
Dying alone at the hell of loneliness
Is much better than living at the heaven of the lie.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Look Up To See
The little girl bent her head
She lost her mother today
Lost her to the waters of death
Where her warm hugs cannot reach
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
Her little sister wipe away her tears.
The little girl bent her head
She has cried so many tears
Non of them were perfect
And she's tired of the screams
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
Her friends welcoming her home.
The little girl bent her head
The scars on her arm, a tell-tale sign
Her sadness she locks away
Hidden in colours on canvas
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
The ball go through the basket of happiness
The little girl bent her head
She thinks there could've been another way
That she should've never left.
The land of smiling skies
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
A hand show her the way
The little girl bent her head
In a dark corner lies her future
Hiding from her heart
Too far for her to touch it,
But she opens her eyes
Looks up to see
A dream walking through light
poem by Mariam de Haan
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