Rhapsody on a Windy Night
Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars."
The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."
The last twist of the knife.
poem by T.S. Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
A Midnight summer hour
A Midnight summer hour, in the streets of a dormant city
That has not a sound from the warm dusty, pavement
The pale moon has lost her memory in nightly orbit of pity
She is smiling alone in awkward mockery, madness no sentiment
In the dimming lamplight the withered leaves of late summer
Are collecting at my feet and at the corner streets
And the wind by them begins at their hiss to moan
So terrifying sounds that it delays the hesitating dawn
The memory of her all alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the reminisces of old happy days
She was so beautiful then under the sun at the bay
I remember the time I knew that happiness was a delight
Let this divine memory live again in my fantasy
As I walk desolated in empty streets as every street lamp
Seems to beat a fatalistic beacon of final flame
A warning, of its doom approaching end and agonizing ecstasy
Someone mutters at the street lamp gutters band
And soon a fierce and foul dawn rises on the beach sand
The light from her window into the darkness beams
She is no longer mine such an abrasive realistic it seems
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Lava Lamp
In the half light of the evening
I could almost see you glow, I can tell by the way you're moving,
Time may be right to let you know,
you've got a many coloured halo, the body of venus
a babe rainbow and if I come on any closer, I might fall into your silhouette
but the shape of things to come is constantly changing
so let it, so let it, so let it flow
lava lava lava lamp, lava lava lava lamp
indigo, violet and blue, can we meet where the edge is blur cause I am comin' atcha, like a bug eye heading for the burn
the truth is I can't stay away, no I wanna let you light my volcano
and maybe it's just my imagination, but you never know
because the shape of things to come is constantly changing
so let it, so let it, so let it flow
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
so let it, so let it, so let it ...
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
lava lava lava lamp, I'd love to turn you on
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Burning Of The Midnight Lamp
Burning of the midnight lamp
The morning is dead
And the day is too
There's nothing left here to greet me
But the velevet moon
All my loneliness
I have felt today
It's a little more than enough
To make a man throw himself away
And i continue
To burn the midnight lamp
Alone
Now the smiling portrait of you
Is stll hangin' on my frowning wall
It really doesn't really doesn't bother me too much at all
It's just the, uh, ever falling dust
That makes it so hard for me to see
That forgotten ear-ring laying on the floor
Facing coldly toward the door
And i continue
To burn the midnight lamp
All alone
Burn
Lonely lonely, yeah
Lonely lonely lonely
Loneliness is such a, drag
So here i sit to face
That same old fire place
Gettin' ready for the sam old explosion
Goin' through my mind
And soon enough time will tell
About the circus and the wishingwell
And someone who will buy and sell for me
Someone who will toll my bell
And i continue to burn the midnight lamp
Alone
Darlin' do you here me callin' you
So lonely
Lonely!
song performed by by Jimi Hendrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Lamp In Us!
The small lamp commenced to burn,
When two bodies united as one,
From the day one until the day yet to know,
The lamp burns slowly in the spirit of ions.
Keeping the lamp safe from rough climes,
Protecting the yarn from the heavy dye,
Nourishing the lamp with fuels approved,
The lamp may burn quietly as expected.
we let it burn with bigger flame,
By adding steroidal fuels and nocturnal fun,
we let the motor to run in higher speed,
by pressing the temptation to accelerate.
The lamp may start to play snake and ladder,
By climbing up and down at the dice of illnesses,
Sometimes gets overheated to jam up the motor,
Hold your lamp lovingly for it to glow pleasantly.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Since Nine O'Clock
Half past twelve. Time has gone by quickly
since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp
and sat down here. I've been sitting without reading,
without speaking. Completely alone in the house,
whom could I talk to?
Since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp
the shade of my young body
has come to haunt me, to remind me
of shut scented rooms,
of past sensual pleasure - what daring pleasure.
And it's also brought back to me
streets now unrecognizable,
bustling night clubs now closed,
theatres and cafes no longer here.
The shade of my young body
also brought back the things that make us sad:
family grief, separations,
the feelings of my own people, feelings
of the dead so little acknowledged.
Half past twelve. How the time has gone by.
Half past twelve. How the years have gone by.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her lamp glowed, their heads bowed
One, two she counted.
Three four, she moved
Lamp in hand glowed
No suitor, black faces
Terrified as rats for cat
Stared back, pleadingly
Inside eyes, she moved on
Her lamp teased,
Their hearts pounded
The pretty lass,
stood for a kill
Five to six lamp
On face after face
She sighed, her choice,
Her type
None could make,
Her lamp glowed,
Out their heads bowed.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lamp of Poor Souls
[In many English churches before the Reformation there was kept a little lamp continually burning, called the Lamp of Poor Souls. People were reminded thereby to pray for the souls of those dead whose kinsfolk were too poor to pay for prayers and masses.]
Above my head the shields are stained with rust,
The wind has taken his spoil, the moth his part;
Dust of dead men beneath my knees, and dust,
Lord, in my heart.
Lay Thou the hand of faith upon my fears;
The priest has prayed, the silver bell has rung,
But not for him. O unforgotten tears,
He was so young!
Shine, little lamp, nor let thy light grow dim.
Into what vast, dread dreams, what lonely lands,
Into what griefs hath death delivered him,
Far from my hands?
Cradled is he, with half his prayers forgot.
I cannot learn the level way he goes.
He whom the harvest hath remembered not
Sleeps with the rose.
Shine, little lamp, fed with sweet oil of prayers.
Shine, little lamp, as God's own eyes may shine,
When He treads softly down His starry stairs
And whispers, "Thou art Mine."
Shine, little lamp, for love hath fed thy gleam.
Sleep, little soul, by God's own hands set free.
Cling to His arms and sleep, and sleeping, dream,
And dreaming, look for me.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So what are you doing with your life now?
She says
She stares blankly on the wall
She is busy
Counting the lamp posts on the streets
She is so busy
She thinks God is preparing something
Grand for her and she is so busy
Too preparing something for God
Who prepares for her.
I am amazed
I ask her
“So, did you stare long enough on that blank wall
Was it really blank? Did you really stare?
What made the wall so blank? Is the stare really
Worth making on a blank wall?
And how many lamp posts have you counted?
Is the street filled with lamp posts?
How is God? When will the preparation last?
How are you doing with God? Is God busy too? ”
She is a little bit understanding to my way of thinking.
“There you are making a poem again. You have never changed.”
She said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Dusky Path Of A Dream
IN the dusky path of a dream I went to seek the love who was mine in a former life.
Her house stood at the end of a desolate street.
In the evening breeze her pet peacock sat drowsing on its perch, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.
She set her lamp down by the portal and stood before me.
She raised her large eyes to my face and mutely asked, 'Are you well, my friend?'
I tried to answer, but our language had been lost and forgotten.
I thought and thought; our names would not come to my mind.
Tears shone in her eyes. She held up her right hand to me. I took it and stood silent.
Our lamp had flickered in the evening breeze and died.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mad Man
there is this mad man on
the street carrying a lighted lamp
at midday
he screams that this world
is about to end
and people do not listen
he sometimes laughs at the top of his voice
when all of them are all gone
in the middle of the night
he sings the song of chaos
he gives the warning
but then the world is asleep and
numb,
the following morning you ask me about the mad man
how come that he screams, and lights a lamp during the day,
singing the songs of chaos
foretelling the doom of the world
i have no answer of course
but there is one thing i am sure of
it is about us not having understood him
a bit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dark Night
There is darkness everywhere,
the night is darker than black,
strange shadows loom on the wall,
as light flickers and flutters
on the oil lamp
The merciless wind is blowing hard,
harder than ever it was,
sharp like a sword,
piercing and reaming my raw wounds,
the flame on the lamp flutters violently
and then is blown off.
The wind smiles and then suddenly it is gone.
I light my lamp again.
poem by Dr Madhavi Grace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sea and Me
Light a lamp inside my home
so I may feel welcome from whence I roam.
For I have been gone for much too long.
I yearn to hear your sad sweet song.
The light of the lamp will say to me
that I have been missed too much by thee.
Such is the life of a man of the sea,
torn between work and his family.
I've missed the smell of food just cooked
and the taste of it and how it looked.
The time I've lost with you by my side
brings me all the tears I must hide.
The sea is my home away from you.
It's what I love. It's what I do.
But when I return from ventures on high
I know where my heart also does lie,
Between the sea and you, whom I love,
beneath the stars and the sky above.
Be patient my wife and pray for me
and keep the lamp lit so I may see
the warmth of the lamp that fills my heart
and keep it lit when I depart.
For the sea is calling and I must go
out where the waves and the wind doth blow.
Such is the life of this family of mine
as I sail the sea and they do pine.
God, grant them peace. Let the lamp stay lit.
For this life I love I cannot quit.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brite And Dark
Lamp light
Will be making
Little darkness
Shado...
Lamp was
Bright...
Bright is lamp
Life...
Shado darkness
Also the lamp
Life...! ! !
Example is
Sutable to
Human life also;
Understand...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know no way of judging the future but by the past.
In The Enchanted Tower
THE waves in thunderous menace break
Upon the rocks below my tower,
And none will dare the Sea-king's power
And venture shipwreck for my sake.
Yet once,--my lamp a path of light
Across the darkling sea had cast--
I saw a sail; at last, at last,
It came towards me through the night.
My lamp had been the beacon set
To lead the ship through mist and foam,
The ship that came to take me home,
To that far land I half forget.
But since my tower is built so high,
And surf-robed rocks curl hid below,
I quenched my lamp--and, weeping low
I saw my ship go safely by!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Read 'em And Weep
Midnight, not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory, she is smiling alone
In the lamplight, the withered leaves, collected my fee
And the wind begins to moan
Memory, all alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days, it was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life, and I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes, tonight will be a memory, too
And a new day will begin
Burnt out ends of smoky days, the stale cold smell of morning
The street lamp dies, another night is over, another day is dawning
Touch me, it's so easy to leave me, all alone with the memory of my day in the sun
If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is
Look a new day, has begun
Memory, all alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days, it was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 05 On Love And Youth Story 06
I remember that one night a dear friend of mine entered when I jumped up in such a heedless way that the lamp was extinguished by my sleeve. A vision appeared in the night and by its appearance the darkness was illuminated.
I was amazed at my luck exclaiming whence this felicity?
He took a seat and began reproving me saying that when I beheld him I extinguished the lamp. I said: ‘I thought the sun had risen and wits have said:
When an ugly person comes before the lamp
Arise to him and pull him into the assembly
But if it be a sugar-smiled, sweet-lipped one
Pull him by the sleeve and extinguish the lamp.’
Thy Word
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
When I feel afraid,
And think Ive lost my way.
Still, youre there right beside me.
Nothing will I fear
As long as you are near;
Please be near me to the end.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
I will not forget
Your love for me and yet,
My heart forever is wandering.
Jesus by my guide,
And hold me to your side,
And I will love you to the end.
Nothing will I fear
As long as you are near;
Please be near me to the end.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet
And a light unto my path.
And a light unto my path.
Youre the light unto my path.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ho.....
lamp
dark...
no...
with out
power cut...
how..!
lamp was out...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chance
I do not remember who you are
everything escapes from my hand
through the spaces between my fingers
into this nameless land
My life is woven out of water
noting stays and everything goes
my memory is a river
forever running its way out of history
I am nothing desired
I am nothing stopped
I come and go any time and any way
alone and ten times alone
I do not have a single breath to mourn for
And always I give out myself for souvenirs
each time passing for something else
for you and those like you
and what I am will be
what I will be for each one of you
the city of flowers, eyes of the loam
describe shelter: piece of crap
>weak roof, could be blown off anytime
>cardboard walls, easy to put apart when gov’t wants them out
malnourished child reading book
>lamp source of light
>skips parts with words s/he doesnt understand
>books saved by father from fire, father loved books
>father died trying to save more things, leaving behind: 2 children + wife
>mother died giving birth to a still born
whistles from outside
>sister is back, she shouts at the perverts
child comes out with a stick
>drunkards earn enough to get drunk
>they push him/her, throws a pail of water
>dirty water dripping from body of the child
>”useless aral, you should work, inutil! ”
sister helps him/her, shouts at men
>no one bothers to help a “dirty” woman
sister prepares food she bought
>she coughs, months na ang ubo
>angry, “dont turn on lamp unless kailangan, mahal gas”
sister leaves
>not touching the child for fear of infection
>”matulog ka na, tagal pa ako balik”
>puts off the lamp
malnourished child turns on the lamp
>reads book again
* reprinted from a friend's collection
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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