Permanence
Set within a desert lone,
Circled by an arid sea,
Stands a figure carved in stone,
Where a fountain used to be.
Two abraded, pleading hands
Held below a shapeless mouth,
Human-like the fragment stands,
Tortured by perpetual drouth.
Once the form was drenched with spray,
Deluged with the rainbow flushes;
Surplus water dashed away
To the lotus and the rushes.
Time was clothed in rippling fashion,.
Opulence of light and air,
Beauty changing into passion
Every hour and everywhere.
And the yearning of that race
Was for something deep and tender,
Life replete with power, with grace,
Touched with vision and with splendour.
Now no rain dissolves and cools,
Dew is even as a dream,
The enticing far-off pools
In a mirage only seem.
All the traces that remain,
Of the longings of that land,
Are two hands that plead in vain
Filled with burning sand.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Related quotes
The Best Day
The power of love,
The power of a muse;
The power of romance,
The power of a Kiss;
This is the best day of my life.
It is raining cats and dogs,
It is raining elephants and timbers,
With the rainbow to see on this love;
Of sunshine and rain to see the rainbow of my lover,
Like an Anaconda catcher in Africa.
To the land of men,
To the land of women,
To the land of children,
To the land of love;
This is the best day of my life.
To muse with your love is like,
To be very deep inside you;
Like the life in the land of red light where,
The sunshine and the rain meet to form the rainbow!
This is the best day of my life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Journeyman
From the red sky of the east
To the sunset in the west
We have cheated deathAnd he has cheated us
But that was just a dream
And this is what it means
We are sleeping and we'll dream for evermore
And the fragment remains of our memories
And the shadows remain with our hands
Deep grey, came to mourn
All the colours of the dawn
Will this Journeymans day be his last?
I do what I want
And I say what I want
And no one can take it away
I do what I want
And I say what I want
And no one can take it away
But the memory still remains
All the past years not so strange
Our winter times are like a silent shroud
And the heartbeat of the day
Drives the mist away
And winter's not the only dream around
In your life you may choose desolation
And the shadows you build with your hands
If you turn to the light
That is burning in the night
Then the Journeyman's day has begun
I do what I want
>And I say what I want
>And no one can take it away
I do what I want
And I say what I want
And no one can take it away
In your life you may choose desolation
And the shadows you build with your hands
If you turn to the light
That is burning in the night
Then the Journeyman's day has begun
I know what I want
And I say what I want
And no one can take it away
I know what I want
And I say what I want
And no one can take it away
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Slow Pacific Swell
Far out of sight forever stands the sea,
Bounding the land with pale tranquillity.
When a small child, I watched it from a hill
At thirty miles or more. The vision still
Lies in the eye, soft blue and far away:
The rain has washed the dust from April day;
Paint-brush and lupine lie against the ground;
The wind above the hill-top has the sound
Of distant water in unbroken sky;
Dark and precise the little steamers ply-
Firm in direction they seem not to stir.
That is illusion. The artificer
Of quiet, distance holds me in a vise
And holds the ocean steady to my eyes.
Once when I rounded Flattery, the sea
Hove its loose weight like sand to tangle me
Upon the washing deck, to crush the hull;
Subsiding, dragged flesh at the bone. The skull
Felt the retreating wash of dreaming hair.
Half drenched in dissolution, I lay bare.
I scarcely pulled myself erect; I came
Back slowly, slowly knew myself the same.
That was the ocean. From the ship we saw
Gray whales for miles: the long sweep of the jaw,
The blunt head plunging clean above the wave.
And one rose in a tent of sea and gave
A darkening shudder; water fell away;
The whale stood shining, and then sank in spray.
A landsman, I. The sea is but a sound.
I would be near it on a sandy mound,
And hear the steady rushing of the deep
While I lay stinging in the sand with sleep.
I have lived inland long. The land is numb.
It stands beneath the feet, and one may come
Walking securely, till the sea extends
Its limber margin, and precision ends.
By night a chaos of commingling power,
The whole Pacific hovers hour by hour.
The slow Pacific swell stirs on the sand,
Sleeping to sink away, withdrawing land,
Heaving and wrinkled in the moon, and blind;
Or gathers seaward, ebbing out of mind.
poem by Yvor Winters
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Spotless hands
With her hands together she prayed,
when I was sick sat at my bed
and with bright eyes she looked into my soul
past how things look on the exterior
and now that life, destiny destroys me,
it is still she that stands with me,
she is still kneeling
for the salvation of my soul
where she stands with spotless hands,
held together
hands that carry the marks of life,
while she asks for no own gain
only bringing me the whole time to God,
never complaining over her destiny.
[O smettelose hande (O spotless hands) by N.P. Van Wyk Louw.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Will and The Way
I walk through the desert, where I find mirage,
Thirsty I am, run toward to quench and get life,
No water, only the sand everywhere,
That too blows into the eyes, hard to continue,
Step by step into the deep leg sucking sand,
Hear the rattling sound at a distant, not near,
Squint at the sky for the drops of water to fall,
The sun's rays dry up the heavy sweat without fail,
Thorny cactus stands straight vibrantly,
Take one, open fine and have the sap,
Life's struggle may be hard and depressing,
But the opportunity may come with thorny try.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Los Flores de la Luna
No one in the world
Be quite like you
With honeysuckle eyes
Happiness and sad
Flow through my roots
Like time through sand
I have seen the
Ever blooming lotus,
To grace these lips
Life’s most humorous
Happiness and sad
Flow through my roots
Like time through sand
Above all others
You are a flower
Growing ever more
Vibrant hour by hour
Happiness and sad
Flow through my roots
Like time through sand
All flowers will fade
As beauty will too,
But a beautiful mind
Will always remain new
Happiness and sad
Flow through my roots
Like time through sand
poem by Jeffrey McCambridge
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The Palm And The Pine
From the German of Heine.
In the far North stands a Pine-tree, lone,
Upon a wintry height;
It sleeps: around it snows have thrown
A covering of white.
It dreams forever of a Palm
That, far i' the Morning-land,
Stands silent in a most sad calm
Midst of the burning sand.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Hands!
Hands! Gentle Hands!
When the Field at covert stands,
When your four-rear-old is sweating,
Foamed and fidgety and fretting
As a stray hound jumps the netting -
You can steady him and soothe him with your Hands!
Hands! Clever Hands!
When your tiring hunter lands
Over wall or ditch or double
With his noseband in the stubble,
That's the moment you're in trouble
If you have not got the saving gift of Hands!
Hands! Steady Hands!
When your reins seem useless bands,
With a mad brute going faster
And a toss-up which is master,
You may still avoid disaster
If Providence has given to you Hands!
Hands! Talking Hands!
At the fence below the Stands,
When you call on him to lead them,
That's the moment when you need them,
That's the time a horse will heed them
As you bring him up and help him with your Hands!
Hands! Horseman's Hands!
When the stooping fairy stands
At the cradle of a baby,
She has richer gifts, it may be,
But she never brought a better one than Hands!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Australia
Earth's mightiest isle. She stands alone.
The wide seas wash around Her throne,
Crowned by the red sun as his own.
This is the last of all the lands
Where Freedom’s fray-torn banner stands,
Not wrested yet from freemen’s hands.
The world’s gray page lies bare to-day—
The rise of nations—the decay.
Will She, too, rise—and fall as they?
She called men to Her, and they came,
Whose deaths have given the Desert name.
Their fame is written with Her fame.
We toil and strive. We have our hour.
But She shall grow from power to power,
To wear the splendour of her dower.
The trust is ours—to us alone.
We are the strong foundation-stone,
The seed from which the flower is grown.
And whilst a realm in fee we hold,
To guard the New against the Old,
Nor take the glitter for the gold,
What shall it profit Her if we
Make gold our God, and strength our plea,
And call wild license Liberty?
If, in our scorn of creed and king,
All reverence to the winds we fling,
And fall before a baser thing?
Though in Her coming hour of pride
Her millions throng the Desert wide,
Her cities stud the water side?
What though Her sword unconquered be,
Her armoured navies sweep the sea,
If still Her people are not free?
To be the wave of thought indeed
From New World vaunt and Old World need,
To manlier day and mightier deed?
To be a people proved and strong—
True freemen of the Poet’s song
For whom the world has waited long?
poem by George Essex Evans
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This Candle
there is this candle in my heart
and it is burning
like my yearning
that is empty and wanting
to be filled
like a basin wanting
to have water
from the rain
there is this void
that can not be filled
there is this mouth
that speaks about
my beloved
i like this candle
i like this fire
and see, i am burning with
desire
i like too the rain
that falls on my basin
see
i am a candle burning
with desire
swimming on the water
never dead
never quenched
never stopping
see, you are with me
never sleeping
wanting some more
see, we are dreaming
we are alive
we are these candles
burning
turning into a wildfire.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Night Dream
To R. L.
NEITHER her voice, her name,
Eyes, quietness neither,
That moved through the light, that came
Cold stalk in her teeth
Bitten of some blue flower
Knew I before nor saw.
This was a dream. Ah,
This was a dream. There was sun
Laid on the cloths of a table
We drank together. Her mouth
Was a lion's mouth out of jade
Cold with a fable of water.
Faces I could not see
Watched me with gentleness. Grace
Folded my body with wings.
I cannot love you she said.
My head she laid on her breast.
As stillness with ringing of bees
I was filled with a singing of praise.
Knowledge filled me and peace.
We were silent and not ashamed.
Ah we were glad that day.
They asked me but it was one
Dead they meant and not I.
She was beside me she said.
We rode in a desert place.
We were always happy. Her sleeves
Jangled with earrings of gold.
They told me the wind from the south
Was the cold wind to be feared.
We were galloping under the leaves
This was a dream, Ah
This was a dream.
And her mouth
Was not your mouth nor her eyes,
But the rivers were four and I knew
As a secret between us, the way
Hands touch, it was you.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Desert Rose
Words and music by sting
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
I dream of fire
Those dreams that tie two hearts that will never die
And near the flames
The shadows play in the shape of the mans desire
This desert rose
Whose shadow bears the secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume that would torture you more than this
And now she turns
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams
This fire burns
I realize that nothings as it seems
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
I dream of rain
I lift my gaze to empty skies above
I close my eyes
The rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of love
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
Sweet desert rose
Whose shadow bears the secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume that would torture you more than this
Sweet desert rose
This memory of hidden hearts and souls
This desert flower
This rare perfurme is the sweet intoxication of love
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Swan Lee
Swan lee got up at the running foot pow-wow,
Heading from the fire to his waiting canoe.
Chattering squaw untied the wigwam door,
The chief blew smoke rings two by two!
The land in silence stands...
Swan lee, his boat by the bank in the darkness,
Loosened the rope in the creek is entwined.
A feather from the wing of a wild young eagle,
Pointed to the land where his fortune he'd find
The land in silence stands
Swan lee paddled on from the land of his fathers,
His eyes scanned the undergrowth on either side.
From the shore hung a hot, heavy, creature infested
Tropic, swan lee had a bow by his side
The land in silence stands
Swan lee kept time, half on land, half on water,
Grizzly bear and raccoon his fare.
He followed his ears to the great water fall,
Swan lee knew deep down that his squaw was there!
The land in silence stands....
Suddenly the rush of the mighty great thunder,
Confronted swan lee as his song he sang,
In the dawn, with his squaw, he was battling homewards
It was all written down by long silas lang.
The land in silence stands...
The land in silence stands...
The land in silence stands.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Delilah
In the midnight of darkness and terror,
When I would grope nearer to God,
With my back to a record of error
And the highway of sin I have trod,
There comes to me shapes I would banish –
The shapes of the deeds I have done;
And I pray and I plead till they vanish –
All vanish and leave me, save one.
That one, with a smile like the splendour
Of the sun in the middle-day skies –
That one, with a spell that is tender –
That one with a dream in her eyes –
Cometh close, in her rare southern beauty,
Her languor, her indolent grace;
And my soul turns its back on its duty
To live in the light of her face.
She touches my cheek, and I quiver –
I tremble with exquisite pains;
She sighs – like an overcharged river
My blood rushes on through my veins;
She smiles – and in mad-tiger fashion,
As a she-tiger fondles her own,
I clasp her with fierceness and passion,
And kiss her with shudder and groan.
Once more, in our love’s sweet beginning,
I put away God and the World;
Once more, in the joys of our sinnings,
Are the hopes of eternity hurled.
There is nothing my soul lacks or misses
As I clasp the dream-shape to my breast;
In the passion and pain of her kisses
Life blooms to its richest and best.
O ghost of dead sin unrelenting,
Go back to the dust, and the sod!
Too dear and too sweet for repenting,
Ye stand between me and my God.
If I, by the Throne, should behold you,
Smiling up with those eyes loved so well,
Close, close in my arms I would fold you,
And dropp with you down to sweet Hell!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Deserted House
To the sweet memory of Sidney Lanier
The old house stands deserted, gray,
With sharpened gables high in air,
And deep-set lattices, all gay
With massive arch and framework rare;
And o’er it is a silence laid,
That feeling, one grows sore afraid.
The eaves are dark with heavy vines;
The steep roof wears a coat of moss;
The walls are touched with dim designs
Of shadows moving slow across;
The balconies are damp with weeds,
Lifting as close as streamside reeds.
The garden is a loved retreat
Of melancholy flowers, of lone
And wild-mouthed herbs, in companies sweet,
’Mid desolate green grasses thrown;
And in its gaps the hoar stone wall
Lets sprays of tangled ivy fall.
The pebbled paths drag, here and there,
Old lichened faces, overspun
With silver spider-threads—they wear
A silence sad to look upon:
It is so long since happy feet
Made them to thrill with pressure sweet.
’Mid drear but fragrant shrubs there stands
A saint of old made mute in stone,
With tender eyes and yearning hands,
And mouth formed in a sorrow lone;
’Tis thick with dust, as long ago
’Twas thick with fairest blooms that grow.
Swallows are whirring here and there;
And oft a little soft wind blows
A hundred odors down the air;
The bees hum ’round the red, last rose;
And ceaselessly the crickets shrill
Their tunes, and yet, it seems so still.
Or else, from out the distance steals,
Half heard, the tramp of horses, or
The bleak and harsh stir of slow wheels
Bound cityward; but more and more,
As these are hushed, or yet increase,
About the old house clings its peace.
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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The tide
A tide rolls in
An edge
Bettween sand and water
A sun sets
Shining light from mountain to sky
In shadows of restraint I weep
My strength and soul wanders weak
A water fall of empty salty tears
In pools of inspiration lost
As hands of silence choke the seed
My dreams and aspiration tossed
Behind the fog of doubt
Ill stand, my self esteem renews.
A place to freely write
The joy of a capture
Crystallization of human feelings
In the words on this page
My pen can stand all still.
Like water, from a fountain.
poem by Howard Johnson
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Turn Of The Century
Realising a form out of stone.
Set hands moving.
Roan shaped his heart
Thru his working hands.
Work to mold his passion into clay, like the sun.
In his room, his lady
She would dance and sing so completely.
So be still he now cries
I have time, oh let clay transform thee so.
In the deep cold of night
Winter calls, he cries dont deny me!
For his lady, deep her illness.
Time has caught her
And will for all reasons take her.
In the still light of dawn, she dies.
Helpless hands soul revealing.
Like leaves we touch we learn.
We once knew the story.
As winter calls he will starve.
All but to see the stone be life
Now roan, no more tears.
Set to work his strength.
So transformed him
Realising a form out of stone. his work
So absorbed him.
Could she hear him?
Could she see him?
All aglow was his room dazed in this light.
He would touch her
He would hold her.
Laughing as they danced.
Highest colors touching others.
Did her eyes at the turn of the century
Tell me plainly
When we meet, how well love, oh let life so transform me.
Like leaves we touched we danced.
We once knew the story.
As autumn called and we both
Remembered all those many years ago.
Im sure we know.
Was the sign with a touch
As I kiss your fingers.
We walk hands in the sun.
Memories when were young.
Love lingers so.
Was it sun through the haze
That made all your looks
As warm as moonlight?
As a pearl deep in your eyes,
Tears have flown away,
All the same light.
Did her eyes at the turn of the century
Tell me plainly
When we meet how well look
As we smile time will leave me clearly.
Like leaves we touch, we see.
We will know the story.
As autumn calls well both remember
All those many years ago.
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turn Of The Century
Realising a form out of stone.
Set hands moving.
Roan shaped his heart
Thru his working hands.
Work to mold his passion into clay, like the sun.
In his room, his lady
She would dance and sing so completely.
So be still he now cries
I have time, oh let clay transform thee so.
In the deep cold of night
Winter calls, he cries dont deny me!
For his lady, deep her illness.
Time has caught her
And will for all reasons take her.
In the still light of dawn, she dies.
Helpless hands soul revealing.
Like leaves we touch we learn.
We once knew the story.
As winter calls he will starve.
All but to see the stone be life
Now roan, no more tears.
Set to work his strength.
So transformed him
Realising a form out of stone. his work
So absorbed him.
Could she hear him?
Could she see him?
All aglow was his room dazed in this light.
He would touch her
He would hold her.
Laughing as they danced.
Highest colors touching others.
Did her eyes at the turn of the century
Tell me plainly
When we meet, how well love, oh let life so transform me.
Like leaves we touched we danced.
We once knew the story.
As autumn called and we both
Remembered all those many years ago.
Im sure we know.
Was the sign with a touch
As I kiss your fingers.
We walk hands in the sun.
Memories when were young.
Love lingers so.
Was it sun through the haze
That made all your looks
As warm as moonlight?
As a pearl deep in your eyes,
Tears have flown away,
All the same light.
Did her eyes at the turn of the century
Tell me plainly
When we meet how well look
As we smile time will leave me clearly.
Like leaves we touch, we see.
We will know the story.
As autumn calls well both remember
All those many years ago.
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stand in The Rain
She stands bellow the tree,
As she looks out towards the sea.
Her eyes see the blue, yet her mind is lost,
It has left her on it's journey remembering what it lost.
The breeze blows though her dark crimson hair,
And still she does not blink, she only stares.
She stares though nothing only seeing pain,
The pain that has left her standing in the rain.
The rain falls around her on the sea,
Yet still she stands under the tree,
It will not leave her, it will not go,
What she has seen will never go,
She will always remain alone,
She remains in the wind as it moans,
She feels movement of the air,
Yet she does not hear it, she does not fear,
Se fears not the storm, only the pain,
She stands by the side of the sea, stands in the rain.
She stands here, still,
As the pain begons to kill.
She stands and looks past her heart through the pain,
As she stands in the rain.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Christ hangs upon an iron cross.
Christ hangs upon an iron cross.
Rose thorns pierce his temple
As Our Mother Universal stands
Carved in solemn mourning.
Plated in polished brass
She holds her hands outwards from her form.
Below Christ lay in soft decay,
All around his people pray
Wishing away the days in anticipation
Of a heaven promised to them by a dream ideal.
Still as a testament to man the Cathedral stands
Un-piercing but resting gently upon the skyline.
His form dissolves untouched.
Fainted frescos reveal an aging Christ,
Beside angels all around.
As we stood, silent, staring at the relics
Of a fallen age. The Saint lay beneath.
Beyond he seal of the tomb.
Buried beside the head of a king.
Outside the walls of this asylum sanctuary
A confusion of French girls spin the dream entwined.
Tapestries of indecipherable tongues leave me blind
Un-knowing of anything but the tones of the chords
They play upon their lips. Swaying their hips in the
Most feminine of manners – breathing glamour moves
Slow and graceful at its own pace – Holding true a throne of honesty.
poem by David Lacey
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