En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Calverly's

We go no more to Calverly's,
For there the lights are few and low;
And who are there to see by them,
Or what they see, we do not know.
Poor strangers of another tongue
May now creep in from anywhere,
And we, forgotten, be no more
Than twilight on a ruin there.

We two, the remnant. All the rest
Are cold and quiet. You nor I,
Nor fiddle now, nor flagon-lid,
May ring them back from where they lie.
No fame delays oblivion
For them, but something yet survives:
A record written fair, could we
But read the book of scattered lives.

There'll be a page for Leffingwell,
And one for Lingard, the Moon-calf;
And who knows what for Clavering,
Who died because he couldn't laugh?
Who knows or cares? No sign is here,
No face, no voice, no memory;
No Lingard with his eerie joy,
No Clavering, no Calverly.

We cannot have them here with us
To say where their light lives are gone,
Or if they be of other stuff
Than are the moons of Ilion.
So, be their place of one estate
With ashes, echoes, and old wars,—
Or ever we be of the night,
Or we be lost among the stars.

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lingard and the Stars

The table hurled itself, to our surprise,
At Lingard, and anon rapped eagerly:
“When earth is cold and there is no more sea,
There will be what was Lingard. Otherwise,
Why lure the race to ruin through the skies?
And why have Leffingwell, or Calverly?”—
“I wish the ghost would give his name,” said he;
And searching gratitude was in his eyes.

He stood then by the window for a time,
And only after the last midnight chime
Smote the day dead did he say anything:
“Come out, my little one, the stars are bright;
Come out, you lælaps, and inhale the night.”
And so he went away with Clavering.

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Clavering

I say no more for Clavering
Than I should say of him who fails
To bring his wounded vessel home
When reft of rudder and of sails;

I say no more than I should say
Of any other one who sees
Too far for guidance of to-day,
Too near for the eternities.

I think of him as I should think
Of one who for scant wages played,
And faintly, a flawed instrument
That fell while it was being made;

I think of him as one who fared,
Unfaltering and undeceived,
Amid mirages of renown
And urgings of the unachieved;

I think of him as one who gave
To Lingard leave to be amused,
And listened with a patient grace
That we, the wise ones, had refused;

I think of metres that he wrote
For Cubit, the ophidian guest:
“What Lilith, or Dark Lady”… Well,
Time swallows Cubit with the rest.

I think of last words that he said
One midnight over Calverly:
“Good-by—good man.” He was not good;
So Clavering was wrong, you see.

I wonder what had come to pass
Could he have borrowed for a spell
The fiery-frantic indolence
That made a ghost of Leffingwell;

I wonder if he pitied us
Who cautioned him till he was gray
To build his house with ours on earth
And have an end of yesterday;

I wonder what it was we saw
To make us think that we were strong;
I wonder if he saw too much,
Or if he looked one way too long.

But when were thoughts or wonderings
To ferret out the man within?
Why prate of what he seemed to be,
And all that he might not have been?

He clung to phantoms and to friends,
And never came to anything.
He left a wreath on Cubit’s grave.
I say no more for Clavering.

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Halloween Evening

The moon was lost behind a cloud
When something weird went by
I tried to see what it was
But it flew so fast and high.

I don'tbelieve in witches
But that is what I saw
Sailing high in the sky
On broomsticks made of straw.

The stars were gone the night was dark
When something else took place
I couldn't quite believe it
There was a gruesome face.

A skeleton with corpse like face
I viewed it in awe
I don't believe in zombies
But that is what I saw.

The howls and cries
Under the moons eerie light
A master of changing shape
With one infectious bite.

I don't believe in werewolves
But that is what I saw
Walking down the street
With blood stained jaw.

Another creature of the night
With fangs dripping red
A piercing bite upon your neck
Then you are bled.

I don't believe in vampires
But that is what I saw
Lurking near the graveyard
When the moon was low.

All too soon the mellow moon
Lights an empty late night street
Children dreaming, planning, scheming
For next years trick or treat..

© Hazel

poem by Hazel Connelly
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Curfew

I.

Solemnly, mournfully,
Dealing its dole,
The Curfew Bell
Is beginning to toll.

Cover the embers,
And put out the light;
Toil comes with the morning,
And rest with the night.

Dark grow the windows,
And quenched is the fire;
Sound fades into silence,--
All footsteps retire.

No voice in the chambers,
No sound in the hall!
Sleep and oblivion
Reign over all!

II.

The book is completed,
And closed, like the day;
And the hand that has written it
Lays it away.

Dim grow its fancies;
Forgotten they lie;
Like coals in the ashes,
They darken and die.

Song sinks into silence,
The story is told,
The windows are darkened,
The hearth-stone is cold.

Darker and darker
The black shadows fall;
Sleep and oblivion
Reign over all.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The World Needs Peace, Not Through Wars!

What loss of lives and destruction!
Can lives all lost ever return?
How many more will have to die?
Can one man’s death bring back lives lost?
What pollution, a war can add!

Let Cats who declare wars on mice,
Take the blame and pay the price!
War is a gambling game like dice;
War is a futile exercise.

One cannot fight wars with mere knives;
War is a waste of human lives;
Alas, will nations realize
That keeping peace is always wise?

Wars can begin without a cause;
The world can’t have a single boss!
One nation can’t stifle the rest,
Or try to be always the best.

The world body must give OK!
The world must say to wars, all ‘nay’;
For lasting peace, war isn’t the way!
The cost of wars, who will repay?

The world must find out other ways,
Avoiding wars in future days;
Each nation must unmask its face,
And set on peace, its gaze always!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-1-2007

poem by John Celes
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Sacrifices

Autumn leaves have fallen
across long forgotten battlefields
where deep below the ground
the dead lie asleep.
Their lives torn apart
by some wicked war.
There they have immortality
for they will age no more.
Their sleep is restless
for from their deaths,
no lessons were learnt
and men and boys keep killing
in constant wicked wars.
On the eleventh hour,
of the eleventh day,
of the eleventh month
we stand in silence
to honour their memory
for the sacrifices they made,
but we have never learnt the lessons

This poem is dedicated to the memory of the men, women and children from all countries that have lost their lives in wars that have plagued our world. May their souls rest in eternal peace.
for which their lives they gave
as the killing still goes on and on.

poem by David Harris
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What Do We Do With The Rest Of The Night

(john rich/wally wilson/sharon rice)
Weve been through enough tequila
To float us outta this place
And through the smoke I can barely see ya
But Ive memorized your face
Weve danced almost every dance
Lasted longer then the band
Oh but were not through
Its just me and you
What do we do with the rest of the night
We got all of this time on our hands
Hey a lot can go down fore the sun comes up
Between a woman and a man
No we dont have to worry bout the rest of our lives
But what do we do with the rest of the night
We can take this party down to the river
Lay a blanket on the grass
Watch the stars tangle up together
While the night slides past
We can do what we wanna do
Roll away that book of rules
Well make our own
Hey nothings carved in stone
What do we do with the rest of the night
We got all of this time on our hands
Hey a lot can go down fore the sun comes up
Between a woman and a man
No we dont have to worry bout the rest of our lives
But what do we do with the rest of the night
What do we do with the rest of the night
We got all of this time on our hands
Hey a lot can go down fore the sun comes up
Between a woman and a man
No we dont have to worry bout the rest of our lives
But what do we do with the rest of the night
What do we do with the rest of the night

song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Read The Book

Dolce said to read the book.
Don’t skip any pages though,
Lizzy; I want you to read it
From cover to cover. Ok lover,
You said and examined the
Book’s covers; the hard leather,
The well sewn pages. You knew
He wrote it without his name on
The spine with the title. It was
As he spoke, the words flowing
Across the page, the meaning
Carried on and over and into
Your head. You stopped on page
Nine; he’d written about the night
He’d screwed you five times, although
No name was mentioned, you knew
It was you. Even the bed and room
Were as it had been, written right
Down to the creaking springs and
The man next door banging on the
Wall with his darn shoe. You read on
Carrying that image with you, the way
He’d caught it all with the right words,
Hammered that night right home like
Some crucified butterfly onto the page
And into your head. You paused at page
Twelve. Some paragraph about some
Lark in the bushes in the park after dark.
That didn’t ring true, at least not with you.
Who was the woman? Who was the screw?
You closed up the book; refused to look
Or read anymore; you wondered who it
Was he’d had that night in the bushes
Beneath the moonlight. Maybe it was just
Poetic licence made up to make it sell well
And the cash machines ring loud and true.
But the bitch in the bushes wasn’t you.

poem by Terry Collett
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Hall Of Mirrors

The young man stepped into the hall of mirrors
Where he discovered a reflection of himself
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Sometimes he saw his real face
And sometimes a stranger at his place
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
He fell in love with the image of himself
and suddenly the picture was distorted
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
He made up the person he wanted to be
And changed into a new personality
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
The artist is living in the mirror
With the echoes of himself
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass

song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lady Fair

Lady fair, have we not met
In our lives elsewhere ?
Darkling in my mind to-night
Faint fair faces dare
Memory's old unfaithfulness
To what was true and fair.
Long of memory is Regret,
But what Regret has taken flight
Through my memory's silences ?
Lo ! I turn it to the light.
'Twas but a pleasure in distress,
Too faint and far off for redress.
But some light glancing in your hair
And in the liquid of your eyes
Seem to murmur old good-byes
In our lives elsewhere.
Have we not met. Lady fair ?

poem by Francis Ledwidge
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Edith Conant

We stand about this place -- we, the memories;
And shade our eyes because we dread to read:
"June 17th, 1884, aged 21 years and 3 days."
And all things are changed.
And we -- we, the memories, stand here for ourselves alone,
For no eye marks us, or would know why we are here.
Your husband is dead, your sister lives far away,
Your father is bent with age;
He has forgotten you, he scarcely leaves the house
Any more.
No one remembers your exquisite face,
Your lyric voice!
How you sang, even on the morning you were stricken,
With piercing sweetness, with thrilling sorrow,
Before the advent of the child which died with you.
It is all forgotten, save by us, the memories,
Who are forgotten by the world.
All is changed, save the river and the hill --
Even they are changed.
Only the burning sun and the quiet stars are the same.
And we -- we, the memories, stand here in awe,
Our eyes closed with the weariness of tears --
In immeasurable weariness!

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Stars Remain

When our lives are over
and our mortal being
has withered to dust.
When our remains are scattered
amongst the prevailing wind,
the stars will remain
to guide those who follow
in our footsteps through time.

The stars will remain
embedded in the velvet night.
Millions and millions of them
up where we perceive
heaven somewhere lies.

We are told all of us have one,
a star that will always remain to shine bright.
A star to guide the lost
on a cold and lonely night,
a star to look down
on all creation
for as long as it survives.
The stars will remain
no matter what we do.
They remain there forever
embedded in the velvet night.

9 December 2011

poem by David Harris
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The Wreck of the Barque Lynton

A sad tale of the sea, I will unfold,
About Mrs Lingard, that Heroine bold;
Who struggled hard in the midst of the hurricane wild,
To save herself from being drowned, and her darling child.

'Twas on the 8th of September, the Barque "Lynton" sailed for Aspinwall,
And the crew on board, numbered thirteen in all;
And the weather at the time, was really very fine,
On the morning that the ill-fated vessel left the Tyne.

And on the 19th of November, they hove in sight of Aspinwall,
But little did they think there was going to be a squall;
When all on a sudden, the sea came rolling in,
And a sound was heard in the heavens, of a rather peculiar din.

Then the vivid lightning played around them, and the thunder did roar,
And the rain came pouring down, and lashed the barque all o'er;
Then the Captain's Wife and Children were ordered below,
And every one on board began to run to and fro.

Then the hurricane in all its fury, burst upon them,
And the sea in its madness, washed the deck from stem to stem;
And the rain poured in torrents, and the waves seemed mountains high,
Then all on board the barque, to God for help, did loudly cry.

And still the wind blew furiously, and the darkness was intense,
Which filled the hearts of the crew with great suspense,
Then the ill-fated vessel struck, and began to settle down,
Then the poor creatures cried. God save us, or else we'll drown!

Then Mrs Lingard snatched to her breast, her darling child,
While loudly roared the thunder, and the hurricane wild;
And she cried, oh! God of heaven, save me and my darling child,
Or else we'll perish in the hurricane wild.

'Twas then the vessel turned right over, and they were immersed in the sea,
Still the poor souls struggled hard to save their lives, most heroically;
And everyone succeeded in catching hold of the keel garboard streak,
While with cold and fright, their hearts were like to break.

Not a word or a shriek came from Mrs Lingard, the Captain's wife,
While she pressed her child to her bosom, as dear she loved her life;
Still the water dashed over them again and again,
And about one o'clock, the boy, Hall, began to complain.

Then Mrs Lingard put his cold hands into her bosom,
To warm them because with cold he was almost frozen,
And at the same time clasping her child Hilda to her breast,
While the poor boy Hall closely to her prest.

And there the poor creatures lay huddled together with fear,
And the weary night seemed to them more like a year,
And they saw the natives kindling fires on the shore,
To frighten wild animals away, that had begun to roar.

Still the big waves broke over them, which caused them to exclaim,
Oh! God, do thou save us for we are suffering pain;
But, alas, the prayers they uttered were all in vain,
Because the boy Hall and Jonson were swept from the wreck and never rose again.

Then bit by bit the vessel broke up, and Norberg was swept away,
Which filled the rest of the survivors hearts with great dismay;
But at length the longed for morning dawned at last,
Still with hair streaming in the wind, Mrs Lingard to the wreck held fast.

Then Captain Lingard still held on with Lucy in his arms,
Endeavouring to pacify the child from the storms alarms;
And at last the poor child's spirits began to sink,
And she cried in pitiful accents, papa! papa! give me a drink.

And in blank amazement the Captain looked all round about,
And he cried Lucy dear I cannot find you a drink I doubt,
Unless my child God sends it to you,
Then he sank crying Lucy, my dear child, and wife, adieu! adieu!

'Twas then a big wave swept Lucy and the Carpenter away,
Which filled Mrs Lingard's heart with great dismay,
And she cried Mr Jonson my dear husband and child are gone,
But still she held to the wreck while the big waves rolled on.

For about 38 hours they suffered on the wreck,
At length they saw a little boat which seemed like a speck,
Making towards them on the top of a wave,
Buffetting with the billows fearlessly and brave.

And when the boat to them drew near,
Poor souls they gave a feeble cheer,
While the hurricane blew loud and wild,
Yet the crew succeeded in saving Mrs Lingard and her child.

Also, the Steward and two sailors named Christophers and Eversen,
Able-bodied and expert brave seamen.
And they were all taken to a French Doctor's and attended to,
And they caught the yellow fever, but the Lord brought them through.

And on the 6th of December they embarked on board the ship Moselle,
All in high spirits, and in health very well,
And arrived at Southampton on the 29th of December,
A day which the survivors will long remember.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waiting For Love

I always wait echoes of the bell of the last train,
On an old bench, with love, my ancient friend,
Patiently, I often read 'Gone With The Wind',
Though, I keep forgetting the deceptive end.

The sun leaves a yellow smile on the platform,
Light precedes the breathless shades into east,
Umbrella-like shade on two bare sticks chuckles,
Then manages to creep to me as a tamed beast.

The cold mist blurs the scene frequently on time,
All love when it prevails to hide their loneliness,
The station, the bell, the rails and the only being.
The quiet distances unfetter infections of sadness.

Nothing in place cools nor awakens heavy-eyed
The bell have no desire to ring for the uncertain
Of exiled hopes venturing to read one more page,
Thus are eternally left in the world's dim curtain.

I can't close the book where she retires unhurt,
Her beauty streams lively on frozen dark words,
I see her continually in fields, on breasts of earth,
Running before melodies, lilies and happy birds.

poem by Jamal Abboud
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In Light of the Sinking Sun

An empty chair
A quiet room
In light of the moons full glare.
A sleeping man
A cell of stone
In light of the moons full glare.
A dark hall
A silent porch
In light of the moons full glare.
Flickering light
Buzzing flies
In light of the moons full glare.
The man awakes
Stifles a moan
In light of the fading moon.
Shuffling feet
Dangling keys
In light of the fading moon.
The door opens
The man hauled out
In light of the fading moon.
Straps are tightened
Machine turned on
In light of the fading moon.
A button pushed
A scream of pain
In light of the fading moon.
A blackened body
Smoke-filled room
In light of the fading moon.
Six foot hole
Dug in the woods
In light of the fading moon.
The headstone in
The words are said
In light of the rising sun.
The next man sits
Upon that chair
In light of the rising sun.
Poor old man,
Dealt the hand
In light of the rising sun.
Dealt the hand,
The blow of power
In light of the rising sun.
An evil laugh
A blackened body
In light of the rising sun.
The executioner stands
By a silent chair
In light of the sinking sun.

poem by Samantha Jo
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Parker Clare

To a forgotten culture perhaps he now belongs
The man who could sing over a thousand songs
The father of the famous poet John Clare
Even in his own time people like him were rare.

The ballad singer of the Helpston countryside
Hundreds of the old songs he sung with him died
So little of the oral tradition now remain
Forever lost not to be found again.

Two hundred years ago one of a dying breed
Poor Parker Clare he could not write nor read
Yet through his son his name lives on today
A memory lost but yet to fade away.

He came from an oral tradition that is forever gone
Yet memories of what was still living on
And at a time when great change was happening in his English countryside
Most of the songs he sung with Parker died.

A fading memory that won't fade away
And through his son his name still lives today
Still a genius in his own right the thresher Parker Clare
And even in his time his type were quite rare.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Fading Light

Another time it might have been so different
Oh, if only we could do it all again
But now it's just another fading memory
Out of focus, though the out line still remains
Far away, away, fading distant lights
Leaving us all behind, lost in a changing world
And you know that these are the days of our lives, remember
Like the story that we wish was never ending
We know some time we must reach the final page
Still we carry on just pretending
That there'll always be one more day to go
Far away, away, fading distant lights
Leaving us all behind, lost in a changing world
And you know that these are the days of our lives, remember
Another chance hello, another goodbye
And so many things we'll never see again
Days of lives that seem so unimportant
They seem to matter and to count much later on
Far away, away, fading distant lights
Leaving us all behind, lost in a changing world
And you know that these are the days of our lives, remember

song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Inspiration Poem) A Book Never Read

Living by the fire
Living to admire
Living down to the wire
Still the wheels don't turn
I think it is because I want it
Urn for it
The beautiful almighty
I will not pray
Not as long as I live day by day
How much does my soul really weigh?
How many sins can be forgiven?
The fog will eventually choke you out
Whine and pout all you want
It won't make a dent in my steel cage
Because it was built from pure rage
If Its not a stage
What am I going through?

Its just another page of my book never read

Words as stale as the food I was fed
Maybe it was how many times I have been dropped on my head
I plead guilty to an unwritten destiny
I lied to myself in a mirror straight to my very own face
Memories erased

It's just another page of my book never read

I can't be lead astray
Especially if I'm willing
It's not much different then stealing
A moral yeng then yang
A oh so perfect harmony
Keeping things on a even keel
Always questioning what is real

It's just another page of my book never read

I hold on so tight to my comfy bed
Such a beautiful night
The stars are glistening oh so bright
I turn off the lights
Sleep for the dreams of a tomorrow
We are all living on borrowed time
So I ask again where's mine?
A question that continues to go unanswered
Draw your own conclusion
It's another one of the deep dark mysterious illusions

It's just another page of my book never read
It's as if every word has never been said
It's just another page of my tattered and torn book that will be never read

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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YOUR MEMORY [by Redscar McOdindo K'Oyuga & Muna Moons Ahmed]

YOUR MEMORY
[by Redscar McOdindo K’Oyuga & Muna Moons Ahmed]

Redscar McOdindo:

I’ve tried to forget your cultures
I’ve taken down all of your pictures
I’ve even changed my manners
And tried to get yet another missus…
I’ve cleaned out all of your drawers
I’ve painted over the scratches
From all our little wars
But it has never been a savory
To erase your memory.

Muna Moons:

I live beyond earthly possessions
I, I am your emotions
We have lost directions
Trying to conform to different directions.
You, you come in to ease these confusions
But we are lost. Are we lost in institutions?
Baseless yet holding on to unique fusions?

Redscar McOdindo:

Since you left
I’ve acted swift
To wander away adrift
And widen the rift
Between you and me….
Too hard has it been to shift
But I’ve put away every gift
That you ever gave to me –
Including your flowers and their vase –
And now everything is in its place
Except for one quandary:
Your Memory.

Muna Moons:

Honey, the flower dried
And the vase was then deprived
But its memory can’t be denied
I loved you so much it sighed
You loved me too much it died
And now that we are sidelined
Our memories we can’t hide.

Redscar McOdindo:

Where do I put your memory
When it haunts me night and day
Standing on my every way
Even when I say ‘nay’?
Where do I put your memory;
Behold, my dear mortal pet
I can’t hide it in the closet
And Lord, I can’t throw it away!
Where do I put this memory
About your love that has been so spicy
For I dread to appear sissy
Because you left me so uneasy?
Oh, it makes me feel queasy
Not knowing where to put
Your sweet memory.

Muna Moons:

I breathed you in my fragrance
My memory still covers an expanse
Love, this memory is an endless dance
We are lost: we live in a memorable trance.
Where? How? My memories weren’t a happenstance
I died. I live in another memorable chance
Your memories make me lose balance
For we had loved once.

Redscar McOdindo:

Yes, we loved each other once
Yet your memory inspires trance!
And, lo, it remains a nuance
Where to put it –
This sweet memory –
When it is always in my mind
Oh, where to put it I can’t find!
I can’t chase it
For I’ll ever love it.
It’s so hilly to erase it
When I still cherish it…
I just have to face it
And learn to nurse it;
It’s going to be here with me
Right within and without me
For a long, long, long time!

Muna Moons:

Memories or no memories at all,
Whether big or just too small,
You, I, we gave love our all!
Voices within us will still call;
Ours enfolds a rainbow poll.
I keep your memories in my soul
These memories won’t cry foul
They were and are my all
We lived for a moment, undeniable.

Redscar McOdindo:

I’ve tried to delet your memoir
I’ve locked away each souvenir
And thrown away the poor keys
And now everything is in its place
Except for your memory.
To me it remains a mystery
Where to put your memory
When it haunts me night and day
Remaining on my way.
I can’t hide it in the closet
And Lord, I can’t throw it away!
Indeed, it remains to be a mystery
Where to put your memory
When it’s always in my mind
And where to put it I can’t find!
I’m still in love with our love;
That’s why I enquire:
Where do I put your memory –
Your Sweet Memory?

©2010 Redscar McOdindo K’Oyuga
& Muna Moons Ahmed

poem by Redscar McOdindo K'Oyuga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After the cheers have died down and the stadium is empty, after the headlines have been written and after you are back in the quiet of your room and the championship ring has been placed on the dresser and all the pomp and fanfare has faded, the enduring things that are left are the dedication to excellence, the dedication to victory, and the dedication to doing with our lives the very best we can to make the world a better place in which to live.

quote by Vince Lombardi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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