Where Once the Waters of Your Face
Where once the waters of your face
Spun to my screws, your dry ghost blows,
The dead turns up its eye;
Where once the mermen through your ice
Pushed up their hair, the dry wind steers
Through salt and root and roe.
Where once your green knots sank their splice
Into the tided cord, there goes
The green unraveller,
His scissors oiled, his knife hung loose
To cut the channels at their source
And lay the wet fruits low.
Invisible, your clocking tides
Break on the lovebeds of the weeds;
The weed of love's left dry;
There round about your stones the shades
Of children go who, from their voids,
Cry to the dolphined sea.
Dry as a tomb, your coloured lids
Shall not be latched while magic glides
Sage on the earth and sky;
There shall be corals in your beds
There shall be serpents in your tides,
Till all our sea-faiths die.
poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hurricane Watch
Green. Green the leaves,
and waves gray on the forehead of the beach.
As easy as breeze tensing lengths of hair
waves lift, then snap back like springs.
Trees bend and kneel, fling out brown arms
to catch their running children.
Green. Green the leaves, and wind
pours on the forehead of the beach.
See how sand wrinkles in the lee,
and anchors part like lovers
from invisible chains. Ships break
then run their length to freedom.
Green. Green the weeds,
and sea foams on the forehead of the beach.
Women’s names swim to greet the waves.
And sea sings, “Eve. Eve. Eve.” Mermaid
who set her cap for them, she beckons each
figurehead to her pale and smiling reach.
Green. Green the waves,
and spray glistening on the forehead of the beach.
Her arms catch and embrace hulls like shoulders.
Bold as dolphins they leap to her lips before she
slaps away the face of any sailor so foolish.
Gray. Gray the waves, and flotsam
in pieces grinding on the wet stones of the beach.
poem by Val Morehouse
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Sugar Spun Sister (Chorlton Manchester 12 December 1986)
Her hair
Soft drifted snow
Death white
I aint going to know
Why she hates
All that she does
And she gives
It all that she's got
Until the sky turns green
The grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue
Until the sky turns green
And the grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue
It takes all these things and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
It'll take all these things and oh much more
I've paid
For fifteen or more
But my guts
Can't take any more
My hands are stuck to my cheeks
And she knows
What this must mean
She wakes up with the sun
I think what have I done
As she gives me more than she thought she should
She wakes up with the sun
She asks me what is all the fuss?
As I gave her more than I thought I would
It takes all these things and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
It'll take all these things and oh much more
Yeah
Yeah
Yeah
The candy floss girl
The sticky fingered boy
Oh that sister of mine
Yeah
song performed by by Stone Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Song For My) Sugar Spun Sister
Her hair
Soft drifted snow
Death white
I aint going to know
Why she hates
All that she does
And she gives
It all that she's got
Until the sky turns green
The grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue
Until the sky turns green
And the grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue
It takes all these things and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
It'll take all these things and oh much more
I've paid
For fifteen or more
But my guts
Can't take any more
My hands are stuck to my cheeks
And she knows
What this must mean
She wakes up with the sun
I think what have I done
As she gives me more than she thought she should
She wakes up with the sun
She asks me what is all the fuss?
As I gave her more than I thought I would
It takes all these things and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
It'll take all these things and oh much more
Yeah
Yeah
Yeah
The candy floss girl
The sticky fingered boy
Oh that sister of mine
Yeah
song performed by by The Stone Roses from The Stone Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dirge
Prayer unsaid, and mass unsung, Deadman's dirge must still be rung:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound! Mermen chant his dirge around!
Wash him bloodless, smooth him fair, Stretch his limbs, and sleek his hair
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells go! Mermen swing them to and fro!
In the wormless sand shall he Feast for no foul glutton be:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells chime! Mermen keep the tone and time!
We must with a tombstone brave Shut the shark out from his grave
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells toll! Mermen dirgers ring his knoll!
Such a slab will we lay o'er him All the dead shall rise before him!
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells boom! Mermen lay him in his tomb!
poem by George Darley
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Sugar Spun Sister
Her hair
Soft drifted snow
Death white
I'd like to know
Why she hates
All that she does
But she gives
It all that she's got
Until the sky turns green
The grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue
Until the sky turns green
And the grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue
T takes all these things and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
It'll take all these things and oh much more
I've paid
For fifteen or more
But my guts
Can't take many more
My hands are stuck
To my jeans
And she knows she knows
What this must mean
She wakes up with the sun
She asked me what is all the fuss
As she gave me more than she thought she should
She wakes up with the sun
I think what have i done
As i gave her more than i thought i would, ohhh
At takes all these things and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
Yeah yeah yeah
The candy floss girl
The sticky fingered boy
Oh that sister of mine
Yeah
song performed by by Stone Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Song For My) Sugar Spun Sister
Her hair
Soft drifted snow
Death white
I'd like to know
Why she hates
All that she does
But she gives
It all that she's got
Until the sky turns green
The grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue
Until the sky turns green
And the grass is several shades of blue
Every member of parliament trips on glue
t takes all these things and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
It'll take all these things and oh much more
I've paid
For fifteen or more
But my guts
Can't take many more
My hands are stuck
To my jeans
And she knows she knows
What this must mean
She wakes up with the sun
She asked me what is all the fuss
As she gave me more than she thought she should
She wakes up with the sun
I think what have I done
As I gave her more than I thought I would, ohhh
At takes all these things and all that time
Till my sugar spun sister's happy
With this love of mine
Yeah yeah yeah
The candy floss girl
The sticky fingered boy
Oh that sister of mine
Yeah
song performed by by Stone Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Natural Green
Who coloured the green trees?
Who coloured the green grass?
Who coloured the green hills?
How about my green spider plant? ?
Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.
Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life....
A ride on a helicopter over the huge Rain Forest and see nothing, but acres & acres of simply gorgeous green!
Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.
Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life...
GREEN, I admire and respect the vitality you bring in the air that I breathe...
poem by Premila Patel
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Color Of The Wind
The wind blows blue
when it misses you.
the wind blows red
when it knows your dead.
the wind blows green
when it it sees you being mean.
the wind blows white
when your about to take flight.
the wind blows black
whenever it knows your not coming back.
the wind blows pink
whenever your blood is ink.
the wind blows orange
whenever you cant rhyme with orange.
the wind blows yellow
whenever you cant be mellow.
if i am black
then why wont you ever come back?
if i am red
then shall i weep because your dead?
if i am blue
then should i miss you?
if i am green
then must you be very mean?
if i am yellow
then why wont you be mellow?
poem by Jasmine Appelhaus
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For a Good Cause and Care
Tides are high
Tides are deep
With a sigh
I cannot sleep,
Thinking of my long hair
I wish I could keep.
To cut it I would not dare
For I know it is a part of me.
However I know that hair
Grows back within each week
And I know I have the heart to share.
Even though for a moment I will weep,
It is for a good cause and care,
For my hair will grow back everytime I sleep
Just as much as tides are high
Tides are deep
Even if they go away in a chime,
They come back and up the beach they creep
Every day and for all of time.
So I know I can always keep
My hair for it will grow as tides do each time
As the seas swells and heaves as it sleeps.
poem by Music Galore
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Follow The Wind
Im so weary from holding this load
But its only , love for you, that I walk this lonely road
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
And the wind will take me hold before the cold
Evry stay I have counted
Each flower I have seen
But the place where Im going , theres no grass as green
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
And the wind will take me home where I can dream
In the hour I am lonely, youre love will be mine
I will stay in your arms dear, until comes the time
I must be on my way for my home is anywhere
I have no time to stay , I have no time to care
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
(break)
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cutting edge
Like a sharp knife
cutting through a bitter lemon
into red lips dripping
the hairdresser takes my pleasantries,
chops them with a cruel hand,
throws them back in pieces in my face
snip snip into blond hair, brown hair, black, grey, white,
what heroic restraint, condemned
to a lifetime’s cutting, and not
to plunge the scissors into a spinal cord…
this little girl who cut her finger with
her mother’s scissors perhaps
to try to explain how they cut her heart
her love that would grow like hair
how can I know the heart
of this woman who cuts my hair
so expertly.. snip, snip..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To A Lady Who Was Libell'd.
When Cynthia, Regent of the Tides,
Pale in meridian Pride presides;
A Sov'reign Pow'r the Goddess claims
O'er Seas, and Sea--supplying Streams;
The River of the richest Source
With Ease she turns, and checks his Course;
His crystal Clearness can defile
With ev'ry Filth, and Salt as vile;
However strong, and smooth, and pure,
Her Tyranny he must endure;
Till, her Dominion in the Wain,
He clears, and is himself again.
Thus, over black, benighted Brains,
Fell Envy, baleful Goddess, reigns;
O'er mortal Passions, pale, presides;
Passions, the Soul's tumultuous Tides;
Which, in their fierce, resistless Sway,
Invade all Merit in their Way;
With Ease the clearest Truths confute,
With Ease the purest Worth pollute;
Check ev'ry Virtue in its Course,
And taint, impetuous, to its Source,
The Current of the fairest Fame,
By forcing Filth into the Stream.
So are you sully'd for a Season,
Till Rage recoils, and yields to Reason:
Then turns the Tide--your Credit clears,
And all your real Worth appears.
poem by Mary Barber
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Mockery
I met my love a-weeping,
Weeping in the night-tide pale;
Her head among the lily bloom,
Weeping by an empty tomb—
An unshut tomb.
I gently stroked her golden hair
That shone so
With the moon-glow
In the sad-sweet air.
Like playful breezes from the south
Came soft smile-dimples to her mouth;
And when again she seemed to weep
I kissed her wild-wide eyes to sleep;
While there beyond the lily bloom
I saw the watching, waiting tomb.
I left my love a-sleeping,
Sleeping in the cypress vale;
Smiling sadly in the gloom;
Sleeping in the fastened tomb—
The tight-shut tomb.
How round the tomb the moving mists
Will twirl so
When the wind blows,
That the ivy twists
And shudders round the cold grey stone:
A serpent on a crumbling throne.
While I, upon a nearby mound
Hear salt tears soaking in the ground;
But there, when’er the lilies bloom,
I hear low laughter in the tomb.
poem by Leon Gellert
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A Wind From... Elsewhere
The wind blows here... the wind blows there
The wind seems to blow from... everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair...
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! Can you see its graceful fingers... playing in your hair?
Nay! You cannot see the wind... e'en though you know it's there.
It's flitting... it's flirting... it's prancing everywhere
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! It blows unexpectedly... with a gentle breeze... it blows...
The Great Hand of Miracles... brings it... then it goes
To greet the early morning sun... to dance to and fro
From the highest, loftiest mountain heights... to valleys... far below. 'Who is He that sitteth upon the circle of the earth...
Who gathereth the winds in his fists—Who maketh a wind to pass over...
Thou hearest the sound thereof...
But canst not tell whence it cometh... and wither it goeth.' The wind blows here... the wind blows there...
The wind seems to blow... from everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair—
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE!
poem by Elga Haymon White
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Tides of the Latter Rain
The high tides sweep the soul
Washed with golden branches of joy
Ships of Orpheus sail
Decadence has blended
We can be Holy
Your silk is smooth as kisses
Great wet kisses of magnolia serpents
Blue green sea with bright waves
Prayer rises like ancient fire
Time is a muse of Eve
I am the walls of agates
Rocks cleansed by the tide
Eagles come again to my dreams
Your rings are wet
You think of me like a sword
You are a child of the prophet Joel
The tides of the latter rain come again
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Root Like A Rose
There's a green, green palce
Where you lift your face
To the sound of the waves and the wind
Down by the shore
Where my soul does endure
Where the mother sea ends and begins.
Take me home
To the sand and the foam
Where my dreams walk in the mist
I'll fall to the earth and root like a rose
In the salt land
That gave me my verse.
Though I wander afar
The same sea, the same stars
Still shine to the tears in my eyes
They take me home to a land
That my soul understands
Where the heart of the rose never dies.
Take me home
To the sand and the foam
Where my dreams walk in the mist
I'll fall to the earth and root like a rose
In the salt land
That gave me my verse...
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beds Too Big Without You
Beds too big without you
Cold wind blows right thru my open door
I cant sleep with your memory
Dreaming dreams of what used to be
When she left I was cold inside
That look on my face was just pride
No regrets no love no tears
Living on my own was the least of my fears
Beds too big without you
The beds too big without you
The beds too big
Without you
Since that day when youd gone
Just had to carry on
I get thru day but late at night
Made love to my pillow but it didnt feel right
Every day, just the same
Old rules for the same old game
All I gained was heartache
All I made was one mistake
Now the beds too big without you
The beds too big without you
The beds too big
Without you
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Forsaken Garden
IN a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,
At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee,
Walled round with rocks as an inland island,
The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.
A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses
The steep square slope of the blossomless bed
Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses
Now lie dead.
The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken,
To the low last edge of the long lone land.
If a step should sound or a word be spoken,
Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand?
So long have the grey bare walks lain guestless,
Through branches and briars if a man make way,
He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless
Night and day.
The dense hard passage is blind and stifled
That crawls by a track none turn to climb
To the strait waste place that the years have rifled
Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time.
The thorns he spares when the rose is taken;
The rocks are left when he wastes the plain.
The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken,
These remain.
Not a flower to be pressed of the foot that falls not;
As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry;
From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not,
Could she call, there were never a rose to reply.
Over the meadows that blossom and wither
Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song;
Only the sun and the rain come hither
All year long.
The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels
One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath.
Only the wind here hovers and revels
In a round where life seems barren as death.
Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping,
Haply, of lovers none ever will know,
Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping
Years ago.
Heart handfast in heart as they stood, "Look thither,"
Did he whisper? "look forth from the flowers to the sea;
For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither,
And men that love lightly may die---but we?"
And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened,
And or ever the garden's last petals were shed,
In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had lightened,
Love was dead.
Or they loved their life through, and then went whither?
And were one to the endÑbut what end who knows?
Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither,
As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose.
Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them ?
What love was ever as deep as a grave ?
They are loveless now as the grass above them
Or the wave.
All are at one now, roses and lovers,
Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea.
Not a breath of the time that has been hovers
In the air now soft with a summer to be.
Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter
Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep,
When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter
We shall sleep.
Here death may deal not again for ever;
Here change may come not till all change end.
From the graves they have made they shall rise up never,
Who have left nought living to ravage and rend.
Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing,
While the sun and the rain live, these shall be;
Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing
Roll the sea.
Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,
Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink,
Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble
The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,
Here now in his triumph where all things falter,
Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,
As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,
Death lies dead.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The Pigtail
There lived a sage in days of yore,
And he a handsome pigtail wore;
But wondered much, and sorrowed more,
Because it hung behind him.
He mused upon this curious case,
And swore he’d change the pigtail’s place,
And have it hanging at his face,
Not dangling there behind him.
Says he, “The mystery I’ve found;
I’ll turn me round.” He turned him round,
But still it hung behind him.
Then round, and round, and out, and in,
All day the puzzled sage did spin;
In vain—it mattered not a pin—
The pigtail hung behind him.
And right, and left, and round about,
And up, and down, and in, and out
He turned. But still the pigtail stout
Hung steadily behind him.
And though his efforts never slack,
And though he twist, and whirl, and tack,
Alas! still faithful to his back
The pigtail hangs behind him!
poem by Adelbert von Chamisso
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Autumn's Grace
The autumn’s dream may keep its dying grace
With flecks and shades of bleeding leaves and yellow.
The cold wind's scorch may wither the green’s space,
When fruits of green a bit more need to mellow.
And autumn’s tear on every leaf perceives
The cold wind, which scorches green so cruelly,
Till glass fleck shade of bleeding yellow leaves
The living world to meet its ground so coolly.
And autumn’s red may silence the bird’s voice,
When shivers of the tree the rain embrace
And nature's hide, having no other choice.
The winter slowly comes showing her white face.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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