Poet's Dream
i dreamed last night i was walking,
in the company of Robert Bly, and Diane di Prima...
down a stony path in the pitch black darkness.
we walked in silence... listening, just listening.
the wind rustled the tree limbs, sighing...
almost blowing out our lantern.
the spirits of animals, trees, and even the stones
beneath our feet.... testified!
a great haunting wave of peace blanketed us...
and i knew the path we were on to be the right one!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
While night animals were frolicking around outside
While night animals were frolicking around outside
you came to lie against me,
with stars shining brightly in the dark sky
and you wanted me to recite some poems.
Outside the wind rustled the potato trees,
you came to lie against me
while the golden moon for a time was wavering
and everything was pitch black around me.
Outside the wind rustled the potato trees,
before sleep eventually led me away
and jasmine, lavender and gardenia was on the wind
and everything was pitch black around me.
but in no dreams I could find you,
you waited wide-awake for first light
and jasmine, lavender and gardenia was on the wind
and the stars shined like jewels in the night.
While night animals were frolicking around outside,
you waited wide-awake for first light
with stars shining brightly in the dark sky.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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Lantern
he lit his lantern and
walked out on the porch,
with his old dog
by his side....
he could see the wind
walking through the trees,
wrapped in the stillness
and comfort of darkness...
how long had it been?
25 cents a gallon gasoline,
Marlboros,25 cents a pack!
working all week for 55 dollars....
sawmills, factories, milking cows,
a hoe and a gallon jar of water.
hanging the gears on his old truck...
cold beer, making love all night....
civil unrest and high ideals,
bulletproof, with a taste for danger.
then the children came... working
more for less... till he became invisible....
and the world careened into madness,
enough was never enough....
and all his dreams fell to dust.....
the wings of the eagle rusted.
standing alone, with his dog,
peering into the night....
listening to whispering ghosts....
listening... for the voice of love....
for the sound of his
own heart beating!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am Silence (For Dave)
i am the wolf,
hot breath panting,
teeth gleaming in the darkness...
feet running the path of the night.
i am the hawk,
sucking freedom from the skies,
great wings lifting my soul...
infinity in my eyes.
i am the wind,
born from nowhere,
blowing past destination and thought...
both creation and destruction.
i am the rain,
falling from an unseen source,
to dance in the mouths of the earth...
tears of sorrow and redemption.
i am the moon,
sifting through timeless clouds,
winding through the fingers of trees...
i am hope unnamed!
i am the night,
the intimate touch of darkness,
forgiveness, death, and rebirth...
i am the stillness of god!
i am silence!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Dark illusion
Walking in a dark path
No help reached out to me
Walking in a dark path
Blind and still can't see
Walking in a dark path
Heart beats no longer heard
Walking in a dark path
Not even the sound of a bird
Walking in a dark path
Where am i is this real?
Walking in a dark path
No, it cant be, I've healed.
poem by Yolanda Salas
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Hearts Made Of Feet!
and so we struggle,
turning in the womb,
choked by the cord.
conceived in darkness,
becoming light!
we are hearts made of feet,
feet that walk the path.
feet that slip and fall,
feet that take the wrong turn.
feet that keep on walking,
sore, tired, hurting.
feet of desire, and purpose,
feet of soulful intent!
all the great philosophies
come to this...
feet that only stop walking
to bandage other feet;
then walk together,
leaving one set of prints!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Editing Same Path
I HAVE walked upon this path
alone
and that was years ago
when i still cry
water the pebbles with tears
they do not grow
flowers
there are no trees there
One day
I come down from the clouds
since i am heavy with
rain in my
heart and decide to
walk back the path
of stones
I have seeds of clouds in my pocket
rainbow shoots in my hands
The path have since then
bloomed with dew
and vapors rise to the skies
in prayers
Trees grow and
bees pollinate
a new world is born
since then
and children come and play
their games
again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Untitled 14
sometimes i find comfort in my silence
i am listening and
then i pretend i am listening and then
i continue pretending until then that the talker
sees that i am already showing that i am no longer listening
that i am no longer interested in whatever is said
that words sometimes have no use to ease the pain that we have
that we have inherited from the leaves of our family tree
from all of them down to the last and true source of our sorrow
when Adam gave the apple because he says Eve asked him to do it
because Eve was ordered by the Snake because they were all innocent
and dumb.
sometimes i look at a space
where there are no more trees, no sky, no sun
sometimes nothingness becomes the real thing: everything.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lifes path
There are so many paths in life
I guess I could say
I ve walked them all
The right path
The wrong path
The path of pain
The path of good
The path of bad
Which path do I now take
At this present time of life
The path I take is the path of pain.
The path of hurt
So many paths I have walked
But im lost in the path
The path of pain
Amy Kerswell
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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America, My Lover!
i dreamed...
America died,
and woke up to find
all the great cities empty!
so i went back to the hills,
searched beneath trees,
and inside of caves.
beneath the stones
on the riverbanks...
in the deserts, atop the mountains,
till exhausted and spent,
i sat down and closed my eyes.
i dreamed you loved me again,
and woke up to find,
people walking the streets,
and cars passing by.
America, my lover!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Epiphany
Outside the surge of the wind, the wind in the trees,
The rush of leaves, and the sighing in the pine-needles,
Outside the sound of the sea-shore, distant, remembered,
The waves breaking on the gray rocks, and the evening approaching,
The restlessness, and the interminable noise.
Silence in the room, and solitude,
A sense of spaces, remoteness and nearness, and the soul's awareness,
Desolate is the hearts desire
And the loving knows no end,
When the morning in the clouds breaks across the sky,
And the forests sway and bend.
Outside the wind, the wind in the trees,
And the sighing in the tree-tops.
Noises from the town, heedless, unthinking, indistinct,
Recurring, fading,
And silence in the room, and solitude,
The shadowy dimness, the darkness of evening,
A pause in time, and the soul's awareness.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Found You- (for my best friend)
Alone in this world,
Not meant for me to live in, I never knew
Why the sun rose and set, why it rained so hard-
My tears, my tears-That fell upon the edge of time-
The three quarter moon last night
I could almost reach with arms outstretched-
So it seemed, so I wondered where in this universe
Is there a place for me? Every morning, every night
Walking the same path hoping to find,
At the end of my journey-
Although only the same valley,
The same trees and the same creek- and
Then I found you.
You, with the sparkling eyes of green,
You with the hair, reddish gold as the sun
That rose and set and
That welcoming, winning smile and
Then I could see that outstretched arms
Could belong to someone else and
How these arms were reaching out to me?
Instantly you became a blossoming daffodil
In the same familiar valley, standing stately
Beneath that same familiar tree, wading in that nearby creek-
Alone as I, you were and we connected as
Two shooting stars meeting in the universe so vast and
The rain stopped, as we circle danced with the
Elegance and mysticism as the rings of Saturn?
As with the wave of the hand of a sorcerer, we became one-
Sharing our delusions of the meaning of life,
Together we found a world of our own- one meant for the
Two of us alone- where the sun rose and set-
Just for you and I, and I know now that no matter how hard it rains and
Even if I never saw the sun rise and set again
My tears- my tears have disappeared because I have found you-
My own sun- that shooting star that has given me light and
I can see to walk down any path and no matter which path I walk-
I shall find you near and shall never be alone, again-
And when we reach the end of any path- we shall circle dance together
Surrounded by the light emitted from our laughter,
Beneath the light of the three quarter moon-
Upon the edge of time, everlasting…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Boat Waits
the wolf runs night's paths
with hungry eyes...
magnificent in the moonlight,
panting with desire.
following the scent
from which he came...
he stops in the clearing,
and howls!
the hawk soars the skies,
as if a path.
over mountains and valleys,
in and out of clouds.
eyes intent, with furious purpose...
with wings that taste and touch,
intimate, yet scorched!
the wind blows, the waves come in,
and go out... the boat is empty!
leaves fall from the trees,
only god hears and knows.
and i walk the darkness,
part wolf, part hawk...
both wind and wave...
following the scent,
with desire and purpose!
the boat waits, the lantern is lit!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Walked Out One Evening
I walked out one evening, ,
as the sun was setting low.
Trees were whispering in the breeze,
as it yielded a gentle blow.
Skies transformed to reddish hues,
as my feet crossed o’er the ground,
Then along the path by the brook,
dead leaves lay scattered all around,
Birdsong filled the loud silence,
one last song, for twilight creeps.
The sun has set behind the trees,
as the darkness its vigil keeps.
I walked out one evening,
observing such beauty spread.
To experience the colours,
orange and gold so finely wed.
The music of the water,
as it trickled down the stream.
Such peacefulness, silent, calming,
a perfect floating tranquil dream.
Now as the day is ending,
such visions assail the eyes,
One royal sky ‘s magnificent,
enhanced by the night’s fireflies.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Haunting Song!
A haunting song I hear comes like this..
The song.... coming..... in the wind…
The song coming...... in the wind…
The song coming in the wind...
The song spontaneously flows making eyes foggy…!
The song makes even the stone melt…!
The song makes even dead tree resurrect with leaves…!
The song kisses in many languages…!
The song makes forest animals listen with dizziness…!
When night Moon blossoms as breeze is walking,
A boy in blue colour stands blowing flute forever
And forever my heart melts in the thought of his love!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Listen to the Wind
If you listen to the wind
It’s like listening to your twin
As it echoes rippled reflections
On the glass lake that you swim
It shows up
Blows up in your face
Leaving breathless whispers in its place
The wind paints with many brushes
Not particular whose innocence it touches
The wind will be your courseless guide
Take you on an endless roll coaster ride
Overturning stones like lies that cannot hide
Exposing misguided fortunes of ill-gotten pride
And so the wind screams as it races
Etchings of laughter that no one embraces
And yes there are beliefs
Of old wise Indian chiefs
That our story in written in the wind
Weather beaten, eroded, but not able to rescind
The pages of the Master Journal as they fade
With Eden endings so well laid
Will get you to listen to the wind
You’ll hear confessions of those who sinned
And when the wind stops blowing
A silence for you will be all knowing
It will confirm all that’s been said
Put vaulted thoughts securely in your head
That which is known as peace
A peace you don’t want to release
Bought to you courtesy of the wind
poem by Alfred Ramos
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Whispers of the Wind
The Tree stands tall,
Listening to the Wind,
Whispering its cautionary tales.
The Tree stands tall,
Listening to the Wind,
But does not bend, you see?
You are the Wind,
And so I shall be the Tree,
Never fear, dear friend, I shall listen to thee.
Yet I shall not bend,
To your valiant assumptions,
To your hollow allegations.
Impetuous is the Wind with only it's tales to tell me,
But I shall stand Tall,
For I am the Tree.
poem by Zoe L Mathias
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Summer Showers
Last night
And the night before
It poured and poured
Wind uprooting the trees
Snapping electric lines too…
I sat
In the darkness
Trying to capture
The straying night
I sat
In the darkness
My skin burning
At the hard hitting raindrops
I sat
In the darkness
Listening to the rain
Tiptoeing into my heart
I sat
In the darkness
The rain bringing with it
Your name cascading into my ears
That’s the best part
Of summer showers, you see
They are amazingly refreshing!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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