Veils
Veils, everywhere float veils; veils long and black,
Framing white faces, oft-times young and fair,
But, like a rose touched by untimely frost,
Showing the blighting marks of sorrow's track.
Veils, veils, veils everywhere. They tell the cost
Of man-made war. They show the awful toll
Paid by the hearts of women for the crimes,
The age-old crimes by selfishness ill-named
'Justice' and 'Honour' and 'The call of Fate'-
High words men use to hide their low estate.
About the joy and beauty of this world
A long black veil is furled.
Even the face of Heaven itself seems lost
Behind a veil. It takes a fervent soul
In these tense times
To visualise a God so long defamed
By insolent lips, that send out prayers, and prate
Of God's collaboration in dark deeds,
So foul they put to shame the fiends of hell.
Yet One
does
dwell
In Secret Centres of the Universe-
The Mighty Maker; and He hears and heeds
The still small voice of soulful, selfless faith;
And He is lifting now the veil of death,
So long down-dropped between those worlds and earth.
Yea! He is giving faith a great new birth
By letting echoes from the hidden places
Where dwell our dead, fall on love's listening ear.
Hearken, and you shall hear
The messages which come from those star-spaces!
That is the reason why
God let so many die;
That the vast hordes of suffering hearts might wake
Mighty vibrations, and the silence break
Between the neighbouring worlds, and lift the veil
'Twixt life on earth, and life Beyond. All hail
To great Jehovah, Who has given life
Eternal, everlasting, after strife!
Veils, long black veils, you shall be bridal white.
Eyes, blind with tears, you shall receive your sight,
And see your dead alive in Worlds of Light.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Related quotes
Missing The Fog
missing the fog
the woman with black veils
put some cotton in her eyes
now widowed
she wants to be blind
and dumb
she wants to be a mountain
hidden by a veil
of fog all around her
poem by Jerlyn Eguia
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Ghosts in Love
"Tell me, where do ghosts in love
Find their bridal veils?"
"If you and I were ghosts in love
We'd climb the cliffs of Mystery,
Above the sea of Wails.
I'd trim your gray and streaming hair
With veils of Fantasy
From the tree of Memory.
'Tis there the ghosts that fall in love
Find their bridal veils."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Earth Whispers
I am cooler than cool,
I am peaceful,
I am not licked,
I am unreachable.
I have a hardened skin, still
I can have the blues,
I do not want the veils,
the greyish and blackish veils
to cover my white face.
I am hotter than hot,
I am not peaceful,
I am licked,
but I do not have the blues,
I want the veil,
to cover my face,
to cool me down,
to bathe me,
I need a swirling fan,
to wipe my sweat.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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No Reason Just Is
Broken glass snow
pale blue eye rain
strips of sh__ tar fields
dead end concrete plains
sudden flush of satori
down suburban toilet drain.
gonna spend my life
rummagin' though
petal'd trashcans
polishin' rusted
schoolyard brains
hangin golden grape leaves
on the names of unmarked graves
pure infinite electricity!
Empty shapeless blue energy!
Clear measureless ecstasy!
Infinite forms
passing through a
formless infinity!
One illusion veils
one veil
veils nothing
all is
no reason
just is
just life
just death
just everything
forgotten
in-between.
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Paint Dimensionality Soul In Oils
if I painted pictures
I would draw you in charcoal
wash away drama tears in watercolours
paint dimensionality of durability soul in oils
span a universe of senses touch emotions thoughts
if I painted pictures
I would paint dream images
I would paint visions of inner mind's eye
I would paint life in veils swirling kaleidoscopic moods
I would paint canvasses imprinting fabric expanding universes
but I travel eons far
load canvasses are too heavy
I walk journey through many phase worlds
seasons landscapes in many climates beckon bled feet
I paint mind songs in words life haunting edges spaces
swallow flame words into soul at own risk
I paint distances between seen unseen at world's edges
I paint portraits above beneath mask as multi veils
I paint shift faces figures skin deeds intended done deeds
I paint poetry life in shifting kaleidoscopic images souls
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Dangerous Veils
Desert candle in a tented space
Throwing softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
Pay my respects to her propriety.
Is this some crazy woman here,
Dancing behind her thin black veil?
Am I misreading those mysterious eyes?
Duet impossible to harmonize.
Im not inviting any stiff reaction.
Im not one for naming holy names.
And I wont peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.
Name of the father ringing in her head --
Thinking over what the prophet said.
Words and tradition bind her in their spell.
Dont drink the water from this holy well.
Im not inviting any fierce reaction
And Im not one for naming holy names.
I wont peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.
Desert candle in a tented space
Softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
I tip my hat to her propriety.
Im not inviting any fierce reaction
And Im not one for naming holy names.
I wont peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Drawn Curtain
As night veils known land
so God veils
the unseen mysteries to man.
Two dimensional creatures
mournful known
feared scourage of ages past.
Spirits bodiless substance
seeking prey upon
erring souls do eager fast.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Leavetaking
On the morning they left
we said goodbye
filled with sadness
for the absence to come.
Inside the palanquins
on the camels' backs
I saw their faces beautiful as moons
behind veils of golden cloth.
Beneath the veils
tears crept like scorpions
over the fragrant roses
of their cheeks.
These scorpions do not harm
the cheek they mark.
They save their sting
for the heart of the sorrowful lover.
Biscuit Of The Day
On the morning they left
we said goodbye
filled with sadness
for the absence to come.
Inside the palanquins
on the camels' backs
I saw their faces beautiful as moons
behind veils of golden cloth.
Beneath the veils
tears crept like scorpions
over the fragrant roses
of their cheeks.
These scorpions do not harm
the cheek they mark.
They save their sting
for the heart of the sorrowful lover.
Poetry Is Read Surface Meaning Shimmers
mystics devote precious lifetimes
trying to peer through thin veils
trying to tear through thin veils
trying to understand awareness
scholars comb research libraries articles
philosophers psychologists study minds
archaeologists systematically dig in site dirt
poets probe creatively mine visions infinite
once the poetry is read the surface
can no longer hide beneath veils
come ride our roller-coaster be careful
on turns flying through mind's eyes
risk riding roller-coaster poetic thoughts
strips bare superficial bias world reviews
explore past edges get under faces skins
learn reality shadows living rift conditions
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Face Of Love
Until tonight
My heart was just half full
Id never known the fruit which fed the soul
But now I see what may put to rest my longing
For I have seen, the face of love
The grace of god, the face of love
In silence I feared my heart
Would remain words unheard
Inside a seperate mess of skin
But now I know that the skin just veils the soul
For I have seen, the face of love
The grace of god, the face of love
So take my hand and knowing
With it I also give my heart
Wanting to never be seperate again
Let eternity begin
If you were flame
Id allow myself to be consumed completely
Were you wind Id wish you to pass through me
But now I know that the skin just veils the soul
For I have seen, the face of love
The grace of god, the face of love
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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samhain for M lady Marianna Jo
The veils grow thin on all souls eve
and vengeful ghosts are free to leave.
The kingdom of eternal night
to seek revenge and vent their spite.
On erst while relatives and friends,
Who have not tried to make amends.
Insults offered before they died
long brooded on and magnified.
Although you may not be aware
you were the cause if their despair.
To them it makes no difference
because they chose to take offence.
At something which you did or said.
For this night only they can tread
amongst the living once again
They are intent on casing pain.
Some call it superstition.
Not me I keep an open mind
It is an old tradition
although it is not well defined,
Though when the veils are torn aside
to let the vengeful spirits through
I much prefer to stay inside,
It seems the wisest thing to do
I am afraid that’s why I hide
behind stout walls which can protect
and keep the wrathful ghosts outside
That way I show them some respect.
10-Oct-08
Http: // Blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Dogs
My desires are upon me like dogs, I beat them back,
Yet they yelp upon my track;
And I know that my soul one day shall lie at their feet,
And my soul be these dogs' meat.
My soul walks robed in white where the saints sing psalms,
Among the lilies and palms,
Beholding the face of God through the radiant bars
Of the mystical gate of stars;
The robes of my soul are whiter than snow, she sings
Praise of immortal things;
Yet still she listens, still, in the night, she hears
The dogs' yelp in her ears.
O Most High! I will pray, look down through the seven
Passionate veils of heaven,
Out of eternal peace, where the world's desire
Enfolds thee in veils of fire;
Holy of Holies, the immaculate Lamb,
Behold me, the thing I am!
I, the redeemed of thy blood, the bought with a price,
The reward of thy sacrifice,
I, who walk with thy saints in a robe of white,
And who worship thee day and night,
Behold me, the thing I am, and do thou beat back
These feet that burn on my track!
I have prayed, God has heard; I have prayed to him, he has heard;
But he has not spoken a word;
My soul walks robed in white among lilies and palms,
And she hears the triumphing psalms;
But louder than all, by day and by night, she hears
The dogs' yelp in her ears;
And I know that my soul one day shall lie at their feet,
And my soul be these dogs' meat.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Piercing the veils of mystery.
Piercing the veils of mystery.
Some understand instinctively.
What must remain a mystery
To the vast majority
Of ignorant humanity.
Most just accept the Status Quo
Because they do not want to know.
Although a few an elite few
Will learn things that they never knew
By dint of hard experience
They have to learn in self defence
Although their progress may be slow.
They can’t forget once that they know
How to interpret what they see
Piercing the veils of mystery.
Sunday,04 December 2011
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Long Black Veil
Ten years ago on a cold dark night
Someone was killed beneath the townhall light
There were few at the scene, but they all agreed
That the slayer who ran looked a lot like me
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me
The judge said son, what is your aliby?
If you were somewhere else, then you wont have to die.
I said not a word, though it meant my life,
For Id been in the arms of my best friends wife.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil.
She visits my grave when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, now the scaffold is high, eternity is near
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
And sometimes at night when the cold winds blow
In a long black veil she cries over my bones.
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Nobody knows. nobody knows, but me.
Nobody knows but me.
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like The World Getting Old Beneath The Dawn
Dresses of seasons are falling down
From behind the veils of summers winters autumns springs
Nothing has really changed
Between the borders of wars worlds words and warnings
No difference between those
Who still do not understand
And those who think
They got it all just right
Equally grasped in Love
And the all pervading mother Mercy
Against the Mother Courage Infliction
When the rivers of Babylon
Splash our tears again and again
Great worlds lost out little lives found
In the memories of Sion
Old sages growing their beards
Like the white rivers of eternal snow
Covering everything never to melt
Old sages with yellow golden sticks
Walking the same dry deserts
Of survival sagas sagacious
Singing songs of springs ever lost
And autumn breathing swaying the lungs
Hanging upon the last atom of air
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet.
Fourth Sunday In Lent
When Nature tries her finest touch,
Weaving her vernal wreath,
Mark ye, how close she veils her round,
Not to be traced by sight or sound,
Nor soiled by ruder breath?
Who ever saw the earliest rose
First open her sweet breast?
Or, when the summer sun goes down,
The first soft star in evening's crown
Light up her gleaming crest?
Fondly we seek the dawning bloom
On features wan and fair,
The gazing eye no change can trace,
But look away a little space,
Then turn, and lo! 'tis there.
But there's a sweeter flower than e'er
Blushed on the rosy spray -
A brighter star, a richer bloom
Than e'er did western heaven illume
At close of summer day.
'Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven;
Love gentle, holy, pure;
But tenderer than a dove's soft eye,
The searching sun, the open sky,
She never could endure.
E'en human Love will shrink from sight
Here in the coarse rude earth:
How then should rash intruding glance
Break in upon HER sacred trance
Who boasts a heavenly birth?
So still and secret is her growth,
Ever the truest heart,
Where deepest strikes her kindly root
For hope or joy, for flower or fruit,
Least knows its happy part.
God only, and good angels, look
Behind the blissful screen -
As when, triumphant o'er His woes,
The Son of God by moonlight rose,
By all but Heaven unseen:
As when the holy Maid beheld
Her risen Son and Lord:
Thought has not colours half so fair
That she to paint that hour may dare,
In silence best adored.
The gracious Dove, that brought from Heaven
The earnest of our bliss,
Of many a chosen witness telling,
On many a happy vision dwelling,
Sings not a note of this.
So, truest image of the Christ,
Old Israel's long-lost son,
What time, with sweet forgiving cheer,
He called his conscious brethren near,
Would weep with them alone.
He could not trust his melting soul
But in his Maker's sight -
Then why should gentle hearts and true
Bare to the rude world's withering view
Their treasure of delight!
No--let the dainty rose awhile
Her bashful fragrance hide -
Rend not her silken veil too soon,
But leave her, in her own soft noon,
To flourish and abide.
poem by John Keble
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Sift And Shift
with grief are black veils of women
trying to filter the gleaming of tears
with grief are the hands trying to
sift and shift the sounds of the cries
with grief are women
mourning for the deaths of men
for the loss of children
for the rape of the earth
the thin crust of morals
dirt of the feet
dusts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Charity
Sometimes death lives for eternity,
a captive of silence,
or in hidden journey to flesh;
unless the body betrays the falling stars from eyes.
Dying was an appropriate thing
a festival of freedom for veils,
to leave you alone with your morality.
This terrible life ejects you
on the gravel to become a stone.
The fall from the beautiful height
was meant for charity.
No body wants to die for a toss-up
with life,
for a secret game of tears and smile.
The true thing of despair generates
a darkness, whom I owe my light.
poem by Satish Verma
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