Sea Lullaby
The old moon is tarnished
With smoke of the flood,
The dead leaves are varnished
With colour like blood.
A treacherous smiler
With teeth white as milk,
A savage beguiler
In sheathings of silk
The sea creeps to pillage,
She leaps on her prey;
A child of the village
Was murdered today.
She came up to meet him
In a smooth golden cloak,
She choked him and beat him
to death, for a joke.
Her bright locks were tangled,
She shouted for joy
With one hand she strangled
A strong little boy.
Now in silence she lingers
Beside him all night
To wash her long fingers
In silvery light.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Moon
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou seemest most charming to my sight;
As I gaze upon thee in the sky so high,
A tear of joy does moisten mine eye.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the Esquimau in the night;
For thou lettest him see to harpoon the fish,
And with them he makes a dainty dish.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the fox in the night,
And lettest him see to steal the grey goose away
Out of the farm-yard from a stack of hay.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the farmer in the night,
and makes his heart beat high with delight
As he views his crops by the light in the night.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the eagle in the night,
And lettest him see to devour his prey
And carry it to his nest away.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the mariner in the night
As he paces the deck alone,
Thinking of his dear friends at home.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the weary traveller in the night;
For thou lightest up the wayside around
To him when he is homeward bound.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the lovers in the night
As they walk through the shady groves alone,
Making love to each other before they go home.
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou cheerest the poacher in the night;
For thou lettest him see to set his snares
To catch the rabbit and the hares.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Day and Torched Night
Night choked on the sun
Now dim and dwindling, the light faded
The street lights guided his way, but he wasn't lost
If Night held his breath
The silence could hear his voice
It ate and drank his words
Now lost on a blank and endless page
But still existing if spoke by silence
Now Night travelled on, in search of day
Blinding flashes now killing all the desert life
And Night swallowed every watt of light
Day came from the horizon
Where the sky and earth would never meet
Her long white hair swayed and played
And pitch black eyes that sent shivers down Night's spine
She was polished and clean, bright and commanding
While filth had consumed him, blending with the background
Her warm hand caressed his own cold and pale one
Night shivered and pulled away
Day burst ablaze with fury
Night couldn't shield the fire
The space time continuum gave up and fled
A gap between light and dark swept the nation
Blank grey misty sky remained
Ashes smoldered and relit
Decades passed and the burning was not yet extinguished
Smoke had choked them
All that was seen was dead day and torched night.
poem by Zara Jamshed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lingers
shotgun shells,
and kentucky bourbon;
long howling nights,
bound by the moon/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood.
lingers.
the fiddle weeps,
while the mandolin prays.
old hat pulled down,
feet dance to the sound/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood...
lingers...
broke down and busted,
carried by the darkness.
fists pound the walls,
but there's no one home/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood.
lingers.
woman, smell and touch,
sucks the light from empty.
she rolls me over,
cries out like a cat/
teeth bared to the icy cold,
the taste of blood.
lingers.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lasso The Moon
She carries the water from the well in the morning
While the sand burns her feet the sun only stares
And the loneliness lingers with slow grasping fingers
As the afternoon withers the flowers in her hair
Then night fills the sky as she sits on the hillside
And memories drift by like clouds past the stars
Recalling romances and all the bright chances
But none of them lasted. they passed through her heart
And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon
She falls asleep and her dreams are her blanket
And she shares with the moon the secret she knows
As the dawn leaves its tears to wash the dry valley
The tears of a woman can wash a mans soul
And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon
And she says -
Where is a man who can build a good fire
With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon
A man whose hand is strong as his longing
Where is the man who can lasso the moon
And I say -
I am a man who can build a good fire
And my passions as wide as the sky at high noon
Come take my hand, its as strong as your longing
Just say the word and Ill lasso the moon
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tangled In Love
By marcy levy and richard feldman
A modern man with an old-fashioned heart.
One look at her and I fell apart.
I was always the one playing it cool.
I got caught in the act, now theres no turning back.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got caught up, bought up, strangled, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
A long black dress and the call of the wild.
I was a fool to think she was just a child.
Out of my mind, out of control.
Knew that feeling too well, tried to run but I fell.
Chorus
I never meant to feel this way,
Now I always want to stay...
Chorus
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
I got tangled in love, tangled in love.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pantoum: Angel
Insistent heavy throb of daylight passed
The sweated flora scented sunburnt air
The clarity of night transpired at last
The hunter shunned the radiating glare
The sweated flora scented sunburnt air
He watched the flickered furtiveness of night
The hunter shunned the radiating glare
A tissued wisp of wing eclipsed soft light
He watched the flickered furtiveness of night
Across the hanging moon's reflective gaze
A tissued wisp of wing eclipsed soft light
He felt an angel's fluctuating phrase
Across the hanging moon's reflective gaze
A hint of pink in bone-white watered silk
He felt an angel's fluctuating phrase
He felt enfolding hands as smooth as milk
A hint of pink in bone-white watered silk
A reflex startle soothed by calm embrace
He felt enfolding hands as smooth as milk
The pain was brief and bright as lightning's trace
A reflex startle soothed by calm embrace
The needle teeth released the dunnart's spark
The pain was brief and bright as lightning's trace
The ghost bat fed and wheeled to caverned dark
The needle teeth released the dunnart's spark
The clarity of night transpired at last
The ghost bat fed and wheeled to caverned dark
Insistent heavy throb of daylight passed
poem by Diane Hine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Angels Anticipations (Narrative, Imaginative)
Alone, under clouded skies and darkness;
An angel awaits her knight in gloom,
Her cloak of white laced, tinsels sparkle;
To the silvery outlined puffed up moon.
Her delicate wings of satins finest silk;
Displayed like white winter plumage,
Her curled and lengthy golden locks;
Floats across her wandering visage.
She’s waiting for her lovers return;
He fights the mighty demons of lucifer,
Her lips are pouted pink in prayer;
For her loves safe guidance at war.
This beautiful angel is me, your Juliet;
The handsome knight is you, Romeo,
Return safely, it is only for you that I fret;
My love on you, forever I’ll bestow.
poem by Nisha Butterflydreams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Relativity Theory
Wife told her husband that their child died.
‘Why? ’, he asked. ‘It drank milk and succumbed.’
‘What is milk? ’ ‘It is white colour water.’
‘What’s white? ’ ‘It is like a crane skin.’
‘What is crane? ’ ‘A bird with a crooked neck.’
‘What is crooked? ’ was his next query to which,
Fed up, she showed her hand with the fist bent,
For him to feel the size by touch. He did
And beat her saying, ‘How big the milk is to the little mouth! ’
[Based on Albert Einstein’s relative theory.]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Trees bend in the breeze
Trees bend in the breeze,
the dead branch creaks under the force
that is moving it,
the eyes of the owl zoom in
searching for a prey
the sun fades, gets dimmer and dimmer
while it drops over the horizon
as the darkness creeps, creeps slowly in
and the moon raises silver
white in a star filled night
where a dazzling show
like on a Christmas tree appears
and hangs bright
with little twinkling lights
and the owl hoots, giving to some
its death call, to others a caring presence
and sleep sneaks into bodies, eyes and minds
and on this Christmas day the world is at peace.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Camp of Souls
1 My white canoe, like the silvery air
2 O'er the River of Death that darkly rolls
3 When the moons of the world are round and fair,
4 I paddle back from the 'Camp of Souls.'
5 When the wishton-wish in the low swamp grieves
6 Come the dark plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
7 Two hundred times have the moons of spring
8 Rolled over the bright bay's azure breath
9 Since they decked me with plumes of an eagle's wing,
10 And painted my face with the 'paint of death,'
11 And from their pipes o'er my corpse there broke
12 The solemn rings of the blue 'last smoke.'
13 Two hundred times have the wintry moons
14 Wrapped the dead earth in a blanket white;
15 Two hundred times have the wild sky loons
16 Shrieked in the flush of the golden light
17 Of the first sweet dawn, when the summer weaves
18 Her dusky wigwam of perfect leaves.
19 Two hundred moons of the falling leaf
20 Since they laid my bow in my dead right hand
21 And chanted above me the 'song of grief'
22 As I took my way to the spirit land;
23 Yet when the swallow the blue air cleaves
24 Come the dark plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
25 White are the wigwams in that far camp,
26 And the star-eyed deer on the plains are found;
27 No bitter marshes or tangled swamp
28 In the Manitou's happy hunting-ground!
29 And the moon of summer forever rolls
30 Above the red men in their 'Camp of Souls.'
31 Blue are its lakes as the wild dove's breast,
32 And their murmurs soft as her gentle note;
33 As the calm, large stars in the deep sky rest,
34 The yellow lilies upon them float;
35 And canoes, like flakes of the silvery snow,
36 Thro' the tall, rustling rice-beds come and go.
37 Green are its forests; no warrior wind
38 Rushes on war trail the dusk grove through,
39 With leaf-scalps of tall trees mourning behind;
40 But South Wind, heart friend of Great Manitou,
41 When ferns and leaves with cool dews are wet,
42 Bows flowery breaths from his red calumet.
43 Never upon them the white frosts lie,
44 Nor glow their green boughs with the 'paint of death';
45 Manitou smiles in the crystal sky,
46 Close breathing above them His life-strong breath;
47 And He speaks no more in fierce thunder sound,
48 So near is His happy hunting-ground.
49 Yet often I love, in my white canoe,
50 To come to the forests and camps of earth:
51 'Twas there death's black arrow pierced me through;
52 'Twas there my red-browed mother gave me birth;
53 There I, in the light of a young man's dawn,
54 Won the lily heart of dusk 'Springing Fawn.'
55 And love is a cord woven out of life,
56 And dyed in the red of the living heart;
57 And time is the hunter's rusty knife,
58 That cannot cut the red strands apart:
59 And I sail from the spirit shore to scan
60 Where the weaving of that strong cord began.
61 But I may not come with a giftless hand,
62 So richly I pile, in my white canoe,
63 Flowers that bloom in the spirit land,
64 Immortal smiles of Great Manitou.
65 When I paddle back to the shores of earth
66 I scatter them over the white man's hearth.
67 For love is the breath of the soul set free;
68 So I cross the river that darkly rolls,
69 That my spirit may whisper soft to thee
70 Of thine who wait in the 'Camp of Souls.'
71 When the bright day laughs, or the wan night grieves,
72 Come the dusky plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elizabeth Childers
Dust of my dust,
And dust with my dust,
O, child who died as you entered the world,
Dead with my death!
Not knowing Breath, though you tried so hard,
With a heart that beat when you lived with me,
And stopped when you left me for Life.
It is well, my child. For you never traveled
The long, long way that begins with school days,
When little fingers blur under the tears
That fall on the crooked letters.
And the earliest wound, when a little mate
Leaves you alone for another;
And sickness, and the face of Fear by the bed;
The death of a father or mother;
Or shame for them, or poverty;
The maiden sorrow of school days ended;
And eyeless Nature that makes you drink
From the cup of Love, though you know it’s poisoned;
To whom would your flower-face have been lifted?
Botanist, weakling? Cry of what blood to yours?—
Pure or foul, for it makes no matter,
It’s blood that calls to our blood.
And then your children—oh, what might they be?
And what your sorrow? Child! Child!
Death is better than Life!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Battle Passes
A quaint old gabled cottage sleeps be-
tween the raving hills.
To right and left are livid strife, but on the
deep, wide sills
The purple pot-flowers swell and glow, and
o'er the walls and eaves
Prinked creeper steals caressing hands, the
poplar drips its leaves.
Within the garden hot and sweet
Fair form and woven color meet,
While down the clear, cool stones, 'tween
banks with branch and blossom gay,
A little, bridged, blind rivulet goes touching
out its way.
Peace lingers hidden from the knife, the tear-
ing blinding shell,
Where falls the spattered sunlight on a lichen-
covered well.
No voice is here, no fall of feet, no smoke lifts
cool and grey,
But on the granite stoop a cat blinks vaguely
at the day.
From hill to hill across the vale
Storms man's terrific iron gale;
The cot roof on a brooding dove recks not the
distant gun.
A brown hen scolds her chickens chasing
midges in the sun.
Now down the eastward slope they come.
No call of life, no beat of drum,
But stealthily, and in the green,
Low hid, with rifle and machine,
Spit hate and death; and red blood flows
To shame the whiteness of the rose.
Crack followes crash; the bestial roar
Of gastly and insensate war
Breaks on the cot. A rending stoke,
The red roof springs, and in the smoke
And spume of shells the riven walls
Pile where the splintered elm-tree spawls.
From westward, streaming down hill,
Shot-ravaged, thinned, but urgent still,
The brown, fierce, blooded Anzacs sweep,
And Hell leaps a up. The lilies weep
Strange crimson tears. Tight-lipped and mute,
The grim, gaunt soldiers stab and shoot.
It passes. Frantic, fleeing death,
Wild-eyed, foam-flecked and every breath
A labored agony, like deer
That feel the hounds' keen teeth, appear
The Prussian men, and, wild to slay
The hunters press upon their prey.
Cries fade and fitful shots die down. The
Tumbled ruin now
Smoke faintly in the summer light, and lifts
The trodden bough.
A sigh stirs in the trampled green, and held
And tainted red
The rill creeps o'er a dead man's face and
steals along its bed.
One deep among the lilacs thrown
Shock all the stillness with a moan.
Peace like the snowflake lights again where
utter silence lies,
And softly with white finger-tips she seals a
soldier eyes.
poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Battle
SLOWLY the Moon her banderoles of light
Unfurls upon the sky; her fingers drip
Pale, silvery tides; her armoured warriors
Leave Day's bright tents of azure and of gold,
Wherein they hid them, and in silence flock
Upon the solemn battlefield of Night
To try great issues with the blind old king,
The Titan Darkness, who great Pharoah fought
With groping hands, and conquered for a span.
The starry hosts with silver lances prick
The scarlet fringes of the tents of Day,
And turn their crystal shields upon their breasts,
And point their radiant lances, and so wait
The stirring of the giant in his caves.
The solitary hills send long, sad sighs
As the blind Titan grasps their locks of pine
And trembling larch to drag him toward the sky,
That his wild-seeking hands may clutch the Moon
From her war-chariot, scythed and wheeled with light,
Crush bright-mailed stars, and so, a sightless king,
Reign in black desolation! Low-set vales
Weep under the black hollow of his foot,
While sobs the sea beneath his lashing hair
Of rolling mists, which, strong as iron cords,
Twine round tall masts and drag them to the reefs.
Swifter rolls up Astarte's light-scythed car;
Dense rise the jewelled lances, groves of light;
Red flouts Mars' banner in the voiceless war
(The mightiest combat is the tongueless one);
The silvery dartings of the lances prick
His fingers from the mountains, catch his locks
And toss them in black fragments to the winds,
Pierce the vast hollow of his misty foot,
Level their diamond tips against his breast,
And force him down to lair within his pit
And thro' its chinks thrust down his groping hands
To quicken Hell with horror-for the strength
That is not of the Heavens is of Hell.
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Cheated Death.
Suddenly all went cold
And of my mother's hand I took hold
I held on like a drowning man would a lifeline
For I knew this might be the end of my timeline
And there in the corner he stood
Bright silvery robes, a golden cord around his waist, there he stood
Shoulder length hair as golden as the sun's rays
Eyes bluer than the Caspian, bronze skin that hath no flaws
His feet shod in sandals
His presence brightened the candles
I felt a hope build inside
A fire rekindled inside
But as quickly as it came
The hope left and with it the fear came
As I looked in horror to the other corner
There she stood, crowned by darkness in the left corner
Her eyes the colour of blood
In a black robe of death she was clad
As I focused on her, I felt the life leave me
Just as the anaconda squeezes the life out of its prey, the life left me
The odour of burning Sulphur filled the room
And with it an impeding gloom
I squeezed my mother's hand ‘til it hurt
Every breath I took hurt
I tried to tell my mother I loved her
But all that came out was a croak
Slowly the woman in the left corner removed her cloak
Revealing a crown of long fiery hair
Her eyes fixed on me in an evil stare
Her blood red lips parted in a smile
A smile so evil it shouldn't be called a smile
I turned to the other corner seeking comfort from my angel and this evil evade
But woe unto me he had slowly began to fade
And with him, the light
Impeding my sight
I felt my body consumed by a cloud of darkness
And at that moment, I felt the presence of death in the darkness
Funny how in the movies they tell you to stay away from the light
How I longed to see a light
For I knew the darkness would only lead to more pain
I shut my eyes hoping that when I opened them again
My angel would be there telling me it's alright
Bringing back hope and light
But lo and behold as I re-opened mine eyes
There I lay, in my hospital bed my mother looking on with wet eyes
She told of how I almost died
Of how my breathing stopped but her hope never died
I sat up in wonder looked to the right and there my angel stood
In fear, I turned to the left, and she too in her shroud of evil, stood
Her eyes blazing with anger
For death had been cheated and left with a deep hunger
And I knew, she would be back
And then it struck me,
Death never leaves empty handed
That's when I saw the nurses covering the old woman's body across
With a white sheet and a priest making the sign of a cross
Once again, death did reap
And it is inevitable that she will return to reap
Her taste of fruit, the unripe fruit...
poem by Esperanza Chilupula
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Fisherrow
A hard north-easter fifty winters long
Has bronzed and shrivelled sere her face and neck;
Her locks are wild and grey, her teeth a wreck;
Her foot is vast, her bowed leg spare and strong.
A wide blue cloak, a squat and sturdy throng
Of curt blue coats, a mutch without a speck,
A white vest broidered black, her person deck,
Nor seems their picked, stern, old-world quaintness wrong.
Her great creel forehead-slung, she wanders nigh,
Easing the heavy strap with gnarled, brown fingers,
The spirit of traffic watchful in her eye,
Ever and anon imploring you to buy,
As looking down the street she onward lingers,
Reproachful, with a strange and doleful cry.
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Child of the Sun
My child of the sun
i know yur scared
how far will you run
for what are you prepared?
My child of the sun
open your eyes
look infront of you
look up to the skies
My child of the sun
why are your running so far
what do you want?
A piece of the moon or a big bright star?
My child of the sun
your flames burn bright
the day has long begun
and still your out of sight
My child of the sun
here comes the moon
now you have to run
he'll be out soon
My child of the sun
you have left me
all i see now is a frowning night,
but in a few hours again i'll see the light.
poem by Carike Klokow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Goose Fish
On the long shore, lit by the moon
To show them properly alone,
Two lovers suddenly embraced
So that their shadows were as one.
The ordinary night was graced
For them by the swift tide of blood
That silently they took at flood,
And for a little time they prized
Themselves emparadised.
Then, as if shaken by stage-fright
Beneath the hard moon's bony light,
They stood together on the sand
Embarrassed in each other's sight
But still conspiring hand in hand,
Until they saw, there underfoot,
As though the world had found them out,
The goose fish turning up, though dead,
His hugely grinning head.
There in the china light he lay,
Most ancient and corrupt and grey.
They hesitated at his smile,
Wondering what it seemed to say
To lovers who a little while
Before had thought to understand,
By violence upon the sand,
The only way that could be known
To make a world their own.
It was a wide and moony grin
Together peaceful and obscene;
They knew not what he would express,
So finished a comedian
He might mean failure or success,
But took it for an emblem of
Their sudden, new and guilty love
To be observed by, when they kissed,
That rigid optimist.
So he became their patriarch,
Dreadfully mild in the half-dark.
His throat that the sand seemed to choke,
His picket teeth, these left their mark
But never did explain the joke
That so amused him, lying there
While the moon went down to disappear
Along the still and tilted track
That bears the zodiac.
poem by Howard Nemerov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Night Sky
Night sky, Night sky
Twinkling stars near by
White moon, white moon
You light up the night in full bloom
The night in display
Watching this sky play
Hiding behind the clouds
Are these silvery bright stars
Ready in action
The sky a distraction
Sweet kiss from these tender lips
And the feeling of love at my finger tips
poem by Noreen Fonseca
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Colour of Warmth
You cannot spin the suns rays
For they are golden light
Clothing earth with warmth
Encompassing, coloured green
A rainbow of colour so bright
Growing the flowers, the smell
Seeing the sweet taste
Tasting the colours on your fingers
Bright as a bird in flight
White as a gulls feathered wings
Blue as the flooding tides
Gray as the ebbing, yellow as the sand
You cannot spin the suns rays
For they are golden light
Clothing the earth with warmth
A rainbow colour of sight.
poem by Andrew Shiston
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Eyes Of Death
I have stared into the eyes of death with my own
It is hard to see death eye to eye, face to face
Many times death leaves a cold darkness
Other times death leaves a bright light
There are many who may welcome death
They are ready to meet their maker face to face
Others attempt death by their own hand
For whatever reason I can see the torment in their eyes
I have stared into the eyes od death only to see darkness
It has been my own death that I have seen
Many times by my own hand
Others by the hand of others I have seen my death in their eyes
Whatever death is my fate let me face it
Eye to eye as I have seen others no regrets
Even though I would be dead
Let others see that I have made peace with my maker and others
poem by Robin Conley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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