En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Haunted

THE house is haunted; when the little feet
Go pattering about it in their play,
I tremble lest the little one should meet
The ghosts that haunt the happy night and day.

And yet I think they only come to me;
They come through night of ease and pleasant day
To whisper of the torment that must be
If I some day should be, alas! as they.

And when the child is lying warm asleep,
The ghosts draw back the curtain of my bed,
And past them through the dreadful dark I creep,
Clasp close the child, and so am comforted.

Cling close, cling close, my darling, my delight,
Sad voices on the wind come thin and wild,
Ghosts of poor mothers crying in the night--
'Father, have pity--once I had a child!'

poem by Edith Nesbit
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We Fly So Close

we never realise just how close we come to disaster whether in love or everyday life...
My harbour lights are fading fast
Soon theyll disappear
Alone I sit in darkness
Hoping someone might come near
Though I wait, though I try
No one ever comes
And the feeling that I have flood over me
The river starts to run
We fly so close
We fly so close
Sometimes we fly too close
Every place you run to, everywhere you turn
There are places that you know you should not go
But some bridges just wont burn
All my life, though I try
I cannot change the past
And the ghosts that come back to haunt you
Make you realise at last
We fly so close
We fly so close
Sometimes we fly too close
We fly too close
My heart is racing much faster now
Life passes before my eyes
Somethings I see, they make me smile
Somethings they make me cry
So I look, so I try to find
A lesson I can learn
The passing of time hasnt changed my mind
And the ghosts I know return
You know we fly so close
We fly so close
Sometimes we fly too close
We fly too close
We fly so close, you and I sometimes
Sometimes we fly so close,
Well never know how many times
We fly so close
We fly so close

song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eyes of a child

Eyes of a child
Such gems in stones
Staring you close
Still as blue sky
They don't lie
Their sun is shining
While you are crying

Eyes of a child
Day or night
I got no light
Free as a child
I can be wild
Eyes of a child

Let them go, into the snow
Without your grace
There's a lot more to know
Just glance over their face

It's the eye of a child
Free and wild

Child don't think too much
Ain't no worry as such
Joy driven life they live
Half-a-soul they give

It's the eyes of a child
Free and wild

Save me child
Save me child
Set me free and wild
Eyes of my child

poem by Siddharth Shah
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Ghostly House

You need language of ghosts
To communicate with spirits that impose on us.

You crave for the very food our ghosts need.
Come with the religion of yours to distract them.

For it pray and they will go away, for all eternity!
Your House is Haunted. Be so wary!
Even call the police, and they will never enter your home.

Your House is Haunted. It needs some policy to rid it of evil and despair.
You House needs some care. It requires the life to adjust. You must.
If ghosts are about then leave the house and complain.
Nobody listens except the Priest, and he is not around.
Go to the doctor, and feel doom in abundance. The ghosts do not win.
Good Luck!

poem by Naveed Akram
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Ghosts

YES--kiss my forehead where the pain
Is grinding outwards from my brain!
But will not pity teach you, too,
To kiss these lips no fire burns through--
These cheeks, made colourless and thin
By years you had no portion in--
These weary eyes that wake and ache
Not for your sake--not for your sake:
Kiss, child, and let your kisses see
If they can find the heart in me!
There is a heart--or used to be!

I think the pain is growing less
Under your passionless caress--
Ah! could you teach my lips to crave
But just such kisses as you gave,
And could you, treading my life's ways,
But lay these ghosts of dear dead days
That walk my world by day and night,
And bar the way of all delight--
If at your touch should waken--.. . . Vain!
From heaven itself my soul would plain:
'Give me my ghosts, my ghosts again!'

poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Winter Night

My window-pane is starred with frost,
The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

God pity all the homeless ones,
The beggars pacing to and fro,
God pity all the poor to-night
Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

My room is like a bit of June,
Warm and close-curtained fold on fold,
But somewhere, like a homeless child,
My heart is crying in the cold.

poem by Sara Teasdale
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I Wondered What Was Next

So I wondered what was next
As I said good night
I wondered what was next
As I said good night

With head bowed and soul I prayed
These words I said
Please, send the Angels
To guard this, little sleepy head

And as I watched, I sung
Go to sleep, go to sleep
Close those little bright blue eyes
Night-time is coming
The sun is on the far side

Angels are watching
Our vigil to keep
While the Sandman is filling your eyes
It's time for you sleep

Hush-a-bye-baby
Hush-a-bye-sweet
Play time is over for your
Tiny little feet

Close your eyes, baby
Close your eyes, honey
Sleey-time's here
Good night little darling
Good night little dear

As I sung this song
I wondered what would be next
What God has done to my soul?
Because of this child, I confess

I held my daughter's child
while she fell to sleep
And it was there that I started to think
About the stories of my life, the constant agony
There had just been so dang many
The unending strife's
And just like that the tears again,
Came my way
I fought against torrential rains

As I held this child
That has caused love in my life
I fought against my memories of strife

As I struggled trying end my cares
I attemped again to find peace
But where?
A thought passed through my mind
It came almost like a nursery rhyme.

Oh hush-a-bye child
Hush-a-bye child
Look what you've become
The man that loves,
My little ones

And as I sat wondering
Where those words had Just came from?

I heard again

So hush-a-bye child
Hush-a-bye child
Look what you've become
The man that loves everyone
The man that sin can no longer
over run

So I spoke my question
With voice aloud
How can this be?

Hush-a-bye child
Hush-a-bye child
I can see
Hush-a-bye child
Leave the pains of the past
For me

For I have opened the windows
Of Heaven for thee
And poured out this blessing
With-out room enough to recieve

So (hush-a-bye child)
(Hush-a-bye child)
It's time for you to sleep
For even now I Am,
I Am
Baby tending with thee

poem by Clyde Bryson
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Ghosts Of Our Past

Ghosts Of Our Past

We are haunted all the time
by ghosts of our past
for things we did long ago.
They remind us often
of the mistakes we made
and cannot amend.
These ghosts can come to us
at almost anytime
and we always refer to them
as our memories.

3 May 2008

poem by David Harris
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Cathedral Close for Friend Ben Gieske

When night falls on Cathedral Close.
The square is thronged by quiet ghosts
Who line the square on every side
their graves left empty yawning wide.

What is it that they hope to find?
Some salve to give them peace of mind
Why do they stand in silent ranks?
and seek to clear their memory banks.

The sins which will not let them sleep
the guilty secrets which they keep,
weigh on the conscience heavily.
and won’t be rid of easily.

When twilight falls the dead arise.
Each from the grave he occupies
and gather in Cathedral Close.
They seek forgiveness I suppose.

When morning breaks they flee in fright
they fear the coming of the light.
Cathedral close lit by the sun
is quite empty the ghosts have gone.

Back to their graves where they must wait
and in the darkness meditate.
Upon the sins they won’t confess
In agonising sleeplessness.

If only they would realise
within themselves forgiveness lies.
They do not need to stand in rows
When night falls on Cathedral Close.

Triumphantly they could take flight
and wing their way towards the light.
They should have done so long ago
. But guilt refused to let them go.

Why do they stay when they are free
to me it is a mystery
Why do they haunt Cathedral close?
They know no better I suppose.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Story Of Nevermore

now I cast a hypnotic spell
to free a child from her hell
surrender now child fall deep in my spell
just come to me child and all will be well

rise now child in sleep you now come
walk now child thought your scenes stay numb
fall now child in to a peaceful dream
but nothing there is as it seems

even thought child in you dream all is right
really your body walks still throw the night
relax now child let that dream ease your mind
follow now child let my voice be your guild

don’t worry child my intentions are pure
you’ll be happy with me of that I am sure
I’m just so tired of being alone
I want a child all of my own

so sleepwalk now child to the pull of my charm
sleepwalk to me child you’ll be safe in my arms
nevermore child shall you cry out in pain
your old life will be lost but a new one will be gained

sleepwalk to me child you’ll be my daughter soon
find your way to me child by the light of the moon
sleepwalk to me child and I’ll show you my ways
all the things I can show you; you’ll be amazed

sleepwalk to me child your almost here
come to me child soon all will be clear
sleepwalk to me child come meet your new mom
soon the whole world will rest in your palm

I see you now child I have you in sight
I run to you child now all is right
your eyes are dazed child unseeing and blank
I can see you now child what a great daughter you’ll make

come to me child collapse in my arms
come to me child you’re safe now from harm
I hold you now child and cradle you close to my heart
I hum to you child as I carry you throw the dark

were home now dear child far from all you ones knew
were home now dear child only one thing left to do
I made this child a special potion just for you
and with it your life begins anew

drink this now child and let your past slip away
remember not one second not one moment or one day
your eyes close child as I release you from my spell
in conciseness you do not dwell

back in to slumber you fall ever so deep
I love how innocent you look in sleep
a new name you need child to mark your new life
you need a new name as you exist the light

your name is Nevermore My child Raven Nevermore
a name like none ever heard before
you are Raven Nevermore
a young witch of great power to explore

you are Raven Nevermore
my daughter now and evermore

poem by Raven Nevermore
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The War of the Ghosts

Three Ghosts that haunt me have I,
Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,
Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul,
That haunt me by day and by night.

The first was a dark mountaineer,
Who hunted with arrow and knife,
To whom the turf was a bed,
And the wind of the moorland was life.
And the next was a mariner rude,
Whose home and whose grave was the sea,
For whom the land was a prison
And only the ocean was free.
And the last was a shrunken recluse,
Who lived with the dust and the gloom
And wrote of the Saints and of Him
Who went for us to His doom.

And all through the days and years
These ancient Ghosts contend,
And my soul is a battle-field
Of passions that pierce and rend.
And whenever a sunbeam alights
All gleaming and fresh on my page,
I am wild for the hills and the bush,
I am torn with the hunter's rage.
I am sick of the smell of a book,
I am off with the dogs or a gun,
Or I gallop my fifty miles
Before the set of the sun.
And yet from some loftier peak
When I look on the sea from afar,
I feel like one in a grave;
And I long for a ship full-sailed
And an ocean wide on the lee
I choke on the solid land
For the lift of the undulant sea.

Yet ever the battle goes on,
And ever there rises a day
When the Ghosts of the wave and the wood
To the Ghost of the cell give way.
Then the land is a wilderness drear,
And dismal and vast is the sea,
But cloistered in peace with my books
My soul is uplifted and free.

Three Ghosts that haunt me have I,
Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,
Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul,
That haunt me by day and by night.
Yet ofttimes there joins in the fray
One gross and sluggish of limb,
No spectre is he but a man,
Whose strokes are heavy and grim.
For a man is not nothing, I swear,
Nor a braggart am I when I boast
That though he be slothful or sleep,
A man is more than a ghost.
And my soul is my own, I aver,
The master and lord of it I,
And whenever I will to bestir,
All ghostly usurpers shall fly.
Then I what is mine will assume,
Nor diverge from the path of my will.
Though the Ghosts I have routed still call
From the desk and the sea and the hill.

poem by William Gay
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Obtained By Ghosts

Ghosts obtain justice from us,
As we are near extinction.
Ghosts monitored our moves
Like houses of parliament.
Their revelry is unjustified
As far as lieutenancy.
I marry those ghosts meaningfully
To images of past poltergeists.
I have conquered burgers and chips
With a few of them.
They sedate me, cast a crate of food
On the floor in malpractice -
Professional or educational?
Both of these men are ghosts
And I am teased, when I am haunted.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Dead Man's Morrice

There came a crowder to the Mermaid Inn,
One dark May night,
Fiddling a tune that quelled our motley din,
With quaint delight,
It haunts me yet, as old lost airs will do,
A phantom strain:
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

In that old wood, where ghosts of lovers walk,
At fall of day,
Gleaning such fragments of their ancient talk
As poor ghosts may,
From leaves that brushed their faces, wet with dew,
Or tears, or rain,...
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

Have we not seen them--pale forgotten shades
That do return,
Groping for those dim paths, those fragrant glades,
Those nooks of fern,
Only to find that, of the may they knew,
No wraiths remain;
_Yet they still look, as I should look for you,
And look in vain._

They see those happier ghosts that waned away--
Whither, who knows?--
Ghosts that come back with music and the may,
And Spring's first rose,
Lover and lass, to sing the old burden through,
Stave and refrain:
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

So, after death, if in that starless deep,
I lose your eyes,
I'll haunt familiar places. I'll not keep
Tryst in the skies.
I'll haunt the whispering elms that found us true,
The old grass-grown lane.
_Look for me there, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

There, as of old, under the dreaming moon,
A phantom throng
Floats through the fern, to a ghostly morrice tune,
A thin sweet song,
Hands link with hands, eyes drown in eyes anew,
Lips meet again....
_Look for me, once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Mystery House

That door had been shut for years
No sound ever passed its ears
Its eyes were starved, for light,
Inside was just silent Night

Why was it closed, what had it been
Had it some kind of mishap seen
Was it waiting for its master, last,
To free it from some spell he cast

The wood cracked, the metal, rusted
cobwebs on its top vested
' The house of ghosts ',
it was taunted
Little John too knew the house was haunted
Eerie spirits, you could hear all night,
poor Ken, you see, huddled in fright
mother forbade, no one went close
into the death trap, none tried nor chose

' The Winchester House ', it was named once
None gave the manor's house a glance
I believe the house, will forever remain
Yet none its mystery will ever explain.

poem by Vishnu Sampoorn
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Mr Sandman Lullaby

Go to sleep my child
and when you close your eyes,
Mr Sandman will call
while your sleepy head
heads for the field of your dreams
under a never-ending sun.
There you will play
the whole night through.
Go to sleep my child
and when you close your eyes,
Mr Sandman will call.
Once again, you will chase butterflies
across the field of your dreams,
laugh and sing
and no crying among your tears.
Just go to sleep my child
and when you close your eyes,
Mr Sandman will call.
A new day awaits you
on the other side of your dreams
as bight and sunny
as you want it to be.
Now hushaby, hushaby
and close those sleepy eyes.

6 September 2009

poem by David Harris
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Faith II

THROUGH the long night, the deathlong night,
Along the dark and haunted way,
I knew your hidden face was bright--
More bright than any day.

And when the faint, insistent moan
Rose from some weed-grown wayside grave,
I said, 'I do not walk alone;
'Tis easy to be brave.

I never turned to speak with you,
For all the way was dark and long,
But all the shadows' menace through
Your silence was my song.

I never sought to take your hand,
For all the way was long and rough;
I taught my soul to understand
That love was strength enough.

Then, suddenly, the ghosts drew near,
A ghastly, gliding, tomb-white band;
I called aloud for you to hear,
My hand besought your hand.

No voice, no touch--the thin ghosts glide
Where in my dream I dreamed you were--
Night, night, you are not by my side,
You never have been there!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Glee -- The Ghosts

In life three ghostly friars were we,
And now three friarly ghosts we be.
Around our shadowy table placed,
The spectral bowl before us floats:
With wine that none but ghosts can taste,
We wash our unsubstantial throats.
Three merry ghosts--three merry ghosts--
three merry ghosts are we:
Let the ocean be Port, and we'll think it good sport
To be laid in that Red Sea.

With songs that jovial spectres chaunt,
Our old refectory still we haunt.
The traveller hears our midnight mirth:
"O list!" he cries, "the haunted choir!
"The merriest ghost that walks the earth, "
"Is sure the ghost of a ghostly friar."
Three merry ghosts--three merry ghosts--
three merry ghosts are we:
Let the ocean be Port, and we'll think it good sport
To be laid in that Red Sea.

poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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A Presentiment

'Oh father, let us hence--for hark,
A fearful murmur shakes the air.
The clouds are coming swift and dark:--
What horrid shapes they wear!
A winged giant sails the sky;
Oh father, father, let us fly!'

'Hush, child; it is a grateful sound,
That beating of the summer shower;
Here, where the boughs hang close around,
We'll pass a pleasant hour,
Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain,
Has swept the broad heaven clear again.'

'Nay, father, let us haste--for see,
That horrid thing with horned brow,--
His wings o'erhang this very tree,
He scowls upon us now;
His huge black arm is lifted high;
Oh father, father, let us fly!'

'Hush, child;' but, as the father spoke,
Downward the livid firebolt came,
Close to his ear the thunder broke,
And, blasted by the flame,
The child lay dead; while dark and still,
Swept the grim cloud along the hill.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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That Close To You

Like a bolt of lightning
Like a bolt of thunder
Like a cloudy day
Down at the zoo
Like a drowning man
That will never go under
That close to you
Yeah, that close to you
In the middle of the night
Youd ask me to make you smile
Youd come on like a one armed child
With a hole in its shoe
Poor you
Everybody oughtta know
It only hurts ya for a little while
So stop putting yourself on trial
For something you didnt do
Not you
To me
Cant we
Be
Just like
Lovers and mothers and brothers
And sorrow
Can I find a little something
With a nicer view
Im hating to plead
But Im begging to borrow
Just to be
That close to you
Yeah, that close to you

song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song of the Beasts

(Sung, on one night, in the cities, in the darkness.)

Come away! Come away!
Ye are sober and dull through the common day,
But now it is night!
It is shameful night, and God is asleep!
(Have you not felt the quick fires that creep
Through the hungry flesh, and the lust of delight,
And hot secrets of dreams that day cannot say?). . . .
. . .The house is dumb;
The night calls out to you. . . Come, ah, come!
Down the dim stairs, through the creaking door,
Naked, crawling on hands and feet
- It is meet! it is meet!
Ye are men no longer, but less and more,
Beast and God. . . . Down the lampless street,
By little black ways, and secret places,
In the darkness and mire,
Faint laughter around, and evil faces
By the star-glint seen - ah! follow with us!
For the darkness whispers a blind desire,
And the fingers of night are amorous.
Keep close as we speed,
Though mad whispers woo you, and hot hands cling,
And the touch and the smell of bare flesh sting,
Soft flank by your flank, and side brushing side -
Tonight never heed!
Unswerving and silent follow with me,
Till the city ends sheer,
And the crook'd lanes open wide,
Out of the voices of night,
Beyond lust and fear,
To the level waters of moonlight,
To the level waters, quiet and clear,
To the black unresting plains of the calling sea.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1906)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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“Ghosts are for the telling”

Ghosts are for the telling,
We call them experts and impressive,
As more of them appear from the woods.

Ghosts have understood us for the rules,
So that mastering is a problem and real;
Our mothers want us to comply and so they result.

Each ghost is great in beauty,
Full of foolish whims and ideas,
Their wish is to comprehend us, even to master us.

A little ghost is no liar, but one of them,
And that degree is hidden,
For we strive to alienate it as much as we can.

The baby is asleep, the ghosts do weep,
And I am fast away in slumber;
Much are ghosts to do the enormous chatter before they die.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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