The Bridge
i stared across the bridge,
lantern held high...
searching the trees and
the shadows for a sign.
the surging river below
made my heart stamp its feet;
the wind blew, almost moaned,
the bridge groaned as it swayed.
taking off my boots,
i crossed barefooted and sure.
looking down, i could not see rocks,
but i knew they were there...
on the other side the damp dirt
felt good to my feet...
i followed the path down,
ever down... a wolf howled!
i came to a clearing,
made out the form of your hut...
dark and still, almost a womb.
i made my way to the door,
my trembling hand on the knob...
unlocked, the door opened.
staring around the darkened room,
nothing moved, only a lone candle
on the table beside the bed.
i could feel the stare
of your hungry eyes...
heard you whisper, 'come here! '
a thousand battles,
and journeys untold,
forgotten in the warmth
of your flesh...
new stars formed
in a limitless sky,
fell and shattered
as we loved!
the groan of the earth,
the moan of the wind,
the fury of storms unleashed.
holding back, holding back,
till there was no return...
dissolving into the fire
of your pulsing depths...
and all of life, finished!
with the morning light,
i found myself alone...
got up and dressed
with the ache and the taste...
as i left the hut,
i turned to see the owl...
set my chin, braced my mind,
and walked to face the coming snow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Last Door To Be Opened!
horses burst through the gate,
gallop across the field,
heads held high and nostrils flared.
while owls whisper in dark gowned trees,
and the wind tugs at the mountains.
moonlight sifting through the clouds,
dogs bark from a distant door.
and the grass lies wet with desire,
waiting for the steps of the lover!
i built a small fire in the clearing,
took off my clothes and danced
to the hidden beat.
mumbling words that had no form,
while the sleeping swallow smiled.
reared back with primal instinct,
let forth the howl of want.
while ants played tiny drums,
and thunder clashed in perfect time.
down to the banks of the river,
where water courted stone....
and plunged into the icy depths...
a baptism of the senses.
back to the fire with eyes ablaze...
i too waited with longing.
for the scent, the sound, and the feel of flesh,
for the last door to be opened!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Naked Poem
i unbutton your blouse
with a naked poem...
the same poem that lit the fire
on a snowfall morning....
brought you breakfast in bed.
the same poem that held the baby,
and wiped the tears from your face...
that wrapped around you
when we buried your daddy....
that kept the lone candle
burning all that night....
that helped you pack to go,
and opened the door
to let you back in....
that stood in front of you
when the storms came...
that walked by your side
through the darkest nights....
the poem that unlocked
your heart thirty years ago....
the poem lying beside you,
listening to two hearts racing....
that plunges into you
till all else is lost!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Become Deliverance!
when the darkness is so deep
you can taste it,
and the shout of silence
rattles your bones...
there is a candle
on a bare table
in the room hidden
deep in your heart...
light it, and carry on!
when death taunts you with superstition,
and your hands grasp
for things you once held...
there is a wind that has followed you
since you were a child...
let go, open the door, let it in!
when sorrow tugs at your heart
with the gravity of the tides,
and the faces of the suffering
smell like burning flesh...
there is a bridge
made of your own mistakes...
cross it, and become deliverance!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Tattooed Man
He looked like a common sailor
As he wandered up from the port,
Carried his swag on his shoulder,
Wore a cap of the jaunty sort,
His eyes were livid and bloodshot,
Staring, under a tattooed brow,
And on his cheeks, a scatter of stars
As seen from an old ship's prow.
He stopped at the Mariners Arms
And bought a room on the upper floor,
Went out and stood on the balcony,
And stared on down at the square,
He'd left his shirt in the tiny room,
His torso, full in view,
There wasn't an inch of his sailor skin
Untouched by a bright tattoo.
His arms were covered in serpents
Writhing up, and under his chin,
His shoulders, Chinese Characters,
Of Ports, where he might have been,
His sides were covered in fungi
Found in tropical forest glades,
And down on his muscular midriff
The ubiquitous Queen of Spades.
And there on his chest in colours
Very subtle, and so refined,
There lay a naked woman
Baring all as she lay reclined,
Her lips were coloured in scarlet gloss
And pursed in a sensual pout,
Her eyes a searching, brilliant blue
That would find her lover out.
He turned away from the village square
And rested back on the rail,
So now the tattoos across his back
Could be seen... a Schooner's sail,
With storm-filled clouds and a rising swell
As the breakers slid on by,
And over the top, above it all
A piercing, staring eye!
For every passer-by that stared
The eye had stared them back,
Had stared right into the guilty soul
Where every sin was black!
And hairs rose up on the back of the neck,
And shivers ran down the spine,
As guilt drove men to the 'Man of War'
To drown their fears in wine!
And I... I came to the Mariners Arms
And I saw the tattoos there,
And the woman, bared on the sailor's chest
Made me quake and shake in fear,
For the face was unmistakable,
I had left her safe at home,
That face of lust was the woman I trust,
Was the wife I knew as Joan.
For days the sailor prowled the streets
And he peered through windows there,
But he never wore a shirt nor coat,
And he kept his torso bare,
The tattoos seemed to come to life
As he moved, they moved with him,
I saw the serpents flickering tongues
Reach out, and under his chin!
And from his back, the eye stared out
Made strong men weak and quail,
Their knees gave way as it stared them down
And they felt their courage fail,
Then Joan saw him in the market place,
And stood there, hypnotized,
As she stared at the face on the sailor's chest,
And he pierced her, with his eyes.
I saw her enter the Mariners Arms
And I tried to call her back,
But she walked like one in a crazy dream
And I heard her call him, 'Jack...'
They disappeared up the stairway,
Made their way to the upper floor,
I had raced to the top of the stairs when they
Went in, and locked the door.
Out in the street, the clouds rolled in
And the sea beat up on the shore,
The rain came down in a torrent,
Lightning flashed at the old Inn door,
Then he came out on the balcony,
Turned round, and showed his back,
Clung to the mast of the Schooner
There was a woman, dressed in black!
I followed the sailor down the street
In the wind and the pouring rain,
As lightning lit the storm on his back
And the woman screamed in pain,
But on his chest was an open space
And the eye had stared me down,
As he boarded a battered Schooner,
And then sailed away from the town!
24 August 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Should Have Loved Her Then
she walked into the room
all dressed in blue
what am i to do
he vowed to take her hand
raise a family and promise to be true
but she used to whisper to me by the river
alone when the nights were so cold
and he doesnt know that
she still belongs to me
so i cry from the ache in my heart
cause i should have loved her then
i should have loved her then.
she gazed into his eyes
vision paralize
ohh if i could die
they danced until the dawn
on our favorite song
i felt so alone
cause she used to whisper to me by the river
alone when the nights were so cold
and he doesnt know that
she still belongs to me
so i cry from the ache in my heart
cause i should have loved her then
i should have loved her then.
[musical bridge]
God if theres a way
i could turn the road
tell her all the things i should have told
I'd be there
I'd be a man i swear
i swear!
i should have loved her then
i should have loved her.....then!
song performed by by Dante Thomas from Fly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walk The Path In Stillness
walking barefoot...
down alleys dark,
while children play
with garbage and broken glass.
past unlocked doors,
through buildings spent,
left for ghosts and tribal memories.
past walls charred by sweat and time,
left to smolder with empty ache....
to the time before the time before,
when living had a name.
under war torn skies,
over bodies strewn,
and left for birds of prey.
down dusty roads,
holding a child's dark hands,
in shadows anguished pain.
the skies aflame,
as if stars died, and every veil is rent.
to the sound of freedom's hungered drums,
and shadowed wings beating fury.
to the barren room,
the mattress on the floor,
frost upon the pane.
where lovers turned upon the spit,
with bodies made of water.
eyes wide open, living thrust,
tongues tracing maps to destiny.
the hardened cock,
buried in soul's wet lips,
while angels silently prayed.
and the candle burned
till the break of dawn,
and moonlight's final kiss...
the barren room of the empty house,
where eternity revealed!
the field once plowed
has now turned brown...
sparrows pick at the dust.
and scriptures written
in hickory rust,
whispers lost to sound!
battles fought, and flags laid down,
cover caskets that wait for dirt.
the little girl's shoe, the old washtub,
the broken pot beneath the window.
while dogs bark, and ants converse,
and hearts are covered with snow.
the faces of god fade into wood,
stacked and thrown into the fire.
be it dream, be it madness,
or the simple turning of the wheel...
the wind turns with a final kiss,
bare feet walk the path in stillness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Its All Coming Back To Me Now
There were nights when the wind was so cold
That my body froze in bed
If I just listened to it
Right outside the window
There were days when the sun was so cruel
That all the tears turned to dust
And I just knew my eyes were
Drying up forever
I finished crying in the instant that you left
And I cant remember where or when or how
And I banished every memory you and I had ever made
But when you touch me like this
And you hold me like that
I just have to admit
That its all coming back to me
When I touch you like this
And I hold you like that
Its so hard to believe but
Its all coming back to me
(its all coming back, its all coming back to me now)
There were moments of gold
And there were flashes of light
There were things Id never do again
But then theyd always seemed right
There were nights of endless pleasure
It was more than any laws allow
Baby baby
If I kiss you like this
And if you whisper like that
It was lost long ago
But its all coming back to me
If you want me like this
And if you need me like that
It was dead long ago
But its all coming back to me
Its so hard to resist
And its all coming back to me
I can barely recall
But its all coming back to me now
But its all coming back
There were those empty threats and hollow lies
And whenever you tried to hurt me
I just hurt you even worse
And so much deeper
There were hours that just went on for days
When alone at last wed count up all the chances
That were lost to us forever
But you were history with the slamming of the door
And I made myself so strong again somehow
And I never wasted any of my time on you since then
But if I touch you like this
And if you kiss me like that
It was so long ago
But its all coming back to me
If you touch me like this
And if I kiss you like that
It was gone with the wind
But its all coming back to me
(its all coming back, its all coming back to me now)
There were moments of gold
And there were flashes of light
There were things wed never do again
But then theyd always seemed right
There were nights of endless pleasure
It was more than all your laws allow
Baby, baby, baby
When you touch me like this
And when you hold me like that
It was gone with the wind
But its all coming back to me
When you see me like this
And when I see you like that
Then we see what we want to see
All coming back to me
The flesh and the fantasies
All coming back to me
I can barely recall
But its all coming back to me now
If you forgive me all this
If I forgive you all that
We forgive and forget
And its all coming back to me
When you see me like this
And when I see you like that
We see just what we want to see
Al coming back to me
The flesh and the fantasies
All coming back to me
I can barely recall but its all coming back to me now
(its all coming back to me now)
And when you kiss me like this
(its all coming back to me now)
And when I touch you like that
(its all coming back to me now)
If you do it like this
(its all coming back to me now)
And if we...
song performed by by Celine Dion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Have I To Fear?
if death be but a step,
a flower fallen with silent shouts...
a kiss blown by wind but never lost,
a friend who tends the grave.
a hymn, a prayer, kind words spoken,
a drink at a corner table.
a book placed back on the shelf,
a child's drawing done in crayon.
a door closed, left unlocked,
cattle left in the pasture all night.
an empty bowel, a candle burned down,
a sparrow sitting outside the window.
a shovel of dirt, a broken glass,
boots left in the corner.
the dog's leg cocked,
the fire burned down....
the still darkness waiting on dawn.
the river overflowed,
the cage door opened...
then what have i to fear?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How The Eye Deceives!
I walked to the back verandah
And stared at the midnight sky,
The moon, long gone, lay hidden
By the rainclouds, up on high,
The wind howled out in the treetops
Then grunted back through the eaves,
My mood was black as the midden,
I thought – “How the eye deceives.”
You lay with your back towards me
As you’d often lain in the past
When the gods of war were stalking
And your eyes turned red, and flashed.
My life, like the earth, was turning
While all you could do was weep,
And the pit of misunderstanding
Lay there, where you fell asleep.
I’d read in your daily journal
Some thoughts of yours that bled,
And knew that my life was over
From the words I’d found in your head.
We flared, dashed flints at each other
That sparked, lit fear and doubt,
While the storm outside kept building
And the fire in the hearth went out.
At two, or three in the morning
I rose with a fevered moan,
I thought that the air might soothe me
So staggered outside, alone;
But there by the back verandah
The earth had split like a pea,
Our path tailed off to nothing
While a planet lay in our tree.
And there lay a pit of darkness
Like no-one had ever seen,
A silence deep and deadly
So quiet, it drew me in;
I almost lost my balance
To fall in the deadly pit
Where not a star had glimmered,
No God had ever lit.
You lay with your back towards me
In peace, asleep, in bliss,
While I crawled round on the carpet
And punched at the mantlepiece,
Then madly I raised the covers
And dropped them again, in dread,
I sat on the floor ‘til morning…
The stars shone under our bed!
You woke with a gentle shudder
And rolled to face me then,
Reached out, and smiled at the morning
And said – “I love you, ” then;
I felt the world come together,
A gentle breath at the eaves,
The stars were back in the heavens;
I thought – ‘How the eye deceives.’
15 July 1997
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night Coming!
hand on the brush,
grease on the wheel.
turning, and groaning,
the voices of men.
lone fire beneath the bridge,
stir the pot slowly.
shadows whisper with hunger,
stars answer with silence.
life laps out with flame,
hearts scorched seek each other.
the warmth of the body
that clings to the soul.
dreams of glass shatter,
tiny shreds of light.
tongues, and bare feet,
the moan of night coming!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Christmas Guest
It happened one day near decembers end when two neighbors
Called on an old friend and they found his shop so meager and
Lean made gay with thousand bows of green and conrad was
Sitting with faces shining when he suddenly stopped as he
Stitched a twine and he said old friends, it dawned today
As the cock was crowing the night away the lord appeared in
A dream to me and said Im coming your guest to be.
So Ive been busy with feet of stern strewing my shop with
Branches of fern. the table is spread and the kettle is shine.
And over the rafters the holly is twine. now Ill wait for my
Lord to appear and listen closely so I will hear his step as
He nears my humble place. and Ill open the door and look on his face.
So his friends went home and left conrad alone for this
Was the happiest day he had known. for long since his family had
Passed away and conrad had spent many a sad christmas day.
But he knew with the lord as his christmas guest this christmas
Would be the dearest and best.
So he listened with only joy in his heart and with
Every sound he would rise with a start and look for the
Lord to be at his door. like the vision he had had a few hours before.
So he ran to the window after hearing a sound but all he could
See on the snow covered ground was a shabby beggar whose shoes
Were torn and all of his clothes were ragged and worn.
But conrad was touched and he went to the door
And he said you know your feet must be frozen and sore.
I have some shoes in my shop for you and a coat that will
Keep you warmer too. so with grateful heart the man went away
But conrad noticed the time of day and wondered what made the
Lord so late and how much longer hed have to wait.
When he heard a knock he ran to the door but it was
Only a stranger once more. a bent old lady with a shawl of
Black with a bundle of kindling piled on her back. she asked
For only a place to rest but that was reserved for conrads
Great guest. but her voice seemed to plead dont send me away,
Let me rest for awhile on christmas day, so conrad brewed
Her a steaming cup and told her to set at the table and sup.
But after she left he was filled with dismay for
He saw that the hours were slipping away and the lord hadnt come as
He said he would. then conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.
When out of of the stillness he heard a cry please
Help me and tell me where am i? so again he opened his
Friendly door and stood disapointed as twice before.
It was only a child that wandered away and was lost from
Her family on christmas day.
Again conrads heart was heavy and sad but he knew
He should make the little girl glad. so he called her in
And he wiped her tears, quieted all her childish fears.
Then he led her back to her home once more but as he
Entered his own darkened door he knew the
Lord was not coming today.
Well the hours of christmas had passed away so he
Went to his room and knelt down to pray and he said
Dear lord, why did you delay? what kept you from
Coming to call on me? for I wanted so much your face to see.
When soft in the silence a voice he heard.
Lift up your head for I kept my word.
Three times my shadow crossed your floor
And three times I came to your lowly door.
I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet
And I was the woman you gave something to eat.
I was the child on the homeless street.
Three times I knocked, and three times I came in.
And each time I found the warmth of a friend.
Of all the gifts, love is the best.
And I was honored to be your christmas guest.
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Talk It All
You Take It All - Cher
Every place we ever knew,
Just a time we held onto.
Every space that we ever made,
Just a piece of ourselves we saved.
Every light that we ever held,
Just a fire from a dark dark spell.
Every love that we ever crave,
Just a thing to be kept and caged.
CHORUS:
Ohhhh, You Take It ALL.
Like the sea takes the land from under my feet.
Ohhh, You Take It ALL.
Like the sea takes the land from under my feet.
Every dream that we ever ride,
Just a place for our souls to hide.
Every fear that we ever chase,
Just the fear of th truth we face.
CHORUS
I made journeys through light,
I made journeys through dark,
and it's the price I paid.
But i knew from the start,
With each beat of my heart,
that you'd just blow me away.
CHORUS 5 times
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Must Have Been Sleeping
'Where are you going, ' I heard her say
As the dream took me straight to the core,
We parked at the side of a very long road
And I got out the driver's door;
'I've never known that, ' I replied, and she sat
On her hands, with the pain of surprise,
'So what you've been saying has never been true! '
The tears rose up in her eyes!
'The road has been long, the road has been wide,
I never knew where I could turn.'
'I thought you were happy with me, ' she said;
There was nothing to say in return.
'I must have been sleeping for seventeen years, '
My voice sounded foreign and coarse,
But I couldn't handle the sighs and the lies,
Or the terrible sound of - 'divorce! '
I walked to the wood at the side of the road,
And followed the pathway around,
I couldn't look back now I'd made up my mind
Though I walked unfamiliar ground,
The clearing was quiet, the birds didn't sing,
A mountain rose up in my view,
I suddenly saw there was no going back
To the comfortable life that I knew.
I cast off my shackles and took a deep breath,
To breathe in both freedom and pride,
My strength was returning, and clearer my eye,
I walked with a bounce in my stride,
The years fell away, I was thirty again,
I stopped then, and sat on a stone,
For darkness was gathering there in the gloom
With that terrible feeling - alone!
I thought of the woman I'd left on the road,
Who'd always been faithful to me,
The tears that she'd shed for a love that was dead
Made me sad, and ashamed to be free,
I thought of the comfort she'd given me when
All my world started going insane,
She'd cooked and she'd cared, and she'd loved and she'd shared
And I'd given her nothing but pain.
I turned on the track, and I made my way back
But I couldn't see where I had been,
I stumbled through thickets and walked into trees
And I fell on my knees on the green.
'I am lost, I am lost, ' I cried into the night
Then I heard her voice, dim, by a tree
And woke to her stroking my face and my brow
As I cried… She was waiting for me!
9 March 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazarus
“No, Mary, there was nothing—not a word.
Nothing, and always nothing. Go again
Yourself, and he may listen—or at least
Look up at you, and let you see his eyes.
I might as well have been the sound of rain,
A wind among the cedars, or a bird;
Or nothing. Mary, make him look at you;
And even if he should say that we are nothing,
To know that you have heard him will be something.
And yet he loved us, and it was for love
The Master gave him back. Why did he wait
So long before he came? Why did he weep?
I thought he would be glad—and Lazarus—
To see us all again as he had left us—
All as it was, all as it was before.”
Mary, who felt her sister’s frightened arms
Like those of someone drowning who had seized her,
Fearing at last they were to fail and sink
Together in this fog-stricken sea of strangeness,
Fought sadly, with bereaved indignant eyes,
To find again the fading shores of home
That she had seen but now could see no longer
Now she could only gaze into the twilight,
And in the dimness know that he was there,
Like someone that was not. He who had been
Their brother, and was dead, now seemed alive
Only in death again—or worse than death;
For tombs at least, always until today,
Though sad were certain. There was nothing certain
For man or God in such a day as this;
For there they were alone, and there was he—
Alone; and somewhere out of Bethany,
The Master—who had come to them so late,
Only for love of them and then so slowly,
And was for their sake hunted now by men
Who feared Him as they feared no other prey—
For the world’s sake was hidden. “Better the tomb
For Lazarus than life, if this be life,”
She thought; and then to Martha, “No, my dear,”
She said aloud; “not as it was before.
Nothing is ever as it was before,
Where Time has been. Here there is more than Time;
And we that are so lonely and so far
From home, since he is with us here again,
Are farther now from him and from ourselves
Than we are from the stars. He will not speak
Until the spirit that is in him speaks;
And we must wait for all we are to know,
Or even to learn that we are not to know.
Martha, we are too near to this for knowledge,
And that is why it is that we must wait.
Our friends are coming if we call for them,
And there are covers we’ll put over him
To make him warmer. We are too young, perhaps,
To say that we know better what is best
Than he. We do not know how old he is.
If you remember what the Master said,
Try to believe that we need have no fear.
Let me, the selfish and the careless one,
Be housewife and a mother for tonight;
For I am not so fearful as you are,
And I was not so eager.”
Martha sank
Down at her sister’s feet and there sat watching
A flower that had a small familiar name
That was as old as memory, but was not
The name of what she saw now in its brief
And infinite mystery that so frightened her
That life became a terror. Tears again
Flooded her eyes and overflowed. “No, Mary,”
She murmured slowly, hating her own words
Before she heard them, “you are not so eager
To see our brother as we see him now;
Neither is he who gave him back to us.
I was to be the simple one, as always,
And this was all for me.” She stared again
Over among the trees where Lazarus,
Who seemed to be a man who was not there,
Might have been one more shadow among shadows,
If she had not remembered. Then she felt
The cool calm hands of Mary on her face,
And shivered, wondering if such hands were real.
“The Master loved you as he loved us all,
Martha; and you are saying only things
That children say when they have had no sleep.
Try somehow now to rest a little while;
You know that I am here, and that our friends
Are coming if I call.”
Martha at last
Arose, and went with Mary to the door,
Where they stood looking off at the same place,
And at the same shape that was always there
As if it would not ever move or speak,
And always would be there. “Mary, go now,
Before the dark that will be coming hides him.
I am afraid of him out there alone,
Unless I see him; and I have forgotten
What sleep is. Go now—make him look at you—
And I shall hear him if he stirs or whispers.
Go!—or I’ll scream and bring all Bethany
To come and make him speak. Make him say once
That he is glad, and God may say the rest.
Though He say I shall sleep, and sleep for ever,
I shall not care for that… Go!”
Mary, moving
Almost as if an angry child had pushed her,
Went forward a few steps; and having waited
As long as Martha’s eyes would look at hers,
Went forward a few more, and a few more;
And so, until she came to Lazarus,
Who crouched with his face hidden in his hands,
Like one that had no face. Before she spoke,
Feeling her sister’s eyes that were behind her
As if the door where Martha stood were now
As far from her as Egypt, Mary turned
Once more to see that she was there. Then, softly,
Fearing him not so much as wondering
What his first word might be, said, “Lazarus,
Forgive us if we seemed afraid of you;”
And having spoken, pitied her poor speech
That had so little seeming gladness in it,
So little comfort, and so little love.
There was no sign from him that he had heard,
Or that he knew that she was there, or cared
Whether she spoke to him again or died
There at his feet. “We love you, Lazarus,
And we are not afraid. The Master said
We need not be afraid. Will you not say
To me that you are glad? Look, Lazarus!
Look at my face, and see me. This is Mary.”
She found his hands and held them. They were cool,
Like hers, but they were not so calm as hers.
Through the white robes in which his friends had wrapped him
When he had groped out of that awful sleep,
She felt him trembling and she was afraid.
At last he sighed; and she prayed hungrily
To God that she might hear again the voice
Of Lazarus, whose hands were giving her now
The recognition of a living pressure
That was almost a language. When he spoke,
Only one word that she had waited for
Came from his lips, and that word was her name.
“I heard them saying, Mary, that he wept
Before I woke.” The words were low and shaken,
Yet Mary knew that he who uttered them
Was Lazarus; and that would be enough
Until there should be more… “Who made him come,
That he should weep for me?… Was it you, Mary?”
The questions held in his incredulous eyes
Were more than she would see. She looked away;
But she had felt them and should feel for ever,
She thought, their cold and lonely desperation
That had the bitterness of all cold things
That were not cruel. “I should have wept,” he said,
“If I had been the Master….”
Now she could feel
His hands above her hair—the same black hair
That once he made a jest of, praising it,
While Martha’s busy eyes had left their work
To flash with laughing envy. Nothing of that
Was to be theirs again; and such a thought
Was like the flying by of a quick bird
Seen through a shadowy doorway in the twilight.
For now she felt his hands upon her head,
Like weights of kindness: “I forgive you, Mary….
You did not know—Martha could not have known—
Only the Master knew…. Where is he now?
Yes, I remember. They came after him.
May the good God forgive him…. I forgive him.
I must; and I may know only from him
The burden of all this… Martha was here—
But I was not yet here. She was afraid….
Why did he do it, Mary? Was it—you?
Was it for you?… Where are the friends I saw?
Yes, I remember. They all went away.
I made them go away…. Where is he now?…
What do I see down there? Do I see Martha—
Down by the door?… I must have time for this.”
Lazarus looked about him fearfully,
And then again at Mary, who discovered
Awakening apprehension in his eyes,
And shivered at his feet. All she had feared
Was here; and only in the slow reproach
Of his forgiveness lived his gratitude.
Why had he asked if it was all for her
That he was here? And what had Martha meant?
Why had the Master waited? What was coming
To Lazarus, and to them, that had not come?
What had the Master seen before he came,
That he had come so late?
“Where is he, Mary?”
Lazarus asked again. “Where did he go?”
Once more he gazed about him, and once more
At Mary for an answer. “Have they found him?
Or did he go away because he wished
Never to look into my eyes again?…
That, I could understand…. Where is he, Mary?”
“I do not know,” she said. “Yet in my heart
I know that he is living, as you are living—
Living, and here. He is not far from us.
He will come back to us and find us all—
Lazarus, Martha, Mary—everything—
All as it was before. Martha said that.
And he said we were not to be afraid.”
Lazarus closed his eyes while on his face
A tortured adumbration of a smile
Flickered an instant. “All as it was before,”
He murmured wearily. “Martha said that;
And he said you were not to be afraid …
Not you… Not you… Why should you be afraid?
Give all your little fears, and Martha’s with them,
To me; and I will add them unto mine,
Like a few rain-drops to Gennesaret.”
“If you had frightened me in other ways,
Not willing it,” Mary said, “I should have known
You still for Lazarus. But who is this?
Tell me again that you are Lazarus;
And tell me if the Master gave to you
No sign of a new joy that shall be coming
To this house that he loved. Are you afraid?
Are you afraid, who have felt everything—
And seen…?”
But Lazarus only shook his head,
Staring with his bewildered shining eyes
Hard into Mary’s face. “I do not know,
Mary,” he said, after a long time.
“When I came back, I knew the Master’s eyes
Were looking into mine. I looked at his,
And there was more in them than I could see.
At first I could see nothing but his eyes;
Nothing else anywhere was to be seen—
Only his eyes. And they looked into mine—
Long into mine, Mary, as if he knew.”
Mary began to be afraid of words
As she had never been afraid before
Of loneliness or darkness, or of death,
But now she must have more of them or die:
“He cannot know that there is worse than death,”
She said. “And you…”
“Yes, there is worse than death.”
Said Lazarus; “and that was what he knew;
And that is what it was that I could see
This morning in his eyes. I was afraid,
But not as you are. There is worse than death,
Mary; and there is nothing that is good
For you in dying while you are still here.
Mary, never go back to that again.
You would not hear me if I told you more,
For I should say it only in a language
That you are not to learn by going back.
To be a child again is to go forward—
And that is much to know. Many grow old,
And fade, and go away, not knowing how much
That is to know. Mary, the night is coming,
And there will soon be darkness all around you.
Let us go down where Martha waits for us,
And let there be light shining in this house.”
He rose, but Mary would not let him go:
“Martha, when she came back from here, said only
That she heard nothing. And have you no more
For Mary now than you had then for Martha?
Is Nothing, Lazarus, all you have for me?
Was Nothing all you found where you have been?
If that be so, what is there worse than that—
Or better—if that be so? And why should you,
With even our love, go the same dark road over?”
“I could not answer that, if that were so,”
Said Lazarus,—“not even if I were God.
Why should He care whether I came or stayed,
If that were so? Why should the Master weep—
For me, or for the world,—or save himself
Longer for nothing? And if that were so,
Why should a few years’ more mortality
Make him a fugitive where flight were needless,
Had he but held his peace and given his nod
To an old Law that would be new as any?
I cannot say the answer to all that;
Though I may say that he is not afraid,
And that it is not for the joy there is
In serving an eternal Ignorance
Of our futility that he is here.
Is that what you and Martha mean by Nothing?
Is that what you are fearing? If that be so,
There are more weeds than lentils in your garden.
And one whose weeds are laughing at his harvest
May as well have no garden; for not there
Shall he be gleaning the few bits and orts
Of life that are to save him. For my part,
I am again with you, here among shadows
That will not always be so dark as this;
Though now I see there’s yet an evil in me
That made me let you be afraid of me.
No, I was not afraid—not even of life.
I thought I was…I must have time for this;
And all the time there is will not be long.
I cannot tell you what the Master saw
This morning in my eyes. I do not know.
I cannot yet say how far I have gone,
Or why it is that I am here again,
Or where the old road leads. I do not know.
I know that when I did come back, I saw
His eyes again among the trees and faces—
Only his eyes; and they looked into mine—
Long into mine—long, long, as if he knew.”
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early Works - She’s Gone Away
With trembling lips, she said goodbye
left me alone to cry
the old north wind blew at the door
to chill my heart for evermore.
She’s gone away I know not where
turned her back on a heart that cared.
She’s gone away left me alone
now this old house is no longer a home
there is no laughter here anymore
there is no warmth like before.
The old north wind chills everything
and yesterday I found the ring
the little band of gold she wore
discarded just outside the door
Date unknown
poem by David Harris
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Gasping For Light
1
i built a fire in the yard.
slowly walked back into the house.
gathering everything of value.
my books, my clothes, my boots,
old photographs, letters, pictures,
everything i've ever written.
every memory.
took them outside,
and fed them to the fire!
and walked off barefoot
into the night.
2
lover, dance with me!
we call unto each other
from distances, through barriers,
breaking down walls of seperation;
through tears and angry silence,
echoing through the night.
i kiss your eyes, your lips,
the arch of your neck.
your fingertips, your feet,
the inside of your thighs.
your wetness.
you open your eyes,
and the shadow disappears!
3
spirits dance in the moonlight!
a soft wind rustles
through the trees.
the howl of a dog,
car lights on a forgotten road;
a screen door closes softly.
old house wrapped in stillness.
only a faint sound.
the footsteps of God
walking in your heart!
4
i can smell your perfume,
or maybe the scent of rain coming.
i can taste you in the
cool damp earth,
in the blood of a small animal
killed by a passing car,
in the cry of the baby
waking up hungry,
in the web of the spider.
in the hollow of my soul.
5
two moths lost in the darkness,
gasping for light.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Courting Disaster
I was twenty-three when I saw her first,
Without a word of a lie,
She had wandered into the woods by me
With a basket, held on high,
Her auburn hair reflected the sun
And she flashed me a dazzling smile,
That turned my head to the way she led
As I followed her, over the stile.
She skipped along at a steady pace
Weaved in and out through the trees,
Collected the broad-rimmed mushrooms there
As she stopped, and fell to her knees,
Her dress flared out as it caught the wind
And her hair was floated wide,
I hid by a tree, and held my breath
As I thought of her, as a bride.
She had such a look of innocence,
Was free as the birds of the air,
The legs and the grace of a peasant girl
Brought up in the great out-there,
She ran right up to a Woodsman's house
That was hidden by branch and vine,
Then danced right in through the open door,
And then I knew; she was mine!
The door was closed when I finally knocked
But I heard a terrible moan,
And minutes later the door unlocked,
In the hall stood a fusty crone,
She stared at me through her hoary eyes
With never a hint of grace,
‘What do you want? ' she growled at me,
For the shock must have shown in my face.
‘That girl, who danced in a moment back,
I'm here to discover her name.'
‘There is no girl, ' said the ancient hack,
‘You'd better return where you came! '
‘I saw her enter, I must insist,
I'll not be gulled by your lies! '
‘That girl's been dead for a long time back,
You'd better leave now, if you're wise! '
She slammed the door in my face just then
So I wandered back through the trees,
A raincloud covered the midday sun
And I felt the chill of a breeze,
The rain came down as I walked back home,
Climbed over the ricketty stile,
Was drenched to the skin as I wandered in,
And thought to resort to guile.
For days I lingered by that old track,
The place that I'd seen her first,
I felt so miserable, holding back,
As I thought, and feared for the worst,
What if the girl was a sprite, who'd died,
Just as the old crone said?
Try as I might, I couldn't believe,
Nor get her out of my head.
I finally went to the Woodsman's house
And I hid in a patch by the vine,
When suddenly out of the door came tripping
The girl, with her eyes a-shine,
She skipped away with her basket, filled
With linen and loaves and cheese,
And I caught her then in a shady glade
As she stopped, and fell to her knees.
‘I hoped you'd come, ' were the words she said
As she laid a cloth on the ground,
‘I have to hide from that grey old witch
So I go where I'll never be found.'
She broke the bread and she poured the wine
And we ate and drank in the glade,
My mind was filled with a sudden chill
But I thought of fun in the shade.
‘So when are you going to kiss me, then? '
She said when we finished our feast,
‘I've fed your animal spirits, now,
It's time I was paid, at least! '
I kissed her there in the shady glade
And we tumbled there in the leaves,
Then I fell asleep, and she'd gone when I
Awoke, and the heart, it grieves.
I stumbled home, but was feeling faint
I had aches and pains in my head,
I staggered through to the bedroom, then
I found her asleep in my bed,
She woke and sat, and she stared at me
But her face had begun to change,
There were lines and wrinkles around her eyes
And her hair was grey with age.
‘I need you now that my time is short,
Come and rest your weary head, '
I caught a glimpse in the mirror then
And it filled me full of dread,
For the face of a man of middle age
Stared back at me from the glass,
‘Just what have to done to me? ' I said…
‘Do you really have to ask? '
‘I fed on your animal needs, and you
Gave something to set me free,
If you want me to be a bright young thing
Then you must replenish me.'
I saw she aged by the minute there
And she soon let out a moan,
For lying in bed was a figure of dread,
That hoary old witch, the crone!
I'm far too weak to get out of bed,
But Elli goes out on her own,
She carries her basket into the wood
For the mushrooms she eats alone,
My beard is grey and I dread each day
As she bleeds my life from its core,
But she's as lovely as ever she was
At a hundred and twenty-four!
26 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Westminster Bridge.
Fay looked down
at the River Thames
from Westminster Bridge
and you stood next to her
watching the boats
go under the bridge
and disappear from view
and she said
my dad said he'd take me
on one of those boats
and out to sea
but he never has
you looked sideways at her
taking in her blonde hair
and her blue eyes
and the way the wind
touched her hair
and made her dress
move about her legs
I've been on boats
on the river before
you said
making conversation
not seeking to impress
or boast
I like the chugging sound
of the boat
you added
Fay touched
the edge of the bridge
where she stood
and said
this bridge was built in 1862
I heard about it in class
Miss Ash told us about it
oh yes she
with her massive shoulders
and arms and big breasts
you said
and Fay laughed
and blushed slightly
God knows what my dad'd say
if he heard you say that
and me laughing
she said
looking at you
and shyly smiling
probably give me
what's for
she uttered quieter
ceasing to smile
her eyes taking on
a dark gaze
looking out
at the river again
you've got to have a laugh
now and then
haven't you
you said
wanting to put
an arm about her
but not doing so
just putting a hand
next to hers
on the bridge top
feeling the cold stone
wanting to feel her flesh
soft and warm
suppose so
she said softly
her fingers close to yours
almost touching
you moved your hand
closer across the stone
crablike and touched
her small finger with yours
she breathed in the air
and so did you
and she said
oh to be in London
and out of doors.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stake
The dig was held at Sozopol
Beside the Black Sea shore,
Where Iskra Angelova
Came parading, past my door.
She asked me, was I Stevens,
From the Bramling Institute?
But my eyes were full of lips and hair,
And so I sat there, mute!
She had those Slavic cheekbones
And those bright, wide honeyed eyes,
And a smile that told my fortune,
Partly truth, but mostly lies,
And I knew we'd be together
While we foraged at the site,
So I smiled at her in greeting,
And her eyes beamed in delight!
‘I'm glad you're so much younger
Than that pesky Androvich,
He's a fusty Russian scholar,
Dull as water in a ditch! '
And she laughed, we laughed together
For I knew just what she meant,
Though her English wasn't perfect
She could hold an argument!
Through the days and weeks that followed
Digging dirt and sifting bones,
In that medieval churchyard
Full of grief and standing stones,
We worked side by side together
In the graves, and touching hands,
Me, the western anthropologist
And her, from eastern lands!
So the first kiss was much sweeter
Than of any I had known,
And we struggled in the darkness
Of my room, once left alone,
For her appetite, voracious,
Was demanding to the core,
As she wrapped herself around me
I would dread her whispered: ‘More! '
I was tired and not quite with it
When we came upon a sight
That had Iskra sitting, trembling,
She crossed herself in fright,
For the skeleton beneath us
Had a stake right through the heart,
So I knelt, and then unthinking
Grabbed the stake, pulled it apart!
She went white, jumped up crazy, screamed:
‘You don't know what you've done! '
As a cloud, way up above us
Moved, and blotted out the sun,
While I sat bemused and staring
At the iron stake I held,
It was rusted, red with ochre
Or with blood - I couldn't tell!
Then Androvich came over
And he grunted, and he moaned:
‘You're not to touch not anything
Until I've seen, ' he groaned.
‘Just give me…! ' and he snatched
The rusty stake from out my hand,
‘You westerners know nothing
Of the peoples in this land! '
That night I watched as Iskra
Wandered out along the beach,
I knew that I'd done something
That had put her out of reach,
She wouldn't listen to me
Or respond to what I said,
But then she turned toward me:
‘You have gone and raised the dead! ''
‘It's only superstition, ' I began,
But then she cried,
And went off to her room and
Locked the door, left me outside,
I heard the passage door creak open,
Then an awful shriek…
I found Professor Androvich
Next morning, on the beach!
His throat was torn and mangled,
Though there wasn't any blood,
His face pale white and shaken,
But one thing I understood,
The stake that he had taken, now
Was thrust - it made me wince!
But Iskra, she was nowhere,
And I haven't seen her since!
6 June 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Isn't Everything You Are
He walked into a drugstore that day
He took a bullet and saved a girl
Not for heroic reasons
But to end his journey
His mum held his feet and prayed
with a hundred teardrops
Two thousand hands of a thousand angels
Performed CPR and with four thousand teardrops
Warmed his frozen body
God sits, turns his face and sheds a dropp or two
He lies alone in pitch darkness
The going had been tough
And he chose to get going
He dug a hole, lay and covered himself
Grace felt fat and took a stroll that day
He walked and smiled
Stepping on a heap of sand, he felt pain
Stooped and moved the sand
Turned his face and stared the turned teary face
Face to face they stared
The angels keep at it and look to God and grace
'There's joy not far from here', the angels echoed
He'd strayed, mum prayed, angels stayed
God came, breathed in him
Whispered and said, 'this isn't everything you are'
His heart beat, his mum smiled
Angels cried, God tried
To show him, all he was made to be
He cried, angels smiled
You are more than what you've been through
You are more than what you are today
And hope, though not bankable
Is the thread of life
And if you ever feel like walking away from it all
Keep this in mind:
THIS ISN'T EVERYTHING YOU ARE.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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