En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Resurrection of Moths

The moths worship a flame
in a circular motions,
As lovelorn stars orbit the moon
in a Venus constellation.
Chant a mythical choir in
a mystical fashion-
To appease the divine goddess
of love and passions.

A lamp of love bejeweled with
cacoethes’s emotions,
Bedding a wick woven
with wonderful impressions
And feeding it with
fiery oil of passions.

The moths resemble
the martyrs
ready to die for a nation,
Are raring for kamikaze on
spherical stations
of the flame housed in
bosom of emotions.

They aim to land on
Goddess of passions,
Mate with her in
fire walled mansion
Use their burning
flesh to graced an
auspicious occasion.

The hypnotized moths
march on drumbeats
-war chirps of crickets,
In a mind numbing night
-the starlit thickets,
With their face glowing
without fear or regret:
Chant dust to dust, ash to ash
While landing on bosom
of flaming lass
Smilingly turns
to mounds of ash.

Lo! A magical wand
of resurrection
of a golden glass,
Mysteriously moving
on mounds of ash,
Raises the seraphic
moths of the
highest class.

poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Moths

The streetlight on the corner
in that cornered spot
has moths all around it
even though it's hot.

I see it from my window.
It flickers now and then.
The moths circle further away
but then they're back again.

What will those poor moths do
if that light goes out?
If I see it happen
I'll go outside and shout.

'Hey moths come over here.
I'll turn my porch light on.'
Then I can watch you circle once more
until the night is gone.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Moths

The leaded window opened
To move the dancing candle flame
And the first moths of summer
Suicidal came.
And a new breeze chattered
In its may-bud tenderness ---
Sending water-lillies sailing
As she turned to get undressed.
And the long night awakened
And we soared on powdered wings ---
Circling our tomorrows
In the wary month of spring.
Chasing shadows slipping
In a magic lantern slide ---
Creatures of the candle
On a night-light-ride.
Dipping and weaving --- flutter
Through the golden needles eye
In our haystack madness. butterfly-stroking
On a spring-tide high.
Lifes too long (as the lemming said)
As the candle burned and the moths were wed.
And well all burn together as the wick grows higher ---
Before the candles dead.
The leaded window opened
To move the dancing candle flame.
And the first moths of summer
Suicidal came
To join in the worship
Of the light that never dies
In a moments reflection
Of two moths spinning in her eyes.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Available Are The Notable

In a hall, lit with a bulb and a lamp,
Moths smother the brightest.
The bulb off, moths go to the lamp.
Love catches the available
31.12.2000, Pmdi

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Burning

When I look at you
I melt like a candle
You light a fire in me
What am I to do
I just hope I can handle
The heat and the smoke blinding me
This feeling, this fire
This burning desire
Is raging its way through my soul
And if you feel the same
Help me fan the flames
til were burning out of control
Burning to know you
Burning to show you
And Ive felt this way from the start
Burning with passion
I do hope its lasting
And its burning a hole in my heart
You kindle in me
A warm glowing feeling
A spark and a flicker of hope
Its more than a game
And like moths to a flame
Were drawn to its warmth and its glow
These embers of love
Are fueled by the notion
This could be an eternal flame
Consumed by the blaze
I fear its too late
cause this torch that I hold bears your name
Oh, and Im burning to know you
Burning to hold you
Its grown to a flame from a spark
Burning with passion
I do hope its lasting
And its burning a hole in my heart
Oh, Im burning with passion
I do hope its lasting...
Ive had so many dreams fall apart...
And its burning a hole in my heart...
Im burning
Oh, Im burning
Mmmm, Im burning oh, I burning ooh

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falling In Love Again

Sammy lerner, frederick hollander
Falling in love again i never wanted to
What am i to do i can't help it
Love has always been my game play it how i may
I was made that way i can't help it
Men cluster to me like moths around a flame
And if their wings burn i know i'm not to blame
Falling in love again i never wanted to
What am i to do i can't help it
Men cluster to me like moths around a flame
And if their wings burn i know i'm not to blame
Falling in love again i never wanted to
What am i to do i can't help it

song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Compass.

Angels from Light,
Satan from Fire,
Man from Dust,
Man turns Dust!
Light has no pith,
No marrow in Fire,
Dust has a core;
Hot, cool and pure.
Many a Dimensions,
Millions of Hues,
Moods, Thoughts,
Passions and Emotions,
Only dust has it all.
No Origin, No End,
Still has a Mass;
‘Soul' we call the Compass.

poem by Tajudeen Shah
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Inspired by Issa - my hut's lamp

my hut's lamp -
lucky that it magnifies only
my shadow

inspired by

my hut's lamp-
even moths don't come
to the flame
-Issa,1820

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Fatal Error for Friend Thad

The suicidal moths attack.
Small kami kazi volunteers,
There is no way to hold them back.
The moment that a light appears.
The lanterns on the Patio
are very soon surrounded by
Frantic moths ready to go
and meet their maker in the sky.
I sit and watch them quietly
and wonder if they know they’ll die
But it remains a mystery
to me I see no reason why.
Perhaps they’re dying by mistake.
The very last that they will make.

4-May-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Do Not The

do not the leaves love the tree
even as they fall...
and moths love the flame
into which they die?
and shadows in the night
love the stillness,
as they lay down to meet the dawn?
so love then is a series of deaths,
and each funeral has a face...
it is in the stillness when breath is taken,
that we learn to touch
with the eyes of body and soul!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Erotomania-A Delusion of Love

A moth or an innocent boy
Or incessantly talking toy
Caught helplessly
In a nature’s ploy:
Thought flame loves me
Thought dame thinks of me
Thought ma’am cares for me.
All the while
The flame
with a flickering smile
burning in a opaque
lamp of guile
with a global
all devouring vision
and feeding with oil of treason
Saw a moth adamant on
self sacrificing mission

The hypnotized moth
went near
a flame with glee
and made love making
earnest plea
And the cunning flame
Gladly reply
Yeah.

Flame knew moth had
Erotomania- A delusion of love
Soon he would be devoured
As hyena devours dove

Then,
Alluring flame-an enticing threat
Beckoned him for a embraced great
Then licking the moth with
A tongue of death
She sucked away
His laboring breath.

Lo! Comes
One more moth
on the trot,
Attired in a martyr’s coat,
Burning in a heartrending
passions hot,
Bubbling like a
love stewed broth;
Trying to cross
A death filled moat
In a love tiled
porous boat,
While vainly trying
to remain afloat

The hypnotized moth
went near
the flame with glee
and made love making's
earnest plea
And the cunning flame
Gladly reply
Yeah!

Dr Hitesh C Sheth

11/12/2008

poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Frangipani! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Leaves like half burnt toast,
Hang from the shrivelled branches
Of Frangipani.

Come monsoon showers;
It comes to life and flowers,
Savours in delight…

Seduced by sweet scent
Moths drawn by the fragrance, flock
At night for nectar.

Do they have a clue?
It’s fruitless search for nectar;
Trick up nature's sleeve,

To help pollinate
As moths flit over flowers;
Play designated role…

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Falling In Love Again

F. hollander / s. lerner
Failing in love again
Never wanted to
What am I to do?
Cant help it
Loves always been my game
Play it as I may
I was born that way
Cant help it
Men flock around me
Like moths around a flame
And if their wings burn
I know Im not to blame
Im falling
Cant help it

song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Terrorist Poetry

Too much truth,
And excludes delusion.
Expresses realism,
Felt and stripped of fraud.
Includes what is and eliminates what isn't.
Unless, of course...
Someone expresses remorse.
Or spent time in recovery...
Healing from divorce.
Terrorist poetry,
Must be avoided at all cost!
It threatens a fantasy.
Like descriptions of flying horses...
Saddled by talking moths!
And everyone knows...
Moths only sneeze, sniffle and cough!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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After Coleridge

All thoughts, all passions, all delights.
Whatever stirs the mortal frame,
all are but ministers of love
and feed his sacred flame

samuel taylor coleridge

All thoughts, all passions all delights
emotions worthy of the name.
Part of the tapestry of life.
We all play the same game.

Whatever stirs the mortal frame
and wakes us from our lassitude.
Renewing our capacity
to change our attitude.

All are ministers of love.
Although we may not recognise
that love is the driving force.
Which all things underlies

and feeds his sacred flame
Ever rebellious men ask why
they should accept this as the truth
You know is loves reply.

16-Feb-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Pleasure is an assumption

There hangs on a wall in a class room,
A portrait of a royal lady, who would look
At you from whichever angle you sit.
Each one fancies she only at him looks.
A lot of moths revolve a single lamp.
21.10.2000

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The rose and the bumble bee…

Love must have its tempest
Said the bee to the rose
Love must have its passions-harnessed
Before its midnights close.

Yes love must have its passion
Said the rose to the bee
Love must unburden of a fashion…
If it’s ever to be free.

But isn’t that a loves betrayal
Said the bee to the rose
Peering beneath; her petals veil
Before whisking to his toes.

Your love is truly a tempest
Said the rose to the bee
But I’m the queen most; royalist
Sir—on this we’ll both agree....

Love must have its tempest
And this is plain to see…
Why passions flame did bless
The rose and the bee.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Interior

THE little moths are creeping
Across the cottage pane;
On the floor the chickens gather,
And they make talk and complain.

And she sits by the fire
Who has reared so many men;
Her voice is low like the chickens'
With the things she says again:

'The sons that come back do be restless,
They search for the thing to say;
Then they take thought like the swallows,
And the morrow brings them away.

In the old, old days upon Innish,
The fields were lucky and bright,
And if you lay down you'd be covered
By the grass of one soft night.

And doves flew with every burial
That went to Innishore
Two white doves with the coffened,
But the doves fly no more.'

She speaks and the chickens gather,
And they make talk and complain,
While the little moths are creeping
Across the cottage pane.

poem by Padraic Colum
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Liaison

A big bud of moon hangs out of the twilight,
Star-spiders spinning their thread
Hang high suspended, withouten respite
Watching us overhead.

Come then under the trees, where the leaf-cloths
Curtain us in so dark
That here we’re safe from even the ermin-moth’s
Flitting remark.

Here in this swarthy, secret tent,
Where black boughs flap the ground,
You shall draw the thorn from my discontent,
Surgeon me sound.

This rare, rich night! For in here
Under the yew-tree tent
The darkness is loveliest where I could sear
You like frankincense into scent.

Here not even the stars can spy us,
Not even the white moths write
With their little pale signs on the wall, to try us
And set us affright.

Kiss but then the dust from off my lips,
But draw the turgid pain
From my breast to your bosom, eclipse
My soul again.

Waste me not, I beg you, waste
Not the inner night:
Taste, oh taste and let me taste
The core of delight.

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Train

A carriage full of dried moths, faces sour with old leather,
a midnight softness, perhaps a glass in water, slowly,

and you speak of love in the conjunctive,
you would have liked to have known more about me,
but your heart is walled up and full of soot as

roads and fires fly past the windows, they illuminate
half of your face as you speak with care, bloodless and monotone.

You are very reasonable, so sincere, your calm voice as regular as the ticking of wheels on rails, your eyes are railway bells.
But you have a brick in your chest, love`s asthma.

poem by Leslie Philibert
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Along Walls

An old path goes along

Near wild gardens and lonesome walls.

Thousand-year-old yews shudder

In the rising falling chant of the wind.

The moths dance as if they would die soon,

My glance drinks weeping the shadows and lights.

Far away women's faces float

Ghostly painted in the blue.

A smile trembles in the sunshine,

Meanwhile I slowly stride on;

Unending love gives escort.

Quietly the hard rock greens.

poem by Georg Trakl
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