He parts Himself—like Leaves
517
He parts Himself—like Leaves—
And then—He closes up—
Then stands upon the Bonnet
Of Any Buttercup—
And then He runs against
And oversets a Rose—
And then does Nothing—
Then away upon a Jib—He goes—
And dangles like a Mote
Suspended in the Noon—
Uncertain—to return Below—
Or settle in the Moon—
What come of Him—at Night—
The privilege to say
Be limited by Ignorance—
What come of Him—That Day—
The Frost—possess the World—
In Cabinets—be shown—
A Sepulchre of quaintest Floss—
An Abbey—a Cocoon—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Related quotes
Settle Down My Boy
Settle down, an eat your peas and gravy, my boy
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Stop wasting all your time with running around the town
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Knuckle down and find a job and take some responsibility
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
The futures something you should be thinking about
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Look around for a wife to start a family, my boy
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Listen toy our father and hell tell you the same as me
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Your words would go in one ear and out the other side
Dont say my head was empty and I had things to hide
And you better put something away for your old age
So settle down, settle down my boy settle down
Settle down, settle down my boy settle down uh huh huh
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sky and Moon
I see the sky and moon in the bright night,
Inside I see and hear them crawl both toward us,
Thus, our moons are complete and the azure sky also
As it forms for our privilege of seeing and gazing at noon.
The noon is apt to wander into night before anything happens,
But this black ocean will stop at the stone feet of mountains,
Huge volcanoes that burst in the night and day,
Forever in this way, jolting our brains with their thunder and night-laughter.
Many gods and goddesses are against us now,
Immediately we lift our eyes to the clear sky
As named by the gods, as called by the priests.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Constantia
I.
The rose that drinks the fountain dew
In the pleasant air of noon,
Grows pale and blue with altered hue—
In the gaze of the nightly moon;
For the planet of frost, so cold and bright
Makes it wan with her borrowed light.
II.
Such is my heart—roses are fair,
And that at best a withered blossom;
But thy false care did idly wear
Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom;
And fed with love, like air and dew,
Its growth----
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Fragments
I am the monarch of the Sea,
The ruler of the Queen's Navee,--
When at anchor here I ride,
My bosom swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts
His sisters and his cousins!
Whom he reckons by the dozens,
And his aunts!
'I am the lowliest tar
That sails the water.
And you, proud maiden, are
My captain's daughter.'
'Refrain, audacious tar.
Your suit from pressing;
Remember what you are,
And whom addressing.'
For I am called Little Buttercup,--dear Little Buttercup,
Though I never could tell why;
But still I'm called Buttercup,--poor Little Buttercup,
Sweet Little Buttercup I!
Fair moon, to thee I sing
Bright regent of the heavens;
Say, why is every thing
Either at sixes or at sevens!
He is an Englishman!
For he himself has said it,
And it's greatly to his credit
That he is an Englishman.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Silent Cocoon
at the end
to make yourself a shield from all those
invasive matters of the
heart
you keep yourself enclosed in that
same cocoon
always that same same cocoon
hard so hard outside
this time you promise yourself
there shall be no butterfly ending
more of keeping
the silence of that cocoon
hanging upon a twig
under those
dead leaves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Moon.
The moon
Oh catch the moon
Put a noose in its nose
Bring it back to harness
The icy wilderness of the noon
Sprinkle it with flowered dew.
Catch it before it runs
To penumbra of sun hide itself
Oh run and run to recover
From suffocation of grief & bart
Stiffen its dust with tears
Or the ceremonial flood
Of the tidings of the present
The anti poetic
Peregrine of the sedged cart
The olibanum of crushed heart.
The moon
Oh catch the moon
Catch it till it runs
To the hilliard mansions
The septic pun
Where the master of hounds sleep
With his metallic face
Turned to the wall
Where under the greenish shadows
Shines the dool
The moon
Oh catch the moon
Catch it before it runs
To the penumbra of the sun.
poem by Durlabh Singh
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You're An Ocean
Written by tony scalzo
Verse
Can you make it easier for me to understand,
How you're holding my heart, in your trembling hands...
Eyes that rise to meet me half way up among the stars,
You may be from venus but i'm definitely not from mars
Chorus
You're an ocean, you're an ocean
Settle down, settle down,
What's the commotion,
I'm an island, but you're an ocean,
It's a stormy sea of love and emotion,
You've got me suspended motionless in time
Verse
Make the warm winds circle round my head just like you do,
If i could do it, i'd be doing it to you,
I believe i'd buy whatever you would sell to me,
Nothing in my life ever came with a guarantee,
Chorus
You're an ocean, you're an ocean
Settle down, settle down,
What's the commotion,
I'm an island, but you're an ocean,
It's a stormy sea of love and emotion,
You've got me suspended motionless in time
Break
I believe i'd buy whatever you would sell to me,
Nothing in my life ever came with a guarantee,
You're an ocean, you're an ocean
Settle down, settle down,
What's the commotion,
I'm an island, but you're an ocean,
It's a stormy sea of love and emotion,
You've got me suspended motionless in time
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Noon Song
There are songs for the morning and songs for the night,
For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon;
But who will give praise to the fulness of light,
And sing us a song of the glory of noon?
Oh, the high noon, the clear noon,
The noon with golden crest;
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
With his face to the way of the west!
How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength;
How slowly he crept as the morning wore by;
Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length
To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky.
Oh, the long toil, the slow toil,
The toil that may not rest,
Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown,
To the wonderful way of the west!
Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill,
The wings of the wind in the forest are furled,
The river runs softly, the birds are all still,
The workers are resting all over the world.
Oh, the good hour, the kind hour,
The hour that calms the breast!
Little inn half-way on the road of the day,
Where it follows the turn to the west!
There's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade,
The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune,
The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid,
To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon.
Oh, the deep noon, the full noon,
Of all the day the best!
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
To his home by the way of the west.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Teach Me O Moon
Teach me O moon to be just like you
Teach me O moon to glow brightly as you do
To glow so strongly more than any shiny star
Teach me O moon to be so beautiful as you are
To be an example of the ultimate talking beauty
Teach me O moon to perform well my duty
As thou always do when you show up every night
And spread to the whole dark world thy shy light
Teach me O moon to always rise whenever I fall
And to break with the hammer of determination that wall
The wall of hardships, sorrows, despair and darkness
The wall of ignorance, pessimism, weakness and sadness
Teach me O moon to always return for the beloved ones
And to be like a tender mother to her sons
Teach me O moon to soar up in the vast sky
So that people shall raise their heads to see me flying high
Teach me O moon to be always so peaceful and calm
And teach me O moon to be always better than I am
poem by Jawad Al Harake
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The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
737
The Moon was but a Chin of Gold
A Night or two ago—
And now she turns Her perfect Face
Upon the World below—
Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—
Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—
Her Eye unto the Summer Dew
The likest I have known—
Her Lips of Amber never part—
But what must be the smile
Upon Her Friend she could confer
Were such Her Silver Will—
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest Star—
For Certainty She take Her Way
Beside Your Palace Door—
Her Bonnet is the Firmament—
The Universe—Her Shoe—
The Stars—the Trinkets at Her Belt—
Her Dimities—of Blue—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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My Bonnet Of Blue
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Its gossamer fineness I'll sing to you;
For a delicate fabric in sooth it was,
All trimmed and finified off with gauze.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
How well I remember thy azure hue!
To church I wore it, one pleasant day,
Bedecked in ribbons of fanciful ray;
And all the while I sat on my seat
I thought of naught save my bonnet so neat.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Broke not my heart when I bade thee adieu?
When service was over, my steps I bent
Towards home, a-nodding my head as I went
But, alas for my bonnet! there came a wind
And blew it away, for the strings were not pinned.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
What shifting scenes have been thine to pass through!
I raised my eyes to the calm, blue sky,
There sailed my bonnet serene and high!
O, what a feeling of hopeless woe
Stole over me then, no heart may know!
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
As clear as the sky was thy azure hue!
'Twas vain to mourn for my bonnet, and yet
It taught me a lesson I shall not forget;
'Twas, never to make you an idol of clay,
For when you best love them they'll fly away.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
I loved thee well, but thou wert untrue!
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Leaves (thread)
under the dogwood
leaves cover
a cat’s grave
early spring
one leaf still dangles
from the tree
palmistry
dew drops on a leaf
pick a vein
widow’s diary
pressed rose petal
the last leaf
with the rain drops
leaves flutter to the ground
fall showers
fallen leaves
circusing in the grass
merry-go-wind
October shower
leaves in the gutter
disembark
leaves changing colors
across the landscape
season's chameleons
morning rain
under maple leaves
tap my shoulder
leaves ripple
with melodies
cicadas song
These were published online by Sketchbook. See September/October “leaves” Haiku thread:
poem by Ben Gieske
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Quickens Its Own Demise
A shallowness connected,
And shared with limited mentalities...
Quickens its own demise.
This is not shown,
Until a visitor from the unknown is made.
And only then does an end,
To sophisticated ignorance shown...
Saves others from demons,
Hiding from the innocent in darkness!
In an overblown self induced superiority.
Where a slick wickedness is practiced and condoned!
And they undo themselves with an honorable skill.
And when revealed...
Squeal like children discovered doing evil deeds.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Buttercup
Emotions
Up and down
up and down
up and down
Like that homo with ocd turning off and on the light switch
10 times
then stepping backwards
and doing a pirouette in reverse before he
leaves the house
Today you were my buttercup
Yesterday
I wanted to saw off your head
and bury it in the backyard next to the hamster
I forgot to give water to
I want to saw you up my little buttercup
poem by Sara Fielder
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A Rose Is, But A Rose
A Rose Is, But A Rose by Kenny Davis
A rose is, but a rose
Its illustrious petals has me drawn to her
With every one that blooms and blossoms I yearn for her
For with every one that drops and withers away I mourn for her
A rose is, but a rose
Holds such beauty like that of the Garden of Eden
Thanking god for the gift of this rose, I find myself pleading
Hoping that the beauty found in this rose is not misleading
A rose is, but a rose
With its true essence hidden under its thorns
Cherishing, treasuring, and loving it beyond its pain and scorn
Hoping that through all the love I show for her, that its spirit is reborn
A rose is, but a rose
Through the storms, finds the strength to continue to bloom
Where most would have been doomed to allow life’s rage to be consumed
Through my admiration of her creation send a sensation to have her faith in love renewed
A rose is, but a rose
Though there are many, none like her
Much like the fiery red of her petals, my love for her continues to burn
Blessing me with privilege caring for her, she allows me to shower my love for her in return
A rose is, but a rose
Gardening every inch of her nature overwhelmingly fills this void inside
I gained an everlasting love for life, when my world with hers collided
Much like a rose without water, without my rose, I would wither and die
© May 2011 k.davis
poem by Kenneth Davis
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Settled in Nettles
I remember climbing nettles-
Nettles climbing our wooden fence,
The excitement of touching,
The thrill of the blisters-
The red and the oozing
Beneath my long sleeves.
I remember nettle necklaces
Burning the fingers that linked
The green leaves- big green leaf
To big green leaf- How
My neck had red blotches
Itchy and sore. I scratched
And then bled and then wore fluffy scarves.
I remember Justin Whiles
Who scrunched up his face and bit
On his lip and tied me with rope
And dragged the green nettles
Over my skin and asked, 'Why
Did we do this again? '
And now in my cabinets are nettles
In jars- jar after jar- big glass
Jars, brimming with nettles,
Their thick green leaves.
And sometimes the night
Gets quiet and cold
And I walk to my cabinets
And pull down the jars
And pull out the nettles
And bite on the leaves
And bite and then chew
And then swallow the leaves-
Leaf after leaf-
Jar after jar-
Till the night's not so silent.
Till I throw up green mulch
In my hands.
poem by Alicia Adams
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The Last Rose
'O WHICH is the last rose?'
A blossom of no name.
At midnight the snow came;
At daybreak a vast rose,
In darkness unfurl'd,
O'er-petall'd the world.
Its odourless pallor
Blossom'd forlorn,
Till radiant valour
Establish'd the morn--
Till the night
Was undone
In her fight
With the sun.
The brave orb in state rose,
And crimson he shone first;
While from the high vine
Of heaven the dawn burst,
Staining the great rose
From sky-line to sky-line.
The red rose of morn
A white rose at noon turn'd;
But at sunset reborn
All red again soon burn'd.
Then the pale rose of noonday
Rebloom'd in the night,
And spectrally white
In the light
Of the moon lay.
But the vast rose
Was scentless,
And this is the reason:
When the blast rose
Relentless,
And brought in due season
The snow rose, the last rose
Congeal'd in its breath,
Then came with it treason;
The traitor was Death.
In lee-valleys crowded,
The sheep and the birds
Were frozen and shrouded
In flights and in herds.
In highways
And byways
The young and the old
Were tortured and madden'd
And kill'd by the cold.
But many were gladden'd
By the beautiful last rose,
The blossom of no name
That came when the snow came,
In darkness unfurl'd--
The wonderful vast rose
That fill'd all the world.
poem by John Davidson
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Shadows
Beside the Narrow Crossing-Place
(And night was falling gray),
Two Shadows met, the legends tell. .
Each Shadow went its way.
But there was anguish in their eyes,
And tears in both their hearts.
Beside the Narrow Crossing-Place,
Where Shade from Shadow parts.
For they had seen the Rising Sun
In opal and in rose,
For they had seen the Rising Sun,
Who saw the long day close.
And had they met at Mom or Noon
Who met the shades between?
Ay! had they met at Morn or Noon
And so — the Might-Have-Been !
poem by Edwin James Brady
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Bee In My Bonnet
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a hole in my shoe
And my toes are getting colder
I got ants in my pants
I got fries in my thighs
I got a bone in my nose
I got frit in my ass
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a flee in my ear
I wear my heart on my sleeve
I got a ticket for the train
And I'm ready to leave
I got a rockin' pneumonia
and the boogie woogie flu
I got the palpations
All because of you
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I'm burning, with love
I got my fish on the line
I got my hand in the water
I know right from wrong
So I do what I oughta
I laugh in the day
I cry in the night
Woo hoo baby
Gonna be alright
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a Very Young Lady
Sweetest bud of beauty, may
No untimely frost decay
Th' early glories which we trace
Blooming in thy matchless face:
But kindly opening, like the rose,
Fresh beauties every day disclose,
Such as by Nature are not shown
In all the blossoms she has blown:
And then, what conquest shall you make,
Who hearts already daily take!
Scorch'd in the morning with thy beams,
How shall we bear those sad extremes
Which must attend thy threat'ning eyes
When thou shalt to thy noon arise?
poem by Sir George Etherege
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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