A Second Farewell To Governor Yen Wu At The FengJi Post Station
We have come far together, but here we must part;
the green hills vainly echo my feelings.
When will we again take wine cups in hand
to stroll as we did beneath last night's moon?
Every district sings sad songs at your leaving;
three reigns now you have served with distinction.
Now I must go back to my river village alone,
and alone live out the rest of my days.
Related quotes
My Heart Sings
My heart sings.
My heart sings the songs of happiness.
My heart sings the songs of joy.
My heart sings the songs of peace.
My heart sings the songs of the Blues.
My heart sings the songs of the Gospel.
My heart sings the songs of good news.
My heart cries a melody for all to hear.
My heart sings the harmonies of love.
My heart sings a song of beauty
that comes from the Thorne Birds
just before they die.
My heart sings songs to keep me alive.
My heart sings songs for as long as it beats.
My heart sings forever.
My heart sings haluwasa.
My heart sings.
poem by Jennifer Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lights: Green, Yellow, Red
flashes of lightning
sounds of thunder
woman whirling around
the green light
man gazing at the red light
above him
feathers of red chicken
around her head
asking if i am strong enough
asking where i slept last night
asking if i shall finally walk away
from her
as she sings at the top of her voice
her cheeks red like cherry
her eyes teeming with tears
as she swirls around the green light
as the man
stops on the yellow light
still thinking
whether to go or not to go
to stay and be part of this
traffic of paranoia
psychedelic feelings
the last goodbye
as she sings whether
she will live or die
she swirls around the yellow light now
with a knife on her hand
her wrist still pale and her pulse
still beating
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Village
In the village where I usually stroll along and live
An ominous plot against me is put into high contrive
These villagers do not like whoever is not rich as their glamour
They hold deep rancor to whoever does not march and sing their hummer
I would not let you for long guess or think
What would happen if into their hand a silk noose will sink
Upon my fragile neck they will happily let it fall
As they push and tight me against an ancient stone wall
Once when my leg by the river was broken
No one stopped by to offer any help or even a token
Beneath an old oak by the village side
I sat in long weeping, in the whole village wide
There was no one to ask me why I wept
And so for hours under summer heat I kept
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
Dry and cold as my immense fears
The other time when walking down village streets
A guy pass me by and kicked my butt as a treat
He laughed and encouraged his fellow to follow the same drag
But the other wished he could, since he was missing a leg
Those people of village friendly and kind
Those who will not put an obstacle out of a mockery sooth
In front of my legs since practically in truth
They are themselves disabled blind
And those who will not mock
Me are simply dumb, they use their look
And around they go to hide behind a rock
With some friends who are deaf and cannot rebuke
Oh gentle folks of hostess village who owe a grudge
To my calm and unintegrated distant existence
Stay on your own hellish folish trudge
In spite of my unprovoking persistence
Copy rights 2010
All rights resereved
Big Hand
The big hand makes all of your favorite things
Like all your dreams go small
And all your friends run away
Until your memories fall
And the words don't fit
But the way the big hand smiles
You just won't care about it
The big hand makes all of your favorite things
Like all your days run out
And your hopes disappear
And your smiles just stop
And your eyes go dead
And the shadows start to crawl
In the back of your head
But when the big hand speaks
It's like fireworks and heaven
So you listen don't think
And wish for nothing at all
And when the big hand sings
It's like fireworks and friends
Leaving alone i'm not leaving alone
I'll never leave alone again
So when the big hand holds up all of your favorite things
And with a touch like glass starts to squeeze
You don't ask "why me?"
You just slip to the floor
You just slip to your knees
But when the big hand speaks
It's like fireworks and heaven
So you listen don't think
And wish for nothing at all
And when the big hand sings
It's like fireworks and friends
Leaving alone
I'm not leaving alone
Leaving alone never leaving alone
I'll never leave alone again...
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bringing in the Wine
See how the Yellow River's water move out of heaven.
Entering the ocean,never to return.
See how lovely locks in bright mirrors in high chambers,
Though silken-black at morning, have changed by night to snow.
... Oh, let a man of spirit venture where he pleases
And never tip his golden cup empty toward the moon!
Since heaven gave the talent, let it be employed!
Spin a thousand of pieces of silver, all of them come back!
Cook a sheep, kill a cow, whet the appetite,
And make me, of three hundred bowls, one long drink!
... To the old master, Tsen,
And the young scholar, Tan-chiu,
Bring in the wine!
Let your cups never rest!
Let me sing you a song!
Let your ears attend!
What are bell and drum, rare dishes and treasure?
Let me br forever drunk and never come to reason!
Sober men of olden days and sages are forgotten,
And only the great drinkers are famous for all time.
... Prince Chen paid at a banquet in the Palace of Perfection
Ten thousand coins for a cask of wine, with many a laugh and quip.
Why say, my host, that your money is gone?
Go and buy wine and we'll drink it together!
My flower-dappled horse,
My furs worth a thousand,
Hand them to the boy to exchange for good wine,
And we'll drown away the woes of ten thousand generation!
Blackberry Wine
Theres a south wind risin and the moon shines on my window sill
Ive got a feeling I might walk on over the hill
Im bent but not broken, all I need is some rest
And a bottle of your very best
Blackberry wine
Theres a new moon risin and the wind sings its old song
Pass it on over its a sin to be sober too long
Im bent but not broken, all I need is my share
Of a bottle of that very rare
Blackberry wine
My old gals got a new dress on five and dime
Try as she will she cant get me to come home on time
But Id never cheat her or mistreat her you know
As over the mountain I go
Blackberry wine
Ill be soft spoken
All I need is my rest
And a bottle of your very best
Blackberry wine
Now my days are numbered and one more heels been killed
Blackberry john left me his old recipe in his will
Im bent but not broken, all I need is some time
And a bottle of your very fine
Blackberry wine
Blackberry wine,
You know that Im quite dry without you
Blackberry wine
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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June
I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
"Twere pleasant, that in flowery June,
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
A cell within the frozen mould,
A coffin borne through sleet,
And icy clods above it rolled,
While fierce the tempests beat--
Away!--I will not think of these--
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze,
Earth green beneath the feet,
And be the damp mould gently pressed
Into my narrow place of rest.
There through the long, long summer hours,
The golden light should lie,
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers
Stand in their beauty by.
The oriole should build and tell
His love-tale close beside my cell;
The idle butterfly
Should rest him there, and there be heard
The housewife bee and humming-bird.
And what if cheerful shouts at noon
Come, from the village sent,
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon
With fairy laughter blent?
And what if, in the evening light,
Betrothed lovers walk in sight
Of my low monument?
I would the lovely scene around
Might know no sadder sight nor sound.
I know that I no more should see
The season's glorious show,
Nor would its brightness shine for me,
Nor its wild music flow;
But if, around my place of sleep,
The friends I love should come to weep,
They might not haste to go.
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom
Should keep them lingering by my tomb.
These to their softened hearts should bear
The thought of what has been,
And speak of one who cannot share
The gladness of the scene;
Whose part, in all the pomp that fills
The circuit of the summer hills,
Is that his grave is green;
And deeply would their hearts rejoice
To hear again his living voice.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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He strums his old Guitar
The humble river flows quietly in a starry night
And he makes a sad tune sitting on the river bank.
From afar an owl hoots
While the Moon floats on the ripples.
He cries to the Moon; 'Please do not get drowned as I'll make you a song to rest on my side.'
'I am really fed up of those old songs the Sun too used to sing at all.'
Haughty Moon whispers in a friendly manner.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Big Hand
The big hand makes all of your favourite things
Like all your friends looks small and all your feelings are gone
And the flowers on the wall
And the words don't fit
But the way the big hand smiles you just won't care about it
The big hand makes all of your favourite things
Like all your dreams go small and all your friends run away
And the flowers on the wall
And the flowers in the sun
I think the big hand sees all the things that you've done
But when the big hand speaks it's like fireworks or heaven
And so you listen and sob
But you're as small as you go
And when the big hand sings it's like fireworks and friends
Leaving alone you said
I'm leaving alone
Leaving alone you said i'm leaving alone
The big hand leaves off makes sure everything's clean
And with a voice like glass looking outwards
Walks past
I dream
It's falling away
I sob
And when the big hand speaks it's like fireworks or heaven
And you listen and sob
But you're as small as you go
And when the big hand sings it's like fireworks or friends
Moving away you said
I'm moving away
Leaving alone you said
I'm leaving alone
Leaving alone you said
I'm leaving alone
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Change
agreements and promises
that was how we know beginnings,
a knowing of green leaves
and expecting the blooms one day,
we were talking about a harvest
of some days and some fruits
the commitment to give myself to you
and you in return dying for me,
the enclosures that open and
tell you these are all that i have
a stone's language is harsh in its silence
the bird perching on a twig looks curious
the river sings the songs of the sea
we float there facing the bright moon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rosebank
From the village of Rosebank the hills look so green
A beautiful country as fine as i've seen
A gem of the mountains on the higher ground
Is this quiet little village with hills all around.
In the Green Frog cafe i go back in time
A bard of the old school sat crafting his rhyme
His long hair and long beard seemed whiter than gray
And he sat in the cafe and wrote every day.
In the 'Green Frog' each morning for an hour or two
He sipped his coffee looking out on the view
He took in the beauty it came out in words
The green of the woods and the songs of the birds.
He sat in the cafe this maker of song
And sipped on his coffee and he thought hard and long
And he gazed on those mountains and song to him came
And he died old and poor though he lives on in fame.
And though the bard for long years has now lain with the dead
His verses survive and by many still read
And the mountains of Rosebank that gave him his rhyme
Are still green as ever unfaded by time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Reaching the Hermitage
At evening I make it down the mountain.
Keeping company with the moon.
Looking back I see the paths I’ve taken
Blue now, blue beneath the skyline.
You greet me, show the hidden track,
Where children pull back hawthorn curtains,
Reveal green bamboo, the secret path,
Vines that touch the traveller’s clothes.
I love finding space to rest,
Clear wine to enjoy with you.
Wind in the pines till voices stop,
Songs till the Ocean of Heaven pales.
I get drunk and you are happy,
Both of us pleased to forget the world.
River Korotoa
(DEDICATED TO SHOVA
A FRIEND)
..................................
THE RIVER KOROTOA
THROUGH THE VILLAGE IT FLOWS,
WITH ALL HER BEAUTY AND SPLASH
ROUND AND ROUND THE SILVERY STREAM GOES.
BESIDE THE GREEN PADDY FIELD,
ON IT`S WAY THE KOROTOA RUNS
DAWN TO DUSK SHE GURGLES AND HUMS.
WHEN THE MOON COMES DOWN
OH YOU SEE WHEN YOU FEEL LONELY,
AND THE VILLAGE GOES ROUND.
RIVER GOES LIKE THE GIRL SHOVA
WHO LIVES BESIDE THE BANK OF KOROTOA.
OH THE DREAMY RIVER RUNS
TO DONATE SILT TO THE FARMER
AH THE MUSICAL RHYTHM
WHEN IT PASSES THE VILLAGE DAUGHTER.
YOU THE RIVER KOROTOA
SO BLUE AND CLEAN
LIKE THE LOVE OF SHOVA
WHISPERS AND MURMURS DURING THE SPRING.
(RIVER KOROTOA-NEARLY DYING)
poem by Sohel Mahamud
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I Walked Last Night In A District I Lived In For Almost Twenty Years
I WALKED LAST NIGHT IN A DISTRICT I LIVED IN FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS
I walked last night in a district I lived in for almost twenty years
I came back after being away for a time
To visit an old and ailing friend
The streets were empty and lonely as they often were then-
I thought for the first time I understood how lonely the district itself is-
‘A lonely district’
I wondered how I managed to live there all those years
And how anyone still manages to live there-
I looked up at the sky and wrote in my mind a small poem of a kind I wrote many of in my years there
I remembered teachers and friends who had lived there
No longer of this district or any district on earth
I wondered how life goes and how from so many years so much life has been lived without having any place in my memory
I felt as empty inside as the district without
I did not have to wait long for the bus
And relieved inside it I put my heart to home
So many years had been lived there
I remembered taking my small children to the playground there
Now they thank G-d have children of their own
Oh the years go by and the life we have lived in them largely dies
Forever to be unknown again-
I put my heart and mind in a different direction
And began to do what I always do – not think of the district again
Life is this mystery and question we live through and never wholly possess even as we are experiencing it
How long before all will be gone for me
Including the district I live in now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poem about Poetry - Writing poetry for poetry's sake
does the waterfall fall
because it wants to be heard, seen?
does the mighty river flow
because it wants to be admired, painted?
does the rainbow arc over the sky
because it wants to listen to a love wish made in its name?
does the moon shine because it wants to be written an ode?
no, no, none cares for even an echo of a response from the world.
so should poet, shouldnt he?
poetry, yes poetry,
should run through him
like the river that pours out to sea
the water that cascades down the waterfall
the rainbow that colours the sky
the moon that subtly crowns, lights up night
without those ego/desire attachments
where buddha appends all human sufferings
real poetry runs from that part of our soul, world
that is a part of everybody's world
like the river, waterfall, rainbow and moon
admiration, if any, goes back to nature
where the poets belong
real poets as homo sapiens dont crave for them.
they are not instruments made for such low ideals
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Strawberry Wine
He was working through college on my grandpa's farm.
I was thirsting for knowledge and he had a car.
I was caught somewhere between a woman and a child.
One restless summer we found love growing wild.
On the banks of the river on a well beaten path.
It's funny how those memories they last.
Like strawberry wine and seventeen.
The hot July moon saw everything.
My first taste of love oh bittersweet.
Green on the vine.
Like strawberry wine.
I still remember when thirty was old.
And my biggest fear was September when he had to go.
A few cards and letters and one long distance call.
We drifted away like the leaves in the fall.
But year after year I come back to this place.
Just to remember the taste.
Of strawberry wine and seventeen.
The hot July moon saw everything.
My first taste of love oh bittersweet.
Green on the vine.
Like strawberry wine.
The fields have grown over now.
Years since they've seen the plow.
There's nothing time hasn't touched.
Is it really him or the loss of my innocence.
I've been missing so much.
Like strawberry wine and seventeen.
The hot July moon saw everything.
My first taste of love oh bittersweet.
Green on the vine.
Like strawberry wine.
song performed by by Dixie Chicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The piano i know
as life sings our
spirit beats
our lives conquer
of what is being done
a wonderful moment
happened when our
dream echo, our echo's
of songs of harmony to the
universe we sings
in every strings of note
beneath the piano
strand, in every life we
we stand, and sing
with fun
their lives a different
tune that sang in every
note we bang that produces
sound that rang
thats the harmony
we stand and sang, the
melody is the one that makes
us one
poem by Antonio Liao
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Alone, Looking for Blossoms Along the River
this path mom walked
to market each morn
she must have loved the flowers by the river too
inspired by
Alone, Looking for Blossoms Along the River
The sorrow of riverside blossoms inexplicable,
And nowhere to complain - I've gone half crazy.
I look up our southern neighbor. But my friend in wine
Gone ten days drinking. I find only an empty bed.
A thick frenzy of blossoms shrouding the riverside,
I stroll, listing dangerously, in full fear of spring.
Poems, wine - even this profusely driven, I endure.
Arrangements for this old, white-haired man can wait.
A deep river, two or three houses in bamboo quiet,
And such goings on: red blossoms glaring with white!
Among spring's vociferous glories, I too have my place:
With a lovely wine, bidding life's affairs bon voyage.
Looking east to Shao, its smoke filled with blossoms,
I admire that stately Po-hua wineshop even more.
To empty golden wine cups, calling such beautiful
Dancing girls to embroidered mats - who could bear it?
East of the river, before Abbot Huang's grave,
Spring is a frail splendor among gentle breezes.
In this crush of peach blossoms opening ownerless,
Shall I treasure light reds, or treasure them dark?
At Madame Huang's house, blossoms fill the paths:
Thousands, tens of thousands haul the branches down.
And butterflies linger playfully - an unbroken
Dance floating to songs orioles sing at their ease.
I don't so love blossoms I want to die. I'm afraid,
Once they are gone, of old age still more impetuous.
And they scatter gladly, by the branchful. Let's talk
Things over, little buds -open delicately, sparingly.
Tu Fu
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The River of Desire
On the banks of the River of Desire
The abodes of our Gods are empty
The Gods deserted our village long ago
Leaving behind all the sanctums
Their broken walls yielded fine bricks
For the masonry of our village homes.
The River meandered around our village
Threatening to swallow our temples
Our children have hunger in their eyes
We have no oil to light God’s lamps
The River now threatens to swallow
Our parched paddy fields and our homes.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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To-Morrow
The robin chants when the thrush is dumb,
Snow smooths a bed for the clover,
Life flames anew, and days to come
Are sweet as the days that are over.
The tide that ebbs by the moon flows back,
Faith builds on the ruins of sorrow,
The halcyon flutters in winter's track,
And night makes way for the morrow.
And ever a strain, of joys the sum,
Sings on in the heart of the lover—
In death sings on—that days to come
Are sweet as the days that are over!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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