The Norse Gods
Beyond the snow tipped mountains,
where the Norse Gods never speak.
The guardians of winter lay fast asleep.
The endless night has fallen,
upon each sleepy head.
The virgin wilderness lay silent,
without a whisper said.
A sky of many colours,
stretches on forever.
Across this mystic land,
with its silent splendour.
Never touched by human hand.
A writer and a painter,
recluse of I know not where.
Find solace in the conclusion,
that no one will intrude there.
Mind open to the wonder,
that nature has performed.
Imagination has no motive
and the wonder is not deformed.
Grinning like gargoyles
perched on some high crest.
The Nose Gods look down forever.
For them there is no rest.
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
In The Sun
Written by joseph arthur
Performed by peter gabriel on diana, princess of wales - tribute
I picture you in the sun
Wondering what went wrong
And falling down on your knees
Asking for sympathy
And being caught inbetween
All you wish for and all you seem
And trying to find anything
You can feel that you can believe in
May gods love be with you
Always
May gods love be with you
Always
I know I would apologise
If I could see your eyes
Cos when you showed me myself, you know
I became someone else
But I was caught inbetween
All you wish for and all you need
I picture you fast asleep
A nightmare comes
You cant keep awake
May gods love be with you
Always
May gods love be with you
Always
May gods love be with you
Always
May gods love be with you
Cos if I find - if I find my own way
How much will I find
If I find - if I find my own way
How much will I find
If I find - if I find my own way
How much will I find
If I find - if I find my own way
How much will I find
How much will I find
How much will I find
You, yeh, you
Ill find you, you, you - oo
Ill find you, you, you - oo
Ill find you, you, you - oo
Oh I dont know anymore
What its for
Im not even sure
If there is anyone
Who is in the sun
Will you help me to understand
Cos Ive been caught inbetween
All I wish for and all I seem
Or maybe youre not even sure
What its for
Anymore than me
May gods love be with you
Always
May gods love be with you
May gods love be with you
Be with you ...
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Lies Bliss?
Nature, music and love are great in life
A poet and mystic of high nature loves!
Spiritually satisfying Nature he enjoys
Like a free flying bird in this world...!
Whatever comforts one gets in the world
The sense of satisfaction and joy is unique
Each one tries to find in quest of truth
In art, woman and Nature all life forever!
The solace and comfort he seeks he gets
For sure mostly in Nature when all fails!
The expression of such a unique experience
In poems endless he lives forever to guide all!
One's time will have an end one day but
What he does by his art only gives bliss!
poem by Ramesh T A
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The Poem Is Written Against The Silence Of Where Nothing Happens
If the poem is written against the silence of where nothing happens
And aims to find a way to make life sing of meaning-
But instead finds itself turning only on its own author's pain
Then what is the use of it all?
Let Poetry too go lie in its own grave
And rest in silence
With all the billions of human voices
And endless words which have sought Beauty and Greatness and Fame and Honor and Love
And now must lie silent forever as if they never were-
Poetry too can like all its authors die
And if the human light goes out
Rest in darkness forever as if it never were.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gods Coloring Book
Today as I was walking
In the fields just down the way
I sat down on a fallen log
To pass the time away
And as I looked around me
The more that I did look
The more I realize that I am viewing
Gods coloring book
I saw a golden ray of sunlight
A silver drop of dew
A soft, white floating cloud
Sailing cross the sky a blue
A yellow dandelion
Pretty evergreen
And some red and orange flowers
Growing wild along the stream
And the more I look around me
And the more that I do look
The more I realize that I am viewing
Gods coloring book
The greyness in an old mans hair
The pink in babys cheeks
The blackness in a stormy sky
The brown in fallen leaves
And the multicolored rainbow
Stretched out across the sky
And the purple haze at sunset
Just before the night
And the more I look around me
And the more that I do look
The more I realize that I am viewing
Gods coloring book
Then I turn my face toward the sky
And say a silent prayer
Though God doesnt speak to me
I see him everywhere
He is all around me
Hes everywhere I look
And each new day is but a new page
In gods coloring book
Tag:
Each new day is but a new page
In gods coloring book
Hmmmmmm
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hypnos
In my sleep, my somber sleep,
My eyes opened wide my somber sleep,
Aside Lord Hypnos, god of silent sleep,
Alone in a cave where no sun shines,
In an alias, along with Zeus alongside the divine,
Forever asleep surround by poppies and hypnogogic plants.
Under the spell of Thánatos, and never wishing grants,
In my sleep, my somber sleep,
Around me Morpheous creeps,
To cast away sounds and never awake from sleep,
I dream under the dark skies of Nyx through the night,
In my dream I percieve Morpheous, Phobetor, and Phantasos as kings,
In my dreams escape and salvation is what they bring!
Through this cave flowed the river of Lethe,
The river of forgetfulness, the river in my mind I see,
My eyes opened wide I stare at the beauty of Salene,
Daughter of titans Hyperion and Theia beautiful is she,
In my somber sleep, Salene casts over me the moon,
Also the goddess of the moon, I fall asleep too soon,
Lord Hypnos god of silent sleep,
Keep me asleep and cast away the grief!
Keep me away from the sun that Helios brings,
Keep me asleep where poppies and hypnogogic plants sings!
Close the black curtains around me, let me sleep,
Let me swim in thoughts of epiphany, in the river of Lethe,
With Endymion forever I sleep under the moon of the lunar diety,
Forever asleep with Mythological Gods of different variety,
Lord Hypnos, forever keep my asleep,
Never more I was my hands in Lethe while I weep.
poem by Kurt Kacich
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If The Poem Is Written Against The Silence Of Where Nothing Happens
IF THE POEM IS WRITTEN AGAINST THE SILENCE OF WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS
If the poem is written against the silence of where nothing happens
And aims to find a way to make life sing of meaning
But instead finds itself turning only on its own author's pain
Then what is the use of it all?
Let Poetry too go lie in its own grave
And rest in silence
With all the billions of human voices
And endless words which have sought beauty and greatness and fame and honor and love
And now must lie silent forever as if they never were-
Poetry too can like all its authors die
And if the human light goes out
Rest in darkness forever as if it never were.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And Forever
Written by dewey bunnell, 1979
Found on silent letter.
I remember sidewalk laughter down new orleans, la
A hot wet night at the fight with you
Had to push through the crowds and talk
Very loud its true
But you were on my mind that day
You were on my mind each day
You were on my mind that day and forever
Had a drink, stop to think we had a few
Afterwards we went down to the dance side of town for the view
You went blushing inside and you pinched me to see
If I knew
But you were on my mind that day
You were on my mind each day
You were on my mind that day and forever, and forever
We were lovers then and forever
There was nothing that we couldnt do
A hot wet night at the fight with you
Times like that weekend remain in my heart crystal clear
Walking along to the song you have helped me to hear
Yes you were on my mind that day
You were on my mind each day
You were on my mind that day and forever, and forever
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oche Chin
Oche chiin, oche mhic d,
Cch na suan ds araon,
Ds is dlse faire le spis
Naon beag gnaoigheal
Ceananntais caomh
Crost, na chodhladh go simh.
Crost, na chodhladh go simh.
Oche chiin, oche mhic d,
Aoir ar dts chuala n scal;
Allelia aingeal ag glaoch.
Cantain suairc I ngar is I gcin
Crost an slnaitheoir fin
Crost an slnaitheoir fin
(translation:
Silent night
---------------
Silent night, night of gods son.
Soundly in slumber, the pair together
The pair and love, watching with affection
The small bright beautiful child,
Darling little one.
Christ, calmly asleep.
Christ, calmly asleep.
Silent night, night of gods son.
Shepherds first heard the tale
The angels crying out alleluia.
Lovely chanting near and far.
Christ, the saviour himself.
Christ, the saviour himself.)
song performed by by Enya
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Manali - the Land of Gods
I always wondered why this place,
was called the land of Gods.
With harsh cold and mountain folds,
With loneliness and uneven moulds,
Without comforts and anything mod,
I didnýt know why it was called the Gods.
When I got the opportunity,
I decided to see,
Whether what I had heard was truth or hearsay.
Although I find it difficult to climb,
I agreed to join this treacherous mime.
When I arrived at the camp site,
I was dumbstruck and beholden with the sight,
Which stood before my very eyes.
Snow covered mountains, gushing streams, and the beautiful sunrise. And as I saw the various moods,
Of nature and it's various goods,
I slowly started to understand,
Why it is called the Land of God,
Despite the lack of anything mod.
Because the grass here is green,
And not the brown with which the cities teem.
Because the water here is pure,
And does not require a testing gear.
Because the birds here are free,
And not caged-in, as we see.
This land which lacks anything mod,
Is called the Land of Gods.
Because the mountains here reach up to heaven,
And are not like the Sahyadris all paven.
Because the wind here spreads fragrance,
Not dust, smoke, and other jargon.
Because the flowers here naturally bloom,
And are not forced to grow in pots to face their doom.
That's why this land which lacks anything mod,
Is called the Land of Gods.
Because the lakes here are blue,
And do not stink with the city stew.
Because the people here are simple,
And do not show off false smiles and dimples.
Because everything here is pure and natural,
This land which lacks anything mod,
Is called the Land of Gods.
Because the sun sets over a spectacular horizon,
And does not have to hide behind concrete prisons.
Because the jungles here are full of trees,
Where all components of nature mingle free.
Because at night we can see the stars,
which are not blocked out by the city lights spread afar.
That's why this land which lacks anything mod,
Is called the Land of Gods.
Seeing the Jogini waterfall,
And the Lammergeyer rock tall,
Listening about the Bhrugu Lake,
And the pleasure the effort gives and takes,
I came to know why this land which lacks anything mod,
Is called the Land of Gods.
And as I go on thinking,
In the spare moments lurking,
Where silently beside the stream,
Or by the tent rim,
I realize the reason,
Why this land which lacks anything mod,
Is called the Land of Gods.
And now the time has come for me,
To go back to my own city.
I yearn for this paradise,
Away from the city life.
Because this nature and me,
Share a similar spree,
For life and all it's blooms,
Adjusting to its glooms,
Now I see, why this land which lacks anything mod,
Is called the Land of Gods.
poem by Dipti Date Gokhale
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Glory To The Brave
Snow is falling down on this glorious land
Colours fading, turning into white again
To fallen heroes angels sing, they cry their winter tears
Endless mourning days will turn to years
So this is goodbye, I take leave of you and
Spread your wings and you will fly away now, fly away
Now
Nothing on earth stays forever
But none of your deeds were in vain
Deep in our hearts you will live again
Youre gone to the home of the brave
Every solemn moment I will treasure inside
Even though its hard to understand
T hat a silent wind can blow the candle out
Taking everything leaving the pain far behind
You call out my name, but your voice is fading
Into the wind, embraced, youll fly away now, fly away
Now
Nothing on earth stays forever
But none of your deeds were in vain
Deep in our hearts you will live again
Youre gone to the home of the brave
My eyes are closed I feel youre faraway ( so close )
Far beyond that shining star
I know youll find what youve been fighting for
Far beyond that shining star
Down on bended knee I pray, bring courage to these souls
Makeem live forever in the heart of the bold
So I say farewell my friends, I hope well meet again
When time has come to fall from grace
So this is goodbye, I take leave of you and
Spread your wings and you will fly away now, fly away
Now
Nothing on earth stays forever
But none of your deeds were in vain
Deep in our hearts you will live again
Youre gone to the home of the brave
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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S p l e n d o u r
The splendour in the elephant..
the splendour in a king;
the splendour in the human race;
the splendour of the rain, the seas;
the splendour which is God in gods;
with that same splendour, make me splendid, Lord..
*
from the RgVeda
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Tuolumne Meadows
I Love to sit in the sun
And watch the foaming Lyell
Leap over its granite bed.
I love these days that run
On a burnished golden dial
With the blue sky overhead.
I love to waken at night
And whisper the stars above me,
And feel the fingering breeze.
So still is the world, so right,
Where even the black pines love me,
And the white moon guards my ease.
I love the upward ways
To the sun-tipped crest of the mountains
High over the billowy world;
Where the wind sings hymns of praise,
And the snows break into fountains,
And life is a flag unfurled.
I love—ah, beloved, what bliss
Would shatter the ice like a river
And sing all the way to the sea,
If the world could be lost for this,
And you from your sorrow forever
Could rest on the heart of me !
poem by Harriet Monroe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Other
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me returns to slumber.
So fleeting the instant, so silent the time,
Already Fall slips into December.
The twilight has come.
The end is near.
The final sigh of Winter.
Nature heaves, my heart dies.
Life poised on a balanced whisper.
That cannot fly, is already gone,
Far away, twisted by a convulsive mutter.
I am lost, I am dread,
The illusion so faint, so sweet.
It was said, I once said.
You are mine, I am yours,
In you fulfilled, I drink and meet.
Lost, oh lost, hopelessly lost forever.
Escape, escape, I fly, I run, I go.
On the precipice of dreams, I roam.
Roam in search of another.
But I am, no more, I know,
No more will Beauty shine.
For what is right, what was mine
Has left, has left me for no other.
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me has fallen.
Fallen asleep, away from me,
Fallen in the hands of another.
It was said, I once said.
That love lasted forever.
The brilliant bushel of light
I surmise
Has fallen to the shadows of Winter.
So have you betrayed me,
With lies,
In lies, you lied with another.
So fall I have, in Fall I shook,
In Fall I met with a stranger.
Not of peace, not of hope.
The sightless eyes of restless demise,
These eyes of sorrow did whisper.
Of the deed you did, of the cries of joy,
The cries you never would utter.
For me, for me, for me,
For me you ever did slumber.
But for him, this man,
The alien, the fool,
You did turn yourself traitor,
You gave yourself, so entirely,
So entirely to another.
I cannot write.
The poet is dead.
I finally put an end to the torture.
It was a beautiful night,
Not a breeze crossed my sight,
On this longest twilight of December.
I slew the poet,
I slaughtered the stranger,
I murdered the man, this Other.
But in shame, in shame,
In misery, I did exclaim,
In shock I beheld another.
Not a stranger, no other man,
Truly
None other, none other was the stranger.
One and the same,
Yes, one and the same,
I had been deceived forever.
This curse, this doom,
This misery, this gloom,
Must look no further for its maker.
The artist of design,
The creator of the Line,
The one and only Stranger.
I cannot write,
This poem is dead.
I am now trapped in eternal slumber.
The poet was right.
It was said, I once said.
Beware the longest night of Winter.
The Beautiful night, the absence of light,
Will bring you, truly,
Will bring you naught but dread.
And so it was, the poet was dead.
The deed was done,
I ended the stranger, the impostor,
The traitor.
But in death, in death,
Even with his final words he said:
My brother, my brother,
What have you done my brother.
There is no Other.
Rest peacefully brother.
For together, in each Other.
I am dead.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Snowing In St. Louis
Today I ate some snow
And I don’t mean
That I did blow.
I restrict myself to weed and rum & coke
Chased with a colt 45.
What is it to get high?
It takes a certain constitution to endure it.
Not all survive it
Some are forever chasing the high
Never enough to be satisfied
You can see it in their eyes.
Heron I have never tried
But once I did tried crack
But found the high
Not worth the cost
The snow has change to sleet
Making pin point sounds in the streets
Covered with the preverbal blanket
That covers everything.
There are foot prints to tell where strangers went
It is now wickedly cold
My bones are nearly froze
The garden is fast asleep
Waiting the break of spring
The winds blow the snow
Into piles at the curb of the streets
Traffic has slowed to a crawl
Birds are nowhere to be found
Neither man nor beasts are on the prow
As the snow silently fall
St. Louis is no stranger to a snowy
Winter cold that blows snow up the nose
poem by David E. Patton
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The Night Is A Good Listener
The night is a good listener
How I wonder how huge its ears are,
How deep its patience in the silence
Of an ocean floor, how wide its embrace,
Like a cool thick forest, like a coiling river,
As though time does not even exist,
The night is listening to me
Intently, like I were her only son,
Because the rest of her servants and mistresses
Are all asleep,
She is so silent, in tiptoes, in a hush,
This night, I can hear how the ants crawl for crumbs,
How the lizards run and play & catch its prey on the ceiling,
How the prey on the other hand, struggles to escape,
How the air gushes on the window pane,
How the whispers of my heart sound like
Some dews dropping on some soft green blades of grass,
Indeed night is so patient, so ever silent,
Though sleepy, it gazes in me, trying to
Understand what all these silent conversation is all about,
The night understands, lip-reading my thoughts,
Listening intently, the night sits, and
Now, signals for an embrace, with arms and heart wide open
Some of her tears are starting to fall.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Child Within The Man {When Crossroads Connect}
Crossroads splitting 'neath July's late sun,
like a silent tremor,
four streets meet,
and it's time for decision-
where to go now.
Looking for alternate roads,
sun dying fast,
narrowing paths and options.
I see a bridge beyond and 'neath
a backdrape of golden
trimmed burgandy;
high sunset bleeding
into evenings mergence,
like a virgin falling,
falling-
falling to her knees
slowly, softly-
to her knees.
I wait for sunsets torch pass
to twilight, such nuance
of final subtle change of light,
enabling me to find a path...
and take me home.
But, the 'wait' seemed as endless time-
endless time;
made my mind drift away -
from logical concepts,
my world of command-
and inexplicably...I was a child again,
approaching the Bridge and grinning
at the illusive kaleidoscopics above,
dripping from the sky.....
like strawberry syrup.
Darkness free from daylights womb,
smothering twilights breath
in concert with three-quarters Moon -
resurrecting light to the nascent eve.
And upon a closer look, i see-
that these crossroads ne'er split, at all;
ne'er at all;
that the abstract drip of Sunset
had merely cast deception
on the roads roughshod pavement
i'd attempted to negotiate,
as all men tend to do!
And i saw all this, as a child
with limited logic, or so it seemed;
which made me wonder
how i'd find my way home,
now that the child within,
had left me to become -
a well versed man of judgement,
a man of good judgement.
Makes me wonder, still, 'bout many other things,
as a man of head-strong conviction,
as opposed to the boy at the crossroads,
who saw Life with open-mind and eye's,
knowing somehow, there was a way home,
by following the familiar lights ahead,
taking in its shades and colours.
Hope this boy does not grow up too fast,
for i have so much to learn from him....,
before he becomes me...
becomes me...
becomes.
_________________ F j R__________________
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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As One Very Powerful Deity
Gods created the universe,
That's what numerous bibles state,
All life the creators did disperse,
Then they left us to our fate.
The miracle is the diversity of life,
Just how do we all survive?
Is it these Gods who give us strife?
Or do they help us to stay alive?
What came first the chicken or the egg?
I guess only the Gods can tell,
It truly is a question to beg,
It's like, is there a Heaven and Hell.
They must all be really clever,
As it was completed in six full days,
Work on the seventh, never,
That's their day to laze.
Could that mean that Gods needs rest?
Surely that can't be true,
I would imagine they'd all be full of zest,
Or I'd imagine chaos would ensue.
An endless cosmos forever evolving,
Keeping it safe is a major task,
Constant problems which do need resolving,
For our Gods help we all tend to ask.
They must be busy all year round,
Well apart from their day of leisure,
Wherever there's trouble to be found,
We all pray to our national treasure.
Humans believe in multiple Gods,
Yet religion can be so unforgiving,
That is why we are all at odds,
Dying is the reason we are living.
Before we pass we live in hope,
That to Gods Heaven we will ascend,
If we don't, how would we cope,
As past mistakes we cannot amend.
Who made them and who made their maker?
Or are they all just one big illusion,
If they are that would be an Earth shaker,
All that would do is create more confusion.
Myself, well I've been thinking hard,
If these beings are so high and mighty,
The creator of the Gods I would have to regard,
‘' As One Very Powerful Deity ‘'
Kiss Of The Winter Moon
Darkness heals the wounds
that daylight laughter laid open.
Confess your secret dreams
before the audience of the moon.
To the silent night,
to the falling snow,
to the flickering star.
Embraced by shadows,
that feel what you feel,
that are what you are,
that dream what you dream.
The open winter window,
frames her featureless dark face,
betrayed by wisps of frosted breath,
and twinkling tears,
on frozen cheeks.
Soft...silent shadows,
caress her,
in a cloak,
of cold..
quiet..
snow.
a shiver,
a fallen tear,
becomes…
a snowflake.
Moonlight is forgiveness,
and kisses the face,
that is laughed at,
by the sun.
poem by George Vuyakovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Gods
Last night, as one who hears a tragic jest,
I woke from dreams, half-laughing, half in tears;
Methought that I had journeyed in the spheres
And stood upon the Planet of the Blest
And found thereon a folk who prayed with zest
Exceeding, and through all their painful years
Like strong souls struggled on 'mid hopes and fears;
"Where dwell the gods," they said, "we shall find rest."
The gods? What gods, I thought, are those who so
Inspire their worshippers with faith that flowers
Immortal? and who make them keep aglow
The flames forever on their altar-towers?
"Where dwell these gods of yours?" I asked--and lo!
They pointed upwards to this earth of ours!
poem by Victor James Daley
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The Celebes
DEAR islands of the Orient,
Where Nature's first of love was spent;
Sweet hill-tops of the summered land
Where gods and men went hand in hand
In golden days of sinless earth!
Woe rack the womb of time, that bore
The primal evil to its birth!
It came; the gods were seen no more:
The fields made sacred by their feet,
The flowers they loved, grown all too sweet,
The streams their bright forms mirrored,
The fragrant banks that made their bed,
The human hearts round which they wove
Their threads of superhuman love—
These were too dear and desolate
To sink to fallen man's estate;
The gods who loved them loosed the seas,
Struck free the barriers of the deep,
That rolled in one careering sweep
And filled the land, as 'twere a grave,
And left no beauteous remnant, save
Those hill-tops called the Celebes.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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