The Combe
The Combe was ever dark, ancient and dark.
Its mouth is stopped with brambles, thorn, and briar;
And no one scrambles over the sliding chalk
By beech and yew and perishing juniper
Down the half precipices of its sides, with roots
And rabbit holes for steps. The sun of Winter,
The moon of Summer, and all the singing birds
Except the missel-thrush that loves juniper,
Are quite shut out. But far more ancient and dark
The Combe looks since they killed the badger there,
Dug him out and gave him to the hounds,
That most ancient Briton of English beasts.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Related quotes
Melancholy wintertime thoughts
Its cold outside and the fire
Crackles in the hearth, sends forth
Merry sparks to conceal you from
the dark.
You will not let the fire dim,
Because you know they will come in
All the wonderers in the dark.
All the dancers in the dark all the lonely
And the old, those from before who are
Here searching through the dark.
The peikko and the shamleg the journo and the ancient one
who slides on his belly, seek refuge in the dark.
The beast with many horns and he who
sleeps the day seek refuge in the dark.
So draw near to your little fire, throw on
A log or two. Think not of the beasts of winter and
they wont care for you
Dark Dark Moon......
Dark dark moon
Dark dark moon
No no no no no, don't show me your face...!
Dark dark moon
Dark dark moon
No no no no no, no my eyes won't turn...!
Dark dark moon
Dark dark moon
No no no no no, please don't talk to me...!
Dark dark moon
Dark dark moon
No no no no no, please please don't go away....!
poem by Rowving Smith
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Copper Kettle
Get you a copper kettle, get you a copper coil,
Fill it with new-made corn mash and never more youll toil.
Youll just lay there by the juniper while the moon is bright,
Watch them jugs a-filling
In the pale moonlight.
Build you a fire with hickory, hickory, ash and oak,
Dont use no green or rotten wood; theyll get you by the smoke.
Well just lay there by the juniper... etc.
My daddy, he made whiskey; my granddaddy, he did too.
We aint paid no whiskey tax since 1792.
We just lay there by the juniper... etc.
(last line repeated)
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hidden Dreams
It's awesome
The summer brings perpetual light.
The birds are around all the time
singing their pretty tunes.
All summer through the flowers bloom.
The garden veggies grow huge.
In winter, when it's dark,
there are the Northern Lights
dancing across the sky
in a rainbow of colour;
our sweet delights.
The snow cover is beautiful.
You can relax and enjoy its peacefulness.
The dark of winter doesn't bother me at all
nor does the daylight of summer.
Alaska! Hidden dreams.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Dark Moon Rising
The dark moon is rising
No silver left to see
The crone has awakened
Her power flows in me
The dark storm is coming
The rain pouring down
The thunder raises power
As lightening takes ground
The dark Queen is walking
Her whispers call to me
Ancient wisdom flowing
Circling energies flow free
The dark night is waiting
Its lure a sweet bane
Stepped through my shadow
And I am forever changed
Copyright 2006 A.J. McKinley
poem by A.J. McKinley
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On Modern poetry
On the cover
of those old black hymnbooks
in those old dark churches
you can just about read
'Hymns Ancient and Modern'
As time goes by,
'ancient' gets a longer and longer history
and curiously so too
does 'modern'
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come In
As I came to the edge of the woods,
Thrush music -- hark!
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.
Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.
The last of the light of the sun
That had died in the west
Still lived for one song more
In a thrush's breast.
Far in the pillared dark
Thrush music went --
Almost like a call to come in
To the dark and lament.
But no, I was out for stars;
I would not come in.
I meant not even if asked;
And I hadn't been.
poem by Robert Frost
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Whistling In The Dark
A woman came up to me and said
Id like to poison your mind
With wrong ideas that appeal to you
Though I am not unkind
She looked at me, I looked at something
Written across her scalp
And these are the words that it faintly said
As I tried to call for help:
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I like
And that is whistling in the dark
A man came up to me and said
Id like to change your mind
By hitting it with a rock, he said,
Though I am not unkind.
We laughed at his little joke
And then I happily walked away
And hit my head on the wall of the jail
Where the two of us live today.
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I like
And that is whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling, whistling
Whistling in the dark
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ancient Hills Of Toora
The ancient hills of Toora are looking brown today
Yet they were lush and rather green when last I passed this way
But that was last September when the nesting birds did sing
And every where looked greener in the early days of Spring.
To those ancient hills of Toora the Seasons come and go
And where once were thousands of gum trees only a few gums grow
And the Aboriginals who lived and hunted on those hills are not around today
Time brings with it great changes and it's always been that way.
The ancient hills of Toora as old as father time
And they were millions of years old when Christ was in his prime
The oldest human on Planet Earth perhaps fifteen years with five score
But the ancient hills of Toora will exist forever more.
The ancient hills of Toora overlooking Toora Town
From the long and warm dry Summer have never looked so brown
But I recall last September decked in their wildering flowers
Those ancient hills of Toora lush and green after Spring showers.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Part of what we love about poetry is the fact that it seems ancient, that it has an authority of ancient language and ancient form, and that it's timeless, that it reaches back.
quote by Robert Morgan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer into Winter
June stars
January moon
The light dies too quickly
And the dark arrives too soon
April blossom
And august bliss
The frost in the winter
Seals your lips with a kiss
February snow
October trees
When summer dies
So do the leaves
November rain
March flowers
When winter comes
So do dark hours
July sun
September nights
When summer goes to bed
The birds all take flight
December is left
Till the very last
As we look back
At the months just past
poem by Nicola Burkett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death of Dusk
The sun resigns,
bleeds out the vestiges –
remnants of the day.
Exsanguination edges into twilight:
red-brown hangs;
upwards darkens:
blue-brown,
blue-black,
death-black,
disquiet – furtive,
like ghoul-ridden fog.
A sombre moon assumes its role,
gushing silver-white lymph upon the muted scape –
a prequel of supernatural undertones
to chill the scene,
ice the spine,
kill the brain –
we have unnerved the very firmament.
But now a shadow closing down the globe:
dinosaurian cloud shrouds the moon glaze,
claims the late hour –
declared in a dying crow caw.
I, the hidden owl
– nemesis of claustrophobic minds –
awake! for mammal flesh –
fresh, jerking out its warmth in dance of death.
Rock-still I perch in sculptured oneness
with my crooked night-tree,
emanating nocturnal allure.
Together we scowl
together we play the dark
upon the land and sky
and mind
while you lie as dead in your box.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark Dark Girl
Dark girl so filled with strife
Dark Dark girl she'll take your life
Dark girl stay for a while
Dark Dark girl she makes me smile
Dark girl she shows no fear
Dark Dark girl is always near
Dark girl wont see her cry
Dark Dark girl just wants to die
But Dark girl lives in the dark
so you dont see her painfull mark
Dark Dark girl may never know
just how much the light can show
poem by Kyle Potter
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There’s always hope (Nafaka)
Singing at the crossroad
Threw the dew of grass
The father and mother of faith
At the threshold of some houses
Locking up at midnight
An ancient hope singing an ancient song
Rising on the lips
Of all the poets born in restlessness
Always the same one
Never completely sung
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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You, the Dark
Dark, She is the mind of yours.
Icy chill of thought becomes
A steely shimmer.
Behold a glimmer in the black -
A flash of grey, that even glows
In show against the hallowed dark of you.
And that is why you scream in jarring tones
'I have no heart for joy!
My white and brittle bones have died'
You cried in dark and fractured moans.
So now the Queen of Black you writhe,
Whence from dark of shade
That honed an evil form afar;
In curse of me you bade:
'I, the wave shall rape the shore!
Violence will there be in glares I'll throw
At all who prey, and more:
A dark and fetid sea I'll bleed.'
And now, the bitter tinge
And bleak of waste
That eyed the death of once your soul
Will here forever be!
Indeed you tell:
'The cramping pain is here!
Eternal spasm, infinite chasm,
The Devil's chaplain plays!
We'll climax in a tortured glee
As all my love decays.'
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Dark dark dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark
dark dark dark dark dark dark dark darkdarkdarkdark
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hound Voice
BECAUSE we love bare hills and stunted trees
And were the last to choose the settled ground,
Its boredom of the desk or of the spade, because
So many years companioned by a hound,
Our voices carry; and though slumber-bound,
Some few half wake and half renew their choice,
Give tongue, proclaim their hidden name -- 'Hound Voice.'
The women that I picked spoke sweet and low
And yet gave tongue. 'Hound Voices' were they all.
We picked each other from afar and knew
What hour of terror comes to test the soul,
And in that terror's name obeyed the call,
And understood, what none have understood,
Those images that waken in the blood.
Some day we shall get up before the dawn
And find our ancient hounds before the door,
And wide awake know that the hunt is on;
Stumbling upon the blood-dark track once more,
Then stumbling to the kill beside the shore;
Then cleaning out and bandaging of wounds,
And chantS of victory amid the encircling hounds.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Eye OF Venus
Green is the eye of Venus, though now tightly shut.
Ancient music drums,
Trees viridian-hued.
The night has settled, dark as fear.
I rode a stallion-
Jet-black he was,
Against an array of foliage,
Emerald green,
Into the dead of night,
He rode.
Sleeping, I am?
Or am I living within some land of the surreal?
Lost within a valley,
I lie amongst tall reeds.
Water showers down upon me.
Skies turn mauve, purplish-
No calm before this storm.
Struck by lightening,
Branches are fallen by the wind.
Upon awakening,
As day breaks,
The ancient music’s melody is arrested.
A sibilant voice whispers to me:
“Sleep amongst the dead,
And depart from the living.”
As I nonchalantly gaze at the rising sun,
I wave “goodbye” to Venus,
And as she falls behind the horizon,
She waves back at me, and winks at me,
While ancient music begins drumming again…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Dark Side Of The Moon
Every night we dream of things
half of them we never remember,
but our dreams are only things
our brain is sorting out
what it wants to remember.
The rest are left to visit
the dark side of the moon.
When love comes to us
with all its frills and froth,
then departs with broken hearts.
We always like to remember
the thrill of its coming
and the sadness of parting
is sent to the dark side of the moon.
As with everything in our lives,
we tend to want to forget
we package them together
and parcel them away.
Then on an appropriate day we send them,
on their way to
the dark side of the moon.
The dark side of the moon
where all discarded dreams go.
The dark side of the moon
is where old love letters stray,
to stay forever and a day
on the dark side of the moon.
26 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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Love and Friendship
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree --
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most contantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who wil call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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Haunts Of Ancient Peace
Beside the garden walls,
We walk in haunts of ancient peace.
At night we rest and go to sleep
In haunts of ancient peace.
The love and light we seek,
The words we do not need to speak,
Here in this wondrous way we keep
These haunts of ancient peace.
Let us go there again
When we need some relief
Oh, when I cant find my feet
When I need rest and sleep.
The sunday bells they chime
Around the countryside and towns
A song of harmony and rhyme
In haunts of ancient peace.
The holy grail we seek
On down by haunts of ancient peace.
We see the new jerusalem
In haunts of ancient peace.
Oh, when I cant find my feet
Oh, when I need some relief
One more time again.
You know I want to go there one more time again.
Be still in haunts of ancient peace.
(be still)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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