The Cage
In the waking night
The forests have stopped growing
The shells are listening
The shadows in the pools turn grey
The pearls dissolve in the shadow
And I return to you
Your face is marked upon the clockface,
My hands are beneath your hair
And if the time you mark sets free the birds
And if they fly away towards the forest
The hour will no longer be ours
Ours is the ornate birdcage
The brimming cup of water
The preface to the book
And all the clocks are ticking
All the dark rooms are moving
All the air's nerves are bare.
Once flown
The feathered hour will not return
And I shall have gone away.
poem by David Gascoyne
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Related quotes
Dissolve
Sugar cube drop into a yellow cup
What makes the world just waking up
Revolve?
Dissolve
Who know where on earth it's going to stop?
I can't hear you 'cos we're breaking up
Dissolve
And the stones in the track make work for the mechanic
The birds all fly from the branches in a panic
And a back-fire echoes down the hillside
As the last headline report dies
Dissolve
Ice is melting a the distant Pole
The gin and tonic glasses overflow
Dissolve
The precious little else that I could say
Your stupid tear of laughter washed away
Dissolve
While the poisonous light pours from the picture palace
And it flickers on, tries so hard to be scandalous
A child keeps beating on a toy drum
And the tablets dropped on your tongue
Dissolve
"So salute me in moving frame"
"I might not be there when you look again"
The mourning border card behind the clock
The hour that he passed, unwound and stopped
Dissolve
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only a Flicker
Singly stripped from off the bark
of life our days may not return,
only a flicker in the dark
swift sparkles, - matchless pages turn.
Branches leaved now bare and stark,
scarecrow stand as seasons burn
concentric rings which leave their mark
beneath the bark mid forest fern.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Sun-Dial at Wells College
The shadow by my finger cast
Divides the future from the past:
Before it, sleeps the unborn hour
In darkness, and beyond thy power:
Behind its unreturning line,
The vanished hour, no longer thine:
One hour alone is in thy hands,--
The NOW on which the shadow stands.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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An Agonised Prayer
Death was prowling
from funeral to funeral.
No shadow will be spared today.
I am not ready yet for the final curtain.
Bullets have left some clocks
ticking in the pockets of time.
I shall call the leader
who is hiding behind the scriptures.
Don’t choose the destiny.
Don’t commit the date.
Anguish itself will find the path.
What was wrong with the earth?
It has stopped moving,
the stars are drifting away.
Another explosion in the sun?
I don’t know.
This world is heavy with pain.
Rivers are flooded with blood and tears
and I am roaming in the jungle of lies.
Are you listening?
poem by Satish Verma
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All the music was stopped! !
All da music was stopped
Brought hour to halt
Spookiness prevailed everywhere
Ghosts moving here n there
No sign of life
All da music was stopped
Ppl stopped walking
N I was moving
Feet were tired
Eyes were cruel
There was nobody to save me
I was stopped
All da music was stopped
It tuk away my walk
Heels were high
But peek was low
All da glitter was gone
Wid da mist of his bones
All da music was stopped
Brought hour to halt
poem by Somia Race
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Water Lilies
If you have forgotten water lilies floating
On a dark lake among mountains in the afternoon shade,
If you have forgotten their wet, sleepy fragrance,
Then you can return and not be afraid.
But if you remember, then turn away forever
To the plains and the prairies where pools are far apart,
There you will not come at dusk on closing water lilies,
And the shadow of mountains will not fall on your heart.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Beauty Sleeping Breathes
The silhouette of the horizon is wavering, as a mile a minuet we pass
Chalk figures etched into the hillside by ancient hands echoing the grandeur lost of our kingdom green.
Searching for love in the shade of the hangman’s tree,
I'm seeking freedom in the shadow of misery.
Beneath a blanket death the springtime maiden - beauty sleeping breathes
Beneath a blanket of fallen leaves, there she receives comfort warmth from her mothers bosom
Suckling upon the roots of the world tree no serpent is she that sets us free.
The Willow man is singing, heralding the Oak kings return.
The Summer Sun is rising and to no surprise smiles return once more upon the faces
Of those who can find no joy within the hibernation that Winter decrees.
The shadows of the night reflect themselves in contorted passion,
Strange gnarled expressions whisper in my ear the secrets of now and then
The fear of darkness is the fear of death enveloping, suffocating the skin.
poem by David Lacey
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Its Over
(words & music by rodgers)
If time were not a moving thing
And I could make it stay
This hour of love we share
Would always be
Thered be no coming day
To shine a morning light
And make us realize our night is over
When you walk away from me
There is no place to put my hand
Except to shade my eyes against the sun
That rises over the land
I watch you walk away
Somehow I have to let you go
Cause its over
If you knew just how I really feel
You might return and yet
There are so many times
That people have to love and then forget
Oh there might have been a way somehow
I have to force myself to say
Its over
So I turn my back,
Turn my collar to the wind
Move along in silence
Trying not to think at all
I set my feet before me
Walk the silent street before me
Now its over
If time were not a moving thing
And I could make you stay
This hour of love we share
Would always be
Thered be no coming day
To shine a morning light
And make us realize our night is over
Its over
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I Woke
When I woke, the town spoke.
Birds and clocks and cross bells
Dinned aside the coiling crowd,
The reptile profligates in a flame,
Spoilers and pokers of sleep,
The next-door sea dispelled
Frogs and satans and woman-luck,
While a man outside with a billhook,
Up to his head in his blood,
Cutting the morning off,
The warm-veined double of Time
And his scarving beard from a book,
Slashed down the last snake as though
It were a wand or subtle bough,
Its tongue peeled in the wrap of a leaf.
Every morning I make,
God in bed, good and bad,
After a water-face walk,
The death-stagged scatter-breath
Mammoth and sparrowfall
Everybody's earth.
Where birds ride like leaves and boats like ducks
I heard, this morning, waking,
Crossly out of the town noises
A voice in the erected air,
No prophet-progeny of mine,
Cry my sea town was breaking.
No Time, spoke the clocks, no God, rang the bells,
I drew the white sheet over the islands
And the coins on my eyelids sang like shells.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Infinity Hour
In goes the knife
Pull out his life
Consider his life erased
Running wild in the night
searching for a new day
doesn't matter what you say
i'll do it anyway
Time keeps ticking
My life is flipping
Can i press rewind?
In infinity hour
Life is getting faster
Time is moving slower
No time to go back
Everythings over with
Time is standing still
Its all against my will
Infinity hour
Every laws against
What we thirst to drink
Washing knives off in the sink
Killing time is a hard job
I'm tired of these rules to obey
Doesn't matter what you say
i'll do it anyway
Time keeps going faster
Tired of killings bastards
My head is spinning
Can i press rewind
In infinity hour
Life is getting faster
Time is moving slower
No time to go back
Everythings over with
Time is standing still
Its all against my will
Infinity hour
no time, no time, no time
tick tock tick tock tick tock
in goes my knife, out goes time's life
time never dies
In infinity hour
Life is getting faster
Time is moving slower
No time to go back
Everythings over with
Time is standing still
Its all against my will
Infinity hour
poem by Brandon Bizon
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I thought I saw an angel......
Her hair was long, it blew in the breeze.
a warm summer sun sat in the trees.
while birds high above sang as sweet as could be
for the girl with long blonde hair was free.
She sauntered through the glades,
she lingered by the water's edge.
and fed the swans some crumbs and then
continued along her way.
Her slender legs were tanned and toned,
she seemed so peaceful all alone,
as a wisp of her hair blew by her eyes
as it glistened like gold beneath the skies.
Many a young man glanced her way
hoping for a smile, but the girl
never stopped to return their gaze,
she just gently walked on by.
And as morning drifted into noon
and the heat of the sun made a haze,
I thought I saw an angel there
as she ambled along that day.
In her heart was a gift from the heavens
letting her spirit fly free
and the charm that she wore about her,
kept her safely from you and from me.
Then as she passed the strangers there
in that magical haunting way
there was a misty shadow cast
and the girl just drifted away.
Nobody knew where she came from,
and nobody knew where she went,
but the trees seem to whisper a melody
and the weeping willow wept.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Dedication: To M. C. M. C.
THE well-
They come to it and take
Their cupful or their palmful out of it.
The well-
Stones are around it, and an elder bush
Is there; a high rowan tree; and so
The well is marked.
Who knows
Whence come the waters? Through what passages
Beneath? From what high tors
Where forests are? Forests dripping rain!
Branches pouring to the ground; trunks, barks, roots,
Letting the streamlets down: through the dark earth
The water flows, and in that secret flood
That's called a spring, that finds this little hollow.
Who knows
Whence come the waters that fill cup and palm?
Sweetheart and comrade, I give you
The waters' marches and the forest's bound,
The valley-filling cloud, the trees that set
The rains beneath their roots, out of this well.
poem by Padraic Colum
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The Necromancer
Words and music by geddy lee, alex lifeson, and neil peart
I. into darkness
As grey traces of dawn tinge the eastern sky, the three
Travelers, men of willow dale, emerge from the forest
Shadow. fording the river dawn, they turn south,
Journeying into the dark and forbidding lands of the
Necromancer. even now the intensity of his dread power
Can be felt, weakening the body and saddening the heart.
Ultimately they will become empty, mindless spectres,
Stripped of will and soul. only their thirst for freedom
Gives them hunger for vengeance...
Silence shrouds the forest
As the birds announce the dawn
Three travllers ford the river
And southward journey on
The road is lined with peril
The air is charged with fear
The shadow of his nearness
Weighs like iron tears
Ii. under the shadow
Shreds of black cloud loom in overcast skies. the
Necromancer keeps watch with his magic prism eyes. he
Views all his lands and is already aware of the three
Helpless invaders trapped in his lair...
Brooding in the tower
Watching oer his land
Holding evry creature
Helplessly they stand
Gaze into his prisms
Knowing they are near
Lead them to the dungeons
Spectres numb with fear
They bow defeated
Iii. return of the prince
Enter the champion.
Prince by-tor appears to battle for freedom from chains
Of long years. the spell has been broken...the dark lands
Are bright, the wraith of the necromancer soars away...in
The night.
Stealthily attacking
By-tor slays his foe
The men are free to run now
From labyrinths below
The wraith of necromancer
Shadows through the sky
Another land to darken
With evil prism eye...
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Unresolved New Year
At the hour of twelve on New Years Eve
When the old year turns into the new
Thoughts turn to what the future holds
And what goals we should pursue.
At the hour of nine on New Years Day
Or some time thereabouts
We wake with great reluctance and
Those resolutions start to doubt.
At the hour of ten on New Years Day
When we start to feel our age
By then we've written lists of things
That will benefit through change.
At the hour of twelve on New Years Day
When things start getting clear
We find we've hid that list away
To return to in one year.
poem by David Keig
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The Tree
Fair tree! for thy delightful shade
'Tis just that some return be made;
Sure some return is due from me
To thy cool shadows, and to thee.
When thou to birds dost shelter give,
Thou music dost from them receive;
If travellers beneath thee stay
Till storms have worn themselves away,
That time in praising thee they spend
And thy protecting pow'r commend.
The shepherd here, from scorching freed,
Tunes to thy dancing leaves his reed;
Whilst his lov'd nymph, in thanks, bestows
Her flow'ry chaplets on thy boughs.
Shall I then only silent be,
And no return be made by me?
No; let this wish upon thee wait,
And still to flourish be thy fate.
To future ages may'st thou stand
Untouch'd by the rash workman's hand,
Till that large stock of sap is spent,
Which gives thy summer's ornament;
Till the fierce winds, that vainly strive
To shock thy greatness whilst alive,
Shall on thy lifeless hour attend,
Prevent the axe, and grace thy end;
Their scatter'd strength together call
And to the clouds proclaim thy fall;
Who then their ev'ning dews may spare
When thou no longer art their care,
But shalt, like ancient heroes, burn,
And some bright hearth be made thy urn.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Remember Me
Dear one I miss you so,
miss you every minute.
A minute moves too fast you say,
Not without you in it.
The hour is even longer
and it makes me yearn
for the hour to go faster
when finally you'll return.
The day's nearly over
and night is drawing near.
And when the night is upon me
I wish that you were here.
I only need to know dear
before I fall asleep
that you do remember me
and that memory you'll keep
locked up in your heart until
I see you once again.
How will I be able to wait?
If you remember me, I can.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Shadows on the Water
Water stretched out before me. A lake of crystals, filled
with overlapping rocks along the bottom. A few jutted out.
One could only guess what lay beneath them, but I did not worry
about what was below me. I did not worry about the Unknown,
for how could I worry about what I did not know was there?
Instead, I worried about the shadows that I cast,
the picture of me that was not me that covered up the world.
I leaped into the water, but my shadow followed me.
I am never alone.
Anywhere I go, I have my mark with me; the mark of darkness.
The mark that everyone has. Like a signature.
A signature that is always there and can be copied with ease.
The sun set as the moon rose. My shadow became less
prominent, and yet it was always there, following me.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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When The Blue Hour Comes
Orbison/ crowell
The good times are all gone
The night keeps coming on so strong
You cant hold on, no matter what you do
Will there be someone who cares for you
When the blue hour comes?
When the blue hour comes?
And when your restless heart
Tears your world apart
And everywhere you turn
Its falling down on you
Will there be a light that shines for you?
When the blue hour comes for you
If theres anything that you would have me do
Just call on me and Ill be coming through
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
Good times dont last forever
Sometimes its now or never
Darling, reach out for me
You know where Ill be
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes for you
If theres anything that you would have me do
Just call on me and Ill be coming through
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
I will always be there
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes....(repeat to fade)
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pages in the Book
in the midnite hour 'neath the street lamp shadows,
where lifetimes come and go, and salvation follows.
and the heart stripped bare has no need to lie...
the taste of your lips, the tears that i cant cry.
with beaten hands and swords into plows;
giving all that i am, more than i can do without.
i'd trade eternity for one moment by your side...
with your hand in mine and nothing left to hide.
making love in the dirt by the cementary stones,
the yip of the dogs while the wind howls and moans.
your fingers dig into my back, i dive into your soul...
where fire was discovered, spinning out of control.
you close the book, turn the page, walk out the door,
call it all a lie, say you dont love me anymore.
the scars of passion in the shadows 'neath your eyes...
hymns of hope and redemption where the sparrow flies.
pour me a drink, light a smoke, my hat and my heart,
looking for your image in the hunger of the dark.
truth and freedom and justice dissolve into dust...
struck blind and deaf, my soul turned to rust.
down the road past the house where nobody lives.
where love looks in a mirror, repents and forgives.
every moment wasted, every word unspoken turns...
the heart beats faster, but the fire slowly burns.
kiss my lips and bury me down by the willow tree.
take this weight from my heart, set my spirit free.
in the eyes of God and time you are my destiny...
i'm nothing but a river that flows into your sea.
say no prayers, now the time of praying is past.
what's last is now first, what's first is now last...
the song of the poet dies with a fatal look...
all that we are now... pages in the book.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sun-Dial, In The Churchyard Of Bremhill
So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade,
Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day,
The pleasing pictures of the present fade,
And like a summer vapour steal away!
And have not they, who here forgotten lie
(Say, hoary chronicler of ages past!)
Once marked thy shadow with delighted eye,
Nor thought it fled, how certain, and how fast!
Since thou hast stood, and thus thy vigil kept,
Noting each hour, o'er mouldering stones beneath;
The pastor and his flock alike have slept,
And dust to dust proclaimed the stride of death.
Another race succeeds, and counts the hour,
Careless alike; the hour still seems to smile,
As hope, and youth, and life, were in our power;
So smiling and so perishing the while.
I heard the village bells, with gladsome sound,
When to these scenes a stranger I drew near,
Proclaim the tidings to the village round,
While memory wept upon the good man's bier.
Even so, when I am dead, shall the same bells
Ring merrily, when my brief days are gone;
While still the lapse of time thy shadow tells,
And strangers gaze upon my humble stone!
Enough, if we may wait in calm content,
The hour that bears us to the silent sod;
Blameless improve the time that heaven has lent,
And leave the issue to thy will, O God!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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