Night In the City
The sluggish clouds hang low upon the town,
And from yon lamp in chilled and sodden rays
The feeble light gropes through the heavy mist
And dies, extinguished in the stagnant maze.
From moisty eaves the drops fall slowly down
To strike with leaden sound the walk below,
And in dark, murky pools upon the street
The water stands, as lacking life to flow.
With hopeless brain, oppressed and sad at heart,
Toil's careworn slave turns out his flickering light
And treads in dreams his dulling round again,
Where weary day succeeds to dismal night.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Autmun night [Noapte de toamnă]
Murmur of eaves narrow, whispers full of harshness
Grow from all the places and get lost in darkness.
Seldom, through the curtains, light is quickly flying
The cold water mirrors before me igniting
And its ray, reflected, to my face is clinging...
Rain knocks at the windows, all the eaves are singing.
Step by step, the loudness of the rumor falls
Muffling the dull singing of these waterfalls.
More and more around me living shadows rise
Rain has stopped its falling from the leaden skies
And in piles of dark mists waters now are creeping...
Sleeps the world entire, all the eaves are weeping.
There, on the horizon, silver rays are though
On the vault of heaven showing beds of snow,
Slowly break the shadows, hang on branches tight
Blue and lovely sparkles, grains of shining light.
And right from the secret of the open sky
Fall off lights that really stun and please the eye
And in heaps of white snow break the clouds defiant
But when moon is rising, the wet eaves keep silent.
***
Sleep in peace, my dearest!...
Only I, alone, linger on the alley
And the charming moments quietly I tally...
To wake you I'm trying with my thoughts' bright flares,
From your secret hallway to come down the stairs.
In this cold clear autumn come with your heart beating
And, by dreaming all these moments that are fleeting,
To enhance the sadness of the dark late hour
When, without you, darling, my soul, lone and sour,
Goes in search, but vainly, trying hard to see
And to kiss the footsteps of what used to be.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Lamp Of Love
Light, oh where is the light?
Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!
There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame--is such thy fate, my heart?
Ah, death were better by far for thee!
Misery knocks at thy door,
and her message is that thy lord is wakeful,
and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.
The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless.
I know not what this is that stirs in me--I know not its meaning.
A moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight,
and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls me.
Light, oh where is the light!
Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!
It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void.
The night is black as a black stone.
Let not the hours pass by in the dark.
Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Corner Streetlight
Dark corner in the night
Illuminated by only the moon's light
Unitl the street light
Floods the scene with a glowing light
Nothing stands on the corner
Yet stories, stories of this light
Are told in the night
Stories are told of this corner
A murder, a rape
A suicide, a drug overdose
The street light shows
What the world has to display.
A child troubled, deeply hurt
By a girl who he loved
With all his heart and soul.
She left him torn apart.
The street light, like a stage
Gives him a place to stay
The light shows his sorry tears
Then shows the gun next to his head.
A woman, small
Stands in the light
Screams for help
As the man she sees is doing her unkindly
A man left laying, needle in hand
He got his fix, his final fix.
Theat saved him
From this wretched land.
A woman left bloody
On the post
A knife in her chest
The broken heart bleeds
The street light shows us
Life's evil on display
But when the light turns off, like now
Does it all go away?
poem by Skylar Kendall
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Light is out, Black is in
The light is getting dark
the clouds are turning gray
but i'll be ok
The day turns to night
and it's not going to change
So i'll walk through the streets
to see myself in a different light
The dark catches up and i'm covered
with death and dark
the dark is my new best friend
Through the dark i can control death
Through my death i can see my life
the life that was, is and could have been
with my new found friend comes
the choice of life or death
The dark is good it's new
the light was bad it's old
through the dark new choices arrive
with the light nothing was to choose
The dark is getting darker
but is that good or bad
cause it means death is for sure
I want the light back
I want to see myself not a stranger
poem by Jess Jayne
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Walk this Night
Dark clouds will move
Light rays will come
Dark night will end
Bright day will start
But walk this night
Walk seeing its stars
Seeing its bright light
Seeing its white shine
It’s the beauty of night
So seen only in night
Walk seeing its moon
Seeing its moon light
Seeing its bright shine
It’s also beauty of night
So shines only in night
So walk this night
Walk seeing its light
And awake in light
Walk seeing its beauty
And awake in beauty
So walk this night
To wake in shine
If not the next day
It will be other day
For now walk this night
So move, said my heart
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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O, Pity The Slave Mother
I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary,
I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed.
O who can imagine her heart's deep emotion,
As she thinks of her children about to be sold;
You may picture the bounds of the rock-girdled ocean,
But the grief of that mother can never be known.
The mildew of slavery has blighted each blossom,
That ever has bloomed in her path-way below;
It has froze every fountain that gushed in her bosom,
And chilled her heart's verdure with pitiless woe;
Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression;
Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay;
No arm to protect from the tyrant's aggression-
She must weep as she treads on her desolate way.
O, slave mother, hope! see-the nation is shaking!
The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong!
The slave-holder's heart now with terror is quaking,
Salvation and Mercy to Heaven belong!
Rejoice, O rejoice! for the child thou art rearing,
May one day lift up its unmanacled form,
While hope, to thy heart, like the rain-bow so cheering,
Is born, like the rain-bow, 'mid tempest and storm.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Will and The Way
I walk through the desert, where I find mirage,
Thirsty I am, run toward to quench and get life,
No water, only the sand everywhere,
That too blows into the eyes, hard to continue,
Step by step into the deep leg sucking sand,
Hear the rattling sound at a distant, not near,
Squint at the sky for the drops of water to fall,
The sun's rays dry up the heavy sweat without fail,
Thorny cactus stands straight vibrantly,
Take one, open fine and have the sap,
Life's struggle may be hard and depressing,
But the opportunity may come with thorny try.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Downtown Train
(tom waits)
Outside another yellow moon
Has punched a hole in the night time mist
I climb through the window and down to the street
Im shining like a new dime
The downtown trains are full
Full of all them brooklyn girls
They try so hard to break out of their little worlds
You wave your hand and they scatter like crows
They have nothing thatll ever capture your heart
Theyre just thorns without the rose
Be careful of them in the dark
Oh if I was the one you chose to be your only one
Oh baby cant you hear me now, cant you hear me now
Will I see you tonight on a downtown train
Every night, every night its just the same
On a downtown train
I know your window and I know its late
I know your stairs and your doorway
I walk down your street and past your gate
I stand by the light of the four way
And watch them as they fall, oh baby
They all having their heart attacks
They stay at the carnival
But theyll never win you back
Will I see you tonight on a downtown train
Every night, every night its just the same
You leave me lonely
Will I see you tonight on a downtown train
All my dreams, all my dreams fall like rain
On a downtown train
Will I see you tonight on a downtown train
Every night, every night its just the same
Will I see you tonight on a downtown train
All my dreams, all my dreams fall like rain
On a downtown train
On a downtown train
All my dreams fall like rain
On a downtown train
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Part 04: 04: Counterpoint: Two Rooms
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
She, in the room below—his floor her ceiling—
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. . . .
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night,
His watch—the same he has heard these cycles of ages—
Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.
The clock, upon her mantelpiece, strikes nine.
The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.
The world whirs on. . . .New stars come up to shine.
His youth—far off—he sees it brightly walking
In a golden cloud. . . .Wings flashing about it. . . . Darkness
Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.
Old age—far off—her death—what do they matter?
Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.
She hears slow steps in the street—they chime like music;
They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty,
Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn. . . .
He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence.
Far off they pass. He knows they will never return.
Far off—on a smooth dark road—he hears them faintly.
The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing,
Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath
Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly.
And death seems nearer to him: or he to death.
What's death?—She smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbows.
The last of the rain-drops gather and fall from elm-boughs,
She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings,
The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance.
A sparrow whirs to the eaves, and shakes his wings.
What's death—what's death? The spring returns like music,
The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight,
The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams.
The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure.
Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams. . . .
And death seems far away, a thing of roses,
A golden portal, where golden music closes,
Death seems far away:
And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers,
And spring returns to stay. . . .
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter,
And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die.
And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight.
. . . The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Autumn Dawn
Light congealing
Like ice upon water
Razor-honed edge
of dawn cleaving the dark
In hot pursuit
Of shadows fleeing
Dreams drift away…
Like a guttering spark
Liquid gold blades
of sabre-like rays
Cleaving and piercing
Heart of morning mist
Parting the glades
for a new-born day
Hapless…Nay, helpless!
Of night to resist
Dawn's dam of darkness
In truth sorely breached
Erodes into remnants as bones
Both white…and bleached
As through broken dike
Floods of light gouting...
Awash are farms, fields
And sheepfolds alike
Shredding the shrouds
Of nighttime's dark clouds
What is there of Dawn
…not to like? …
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blistering Mark
delve in the dark and haunt all the nights
tired of the lies of that weak weak light
it goes to show your power has no effect
because your rays are so feeble
feebly glistening, supported by the dark
so the protectors gather around you
stand in the cathedral and see
see them pray for your growth
shielding you from bursting forth
then your turn on them like the traitor you are
it is light which has secrets, truth is far
you turn around and take your flight
burning their eyes and blinding them for life
and to say the truth, you know well how it goes
you call the dark your enemy, your friend and your foe
but now dark has the knowledge of your conspiring nature
it, now, sees light as the demon and it self a betrayed creature
as dark huddles in the shadows, everything is clear
no light to create shadows or to give birth to hopeless despair
so all i have learned is that even though human scorns the dark
it is the light you should fear, it is light that leaves a blistering mark
poem by Cassiel Kaini
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A March Day in London
The east wind blows in the street to-day;
The sky is blue, yet the town looks grey.
'Tis the wind of ice, the wind of fire,
Of cold despair and of hot desire,
Which chills the flesh to aches and pains,
And sends a fever through all the veins.
From end to end, with aimless feet,
All day long have I paced the street.
My limbs are weary, but in my breast
Stirs the goad of a mad unrest.
I would give anything to stay
The little wheel that turns in my brain;
The little wheel that turns all day,
That turns all night with might and main.
What is the thing I fear, and why?
Nay, but the world is all awry--
The wind's in the east, the sun's in the sky.
The gas-lamps gleam in a golden line;
The ruby lights of the hansoms shine,
Glance, and flicker like fire-flies bright;
The wind has fallen with the night,
And once again the town seems fair
Thwart the mist that hangs i' the air.
And o'er, at last, my spirit steals
A weary peace ; peace that conceals
Within its inner depths the grain
Of hopes that yet shall flower again.
Counterpoint: Two Rooms
He, in the room above, grown old and tired;
She, in the room below, his floor her ceiling,
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter.
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night.
His watch—the same he has heard these cycles of ages—
Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.
The clock upon her mantelpiece strikes nine.
The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.
The world whirs on. New stars come up to shine.
His youth—far off—he sees it brightly walking
In a golden cloud .... wings flashing about it....
Darkness
Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.
Old age, far off—or death—what do they matter?
Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.
She hears slow steps in the street; they chime like music,
They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty,
Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn.
He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence.
Far off they pass. He knows they will never return.
Far off, on a smooth dark road, he hears them faintly.
The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing,
Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath
Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly.
And death seems nearer to him; or he to death.
What's death?—she smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbow,
The last few raindrops gather and fall from elm-boughs,
She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings,
The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance,
A sparrbw whirs to the eaves and shakes its wings.
What's death—what's death ? The spring returns like music ;
The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight;
The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams.
The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure.
Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams.
And death seems far away—a thing of roses,
A golden portal where golden music closes,
Death seems far away;
And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers,
And spring returns to stay....
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter,
And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die.
And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight....
The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hang On
Hang on
When all hope is gone
And where light had shone
You are lost in the dark.
When fear flies high above the skylark.
As the weakness of a trembling heart
Leaves you in the lost and found.
You won't have to make a sound.
Hang on
I'm coming round.
Hang on
When those sad songs fill your head
When distant dreams swing by a thread.
Believe me
There is light
And I'll rescue you in style
When stars and moon invite
The brave to raise a smile.
Your empty heart
I will fill with sonnet sweet.
Leading you to peaceful meadow
Flowers at your feet.
Hang on my darling,
And I'll be there
In one shared heartbeat.
My love, I swear.
poem by Kevin East
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From My Room
From my room I hear
The wind blow
Strings from icy harp
Filling the dark
Now outside
The morning comes with night
And leaves with night
My heart is in dark
Like flickering light
Pounding on and on
Through to dreams gone
In the dark clouded sky
With beams of low sun flight
Time slowly passes by
With shadows left to right
From my room I hear
Where I now dwell
The dark voices near
Of iciness and its cartel
Strings from icy harp
Filling the dark
Now outside
*Federico García Lorca once wrote:
“From my room I hear
The water jet
A finger of grapevine…”
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The glow in the fog and mist
The spectral glow of a bobbing lantern
As if tossed upon a stormy sea
Appearing..then fading anon, absorbed
In foggy essence, to fade again so feebly
Once more, ere sinking in finality
Into the quicksand of mist
Mere glow of candle, so dear to see
Seen now…then not, …with capricious twist
The spectral light, drifts through the night
As a ghost through fog and mist
Through ribs of rain, the tremulous light
Chills the brain, befogs the sight
Dimly lit, by lanterns in the mist
Dark clouds upon the soul this night
Fog is the dark abode of lost souls
Who wander without rest with lantern high
The mist, the breath, of hollow death
The fog, the food, on which to persist
Tis best my friend, not to be, nor ne'r to see….
The glow in the fog and mist
poem by David Whalen
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The Fever-Dream
IT was a fever-dream; I lay
Awake, as in the broad bright day,
But faint and worn I drew my breath
Like those who wait for coming death;
And my hand lay helpless on my pillow
Weak as a reed or bending willow;
And the night-lamp, with its shadowy veil,
And its light so sickly, faint, and pale,
Gleamed mournfully on objects round;
And the clock's stroke was the only sound;
Measuring the hours of silent time
With a heavy and unwelcome chime,
As still monotonously true
To its pulse-like beat, the minutes flew.
I was alone, but not asleep;
Too weary, and too wetk to weep.
My eyes had closed in sadness there;
And they who watched o'er my despair
Had placed that dim light in the room,
And deepened the surrounding gloom,
By curtaining out the few sad rays
Which made things present to my gaze;
And all because they vainly thought
At last the night its rest had brought,--
Alas! rest came no more to me
So heavy was my misery!
They left me, and my heart was filled
With wandering dreams, whose fancies thrilled
Painfully through my feeble brain,
Till I almost wished them back again.
Yet wherefore should I bid them stay?
They could not chase those dreams away,
But only watch me as I lay.
They left me, and the midnight stroke
From the old clock the silence broke;
And with a wild repining sigh
I wished it were my time to die!
And then, with spirit all dismayed,
For that wild wish, forgiveness prayed,
Humbling myself to God's high power
To bear His will, and wait His hour.
And while I darkly rested there,
The breath of a young child's floating hair,
Perfumed, and warm, and glistening bright,
Swept past me in the shrouding night;--
And the footsteps of children, light and quick,
(While my heart beat loud, and my breath came thick)
Went to and fro on the silent floor;--
And the lock was turned in the fastened door,
As a child may turn it, who tiptoe stands
With his fair round arms and his dimpled hands,
Putting out all their strength in vain
Admittance by his own means to gain:
Till his sweet impatient voice is heard
Like the chirp of a young imprisoned bird,
Seeking an entrance still to win
By fond petitions to those within.
A child's soft shadowy hair, bright smiles,
His merry laugh, and coaxing wiles,
These are sweet things,--most precious things,--
But in spite of my brain's wild wanderings,
I knew that they dwelt in my fancy only,
And that I was sad, and left, and lonely;
And the fear of a dreadful madness came
And withered my soul like a parching flame;
And I felt the strong delirium growing,
And the thread of my feeble senses going,
And I heard with a horror all untold
Which turned my hot blood icy-cold,
Those light steps draw more near my bed;
And by visions I was visited,
Of the gentle eyes which I might not see,
And the faces that were so far from me!
And blest, oh I blest was the morning beam
Which woke me up from my fever-dream!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Heavy Water
I walked out in the city night,
A burning in my eyes, like it was broad daylight.
And it was hot, down there in the crowd.
The stars went out behind a thunder cloud.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and its hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now theyre pouring
Heavy water on me.
She was a southern girl. we stared man to man.
I move like a stranger in this strange land.
She was a round hole, I was a square peg.
I watched the little black specks running down her leg.
Didnt seem to mind that dirty rain coming down ---
Shirt hanging open. she was wet and brown.
Thumping in my heart, and its hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now theyre pouring
Heavy water on me.
What goes up has to fall back down.
Its no night to be out dancing in a party town
When it runs hot and it runs so wide ---
Running in the street like a thin black tide.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and its hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now theyre pouring
Heavy water on me.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lines on reading some verses entitled "A Farewell to Love"
Oh, stern indeed must be that minstrel's heart,
In the world's dusty highway doomed to move,
Who with life's sunshine and its flowers can part,
Who strikes his harp, and sings, Farewell to Love!
To Love! that beam that colors all our light,
As the red rays illume the light of day;
Whose rose-hue, once extinguished from the sight,
Leaves the life-landscape of a dull, cold gray.
To Love! the ethereal, the Promethean spirit,
That bids this dust with life divine be moved;
The only memory that we still inherit
Of the lost Eden where our parents roved.
Oh, hopeless bard, recall that farewell strain,
Nor from thy beast let this fond faith depart;
Recall that utterance of thy cold disdain,
Thy doubt of Love, the atheism of the heart.
And on the altar reared within thy soul,
Let the rekindled flame again aspire
And guard it round by all things beautiful,
As vestal forms watched o'er the sacred fire; --
That fire that once extinguished on the shrine,
Gave fearful sign of coming woe to Rome,
As the quenched brightness of this light divine
Forebodes to thee a dark and loveless doom.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Shadows flicker
To keep the light burning within
I quietly companion myself, when I can
Away from the mind-numbing rush to oblivion
The flickering interplay of light and darkness
Captures my attention
The light sometimes grows dim
Wilting against harsh winds
Only to revive as a guardian
Cups the flame, till it glows strong again
Lending a calming stillness, of quiet comfort
Sometimes the darkness wells up
Choking all that is light, and all that sustains light
Thrashes on dark quicksand
That’s when I pray for the light to be strong
For there are shadows flickering
Even under the brightest lamp, such is the nature of light
poem by Anita Atina
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