Turned Back The Clock!
ethanol in his blood,
clear creek water eyes.
the air atop a mountain,
his spirit flies...
a child of the earth,
he names each tree.
fills the empty nest,
sets wild animals free.
dances naked in the firelight,
with shadows in the cave.
makes love on the ground,
no longer afraid.
gone back to himself,
primitive and unbound.
at one with the turning,
the scent, and the sound!
the howl and the moan
of wind searching rock.
le laid down his grasping,
and turned back the clock!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
Wild Child
It's too late to turn back
When the green lights flash
Too late to turn around
When the love goes down
Your fire my fate
This woman won't wait
So love beam your laser light
Get ready gonna take this flight
You're so wild
(you're wild and willing)
So wild (your spirit's free)
You're such a wild wild child
Oh baby go wild with me
Two hearts one mind
Baby you're my kind
You're too hot you're too much
You've got that personal touch
Push button play thing
Make my back door ring
Fight fire with a little fire baby
You oughta know you make this
little girl sing
You're so wild
(you're wild and willing)
So wild (your spirit's free)
You're such a wild wild child
Oh baby go wild with me
Do your little shake baby
rattle and roll
Ring my bell baby do my soul
Don't let the grass grow under my feet
Bang my drum baby feel my beat
you're so wild
You're so wild
(you're wild and willing)
So wild (your spirit's free)
You're such a wild wild child
Oh baby go wild with me
You're so wild
(you're wild and willing)
So wild (your spirit's free)
You're such a wild wild child
Oh baby go wild with me
song performed by by Heart from Brigade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Things Clear Only to Me
The Wind swirls around me,
It swirls and shoots up a tree.
It rustles the leaves,
And over the Dryad weaves.
The wind I can see,
And things clear only to me!
Up a branch the Dryad prances,
And with the wind she dances!
Floating, the wind goes,
Up to the roof, and slows.
To the horse weathervane,
And there it ruffles his mane.
Then down I see him turn,
Not a horse, but flying unicorn!
The wind I run after,
To hear hearty laughter.
Behind the large rock I peek,
The laughing one to seek.
There a joke is read to a troll,
from a very old scroll.
I laugh too as I go,
Now the wind swoops low.
Down to the flowers small,
Where I hear tiny fairies call.
I cannot understand the sound,
Like me with grown-ups around.
Then I watch, and sigh,
As the wind lifts a dragon high.
Up there I cannot go,
Only feel the fire blow!
This is when I turn back,
The wind has gone slack.
I no longer see it swirl,
Or the other things in its' curl.
A blazing sun in the sky,
Is left from the dragon's fly.
On the flowers buzz bees,
No fairies below my knees.
I walk past the stone,
It and I are alone.
The horse up on the roof,
Makes no move, he's aloof.
The tree is empty and still,
The Dryad gone, gone until…
Until the wind comes again,
Swooping through this lane.
Then the wind I will see,
And things clear only to me!
poem by Elisabeth Hines
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Encountering A Black Memory
Encountering one dark black memory,
As the Wind eternally whispers to me.
In another time, at this special place,
We were dressed in leather and lace.
Many times I have made my way back,
Searching for a memory turned black.
In search of our encounter by chance,
Where by firelight we once did dance.
By moon’s light with fire burning dim,
In the refreshing water we would swim.
A time I wished would be without end,
Chilled we held each other skin-to-skin.
From the chilling water to the fireside.
Blanket wrapped one another we eyed.
Without uttering speech our eyes spoke,
As we kindled love’s fire without smoke.
Until morning our spirits became as one,
When back to your mate you had to run.
Time did pass and the years they did go,
The view seen here now I hardly know.
All night long, returning with the dew,
I send forth my spirit searching for you.
poem by Joseph Blitch
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Poet's Epitaph
i see the lights of a far distant shore.
i hear the moan of thundered skies.
i smell the perfume of rain not fallen.
i taste the lips of earth, and of trees.
i see the fire in cold artic winters.
i hear the words the wind desires.
i smell the scent of passion held back.
i taste the blood of coming death.
i see the dawn of the blackened cave.
i hear the weeping of mountains still.
i smell the coffin, and shovelled dirt.
i taste the spirit set free in flight!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The DanCe
Sitting on a shady hill, a trunk that kissed the ground,
Leaves in glimmery green, wild flowers scents mixes air in profound,
Clouds smoothly moving, the sky turning blue
And trace of the moon is still on cue...
Birds chirping, echoes of water falls is drifting
The DANCE echoed from the hidden speakers, soothing,
Sudden navigation of thoughts flashes back
As rhythm of the DANCe leaves a trance of the past...
A place like this away from the busy commotion of the streets
The first time I laid my feet, felt the happiness, I danced with grace.
As the man turned the stereo on, the DANCe filled the air,
Lifted my spirit to unexplainable joy, I flipped and swayed....
The DANCe of life I had for four years now
Tiring but rewarding of the fulfillment it brings,
Though hurtful events tattood in my heart and mind,
Looking back, it made me a better person and I'm greatful with that.
Now, I still have the DANCe laid on air
Still working out to learn from it and prepare,
My future, I may not know what lies ahead
Yet I am sure, I will DANCe, follow it's rhythm as it flows thru the air....
And as I close my eyes, I see the sun slowly sets
A bonfire slowly lit the place, the DANCe still has it's trace,
I stood, feeling the beat...opening my arms, wrapping on mine
Dancing in it's beat...waiting for the DANCe to cease...
Many dances I have shared with
Even dances with wolves, I have made,
Slow-fast, sensual-rock, salsa-tango-samba, name it I can
But one DANCe is missing which my heart screams....
The DANCe in solemn peace...soul that scream and weep...
Inner peace, inner DANCe of hope and faith...
And from HIS place, one day,
I would have the DANCe I long to have...
poem by InNer WhisPers
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Man Gave Names To All The Animals
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to growl,
Big furry paws and he liked to howl,
Great big furry back and furry hair.
Ah, think Ill call it a bear.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal up on a hill
Chewing up so much grass until she was filled.
He saw milk comin out but he didnt know how.
Ah, think Ill call it a cow.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to snort,
Horns on his head and they werent too short.
It looked like there wasnt nothin that he couldnt pull.
Ah, think Ill call it a bull.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal leavin a muddy trail,
Real dirty face and a curly tail.
He wasnt too small and he wasnt too big.
Ah, think Ill call it a pig.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
Next animal that he did meet
Had wool on his back and hooves on his feet,
Eating grass on a mountainside so steep.
Ah, think Ill call it a sheep.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal as smooth as glass
Slithering his way through the grass.
Saw him disappear by a tree near a lake . . .
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pollution go away
water, water, water come dried my tears and
wasted my pail, what makes you crystal clear
is the one makes me fear
fresh as the cold air, monsoon wind makes it
feel, turning back, as you made it wiggle still,
air comes and goes as you always will
havoc in the soil as you always till, make the
surrounding nice and beautiful to see in the
paradise where you are there
now as you come in my living soul, where
you always look in a distance poop, all the
way you stand as a tree, in the trunk I see
there you are free
leave me not, for I have a dream in the day
that you stay at me, even it’s almost in the middle
of the night, my friendly way has to say, a very
good day my heavenly spray
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Returned.... (Primitive)
my soul hath returned
to the beginnings of faith,
before written history,
before there were words.
when god walked naked in the darkness,
her long hair birthing leaves
on branches that wept.
the stones whispered praise,
the trees bowed in prayer!
the gutteral moan of the wind
haunts the walls of the cave.
i dream of fire,
both shaking and sweating with cold.
while god talks with the wolves,
the turtles, and the owls.
and sounds mimic night
making love with herself!
dawn calls from a faraway shore;
the waterfall hesitates,
as if in waiting!
unseen hands rub stick against stick,
till the spark of dreams ignites!
moan, groan, and the flap of wings...
and the only name be heartbeat!
i am stone, i am tree,
i am river, i am wind...
i am the sound of nothing,
and the face of the formless!
primitive, and naked,
i walk with god...
and nurse at the breasts of infinity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Watching Love Making Love
makes my armpits
alive again
makes my blood rush
back to my brain
makes my body
dance to the tune
of love's rock
makes my eyes blink
wild like a bird
hovering from one
tree to another
like a pornographic
movie
but i really like romance
much better
that gentle kiss
penetrating inside my
throat
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Of This, And More!
the color in the stone,
the green in the grass.
the language of the wind
whispering through the trees....
the mountains that listen in stillness.
the baby's mouth, eyes follow suit,
the thundering wings of the moth,
majestic in flight.
the bleet of the sheep,
the low growl of the bear.
the rhythm of the water,
pounding the shore....
the moan of the lover,
universal and primitive.
the scent of the rain,
just before it comes!
the fit of the light
in the darkness of empty,
the lips on my heart,
sucking the fire from my blood.
all of this, and more!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do You Even (Know My Name)
for your strong scent of love,
and the dew of your wetness...
your lips that color the night sky
in deep layers of black...
your animal spirit running
through fields in the moonlight...
the taste of your flesh,
your blood on my chin...
the howl and the hoot,
and then the great stillness...
the earth shakes and tremors,
great waves rise from the sea...
and the wind itself lonesome,
fumbles with the latch to your door..
the snow fast approaching,
the last fire fed by you!
can you hear me calling?
the whisper, the moan?
or am i only an old train,
running empty on tracks leading nowhere?
do you even know my name?
the tracks beneath your eyes,
be they tears, or my coming...
gone in an instant,
fire leaves nothing to remember!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sound Of The Beating Heart!
we spend lifetimes searching
for the sound the leaf makes
turning from green to orange to red...
we spend our loving burning branches
in the shadow of the tree.
we spend our faith trying to capture,
and hold the wind for a moment...
never knowing that what we search for
is only our own being!
we are the leaf, the branches, the fire,
the tree, and the wind...
the sound, the loving, and the faith.
and yet we are nothing.
we are but a moment,
familiar taste and scent.
we are eternity,
the breath of an unknown god.
the sun has set,
stillness comes walking
across the mountains.
i listen for the voices
that have no face.
dead poets sit by a vagrant fire,
immigrants, refugees...
spinning old tales.
my friends smell like trees,
and leaves turned brown.
we cross bridges unseen,
with no destination.
and the only sound
that even god can hear...
the sound of the beating heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Loving Dark Wind
oh how the wind blows oh so free, but i love you. Secretly i hold.
The wind flows though my hair and fills me with new life.
But the wind it tears down the earth with just a breath. The wind changes and never stand still in one place.
The fear in my eyes, seeing that the wind will never be peaceful.
i hide in a cave, try to get away from your power. oh.... but how i love this dark wind.
Come, See. For this is you.Never will this be.
Old Men Walk Barefoot!
they would cut the wings from sparrows,
and deny the face of the wind.
take the laughter from the small child,
and bury the old man's shoes.
fill the cup with oil,
and burn the pages....
erase the names and the memory
of having been...
but the sparrow flies beyond their reach,
and they cant touch the wind.
the child gives his laughter freely,
and the cup has been turned over.
the pages feed the fire with desire,
and names and memory are written on god...
we who have lived have something
they cant take away...
that we give without looking back!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tis said, that some have died for love
'Tis said, that some have died for love:
And here and there a churchyard grave is found
In the cold north's unhallowed ground,
Because the wretched man himself had slain,
His love was such a grievous pain.
And there is one whom I five years have known;
He dwells alone
Upon Helvellyn's side:
He loved--the pretty Barbara died;
And thus he makes his moan:
Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid
When thus his moan he made:
'Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak!
Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,
That in some other way yon smoke
May mount into the sky!
The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart.
I look--the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;
But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.
'Oh! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves,
That murmur once so dear, when will it cease?
Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,
It robs my heart of peace.
Thou Thrush, that singest loud--and loud and free,
Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder sit;
Or sing another song, or choose another tree.
'Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds,
And there for ever be thy waters chained!
For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
That cannot be sustained;
If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,
Oh let it then be dumb!
Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.
'Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers,
Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale,
Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,
And stir not in the gale.
For thus to see thee nodding in the air,
To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Thus rise and thus descend,--
Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can dear.'
The Man who makes this feverish complaint
Is one of giant stature, who could dance
Equipped from head to foot in iron mail.
Ah gentle Love! if ever thought was thine
To store up kindred hours for me, thy face
Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk
Within the sound of Emma's voice, nor know
Such happiness as I have known to-day.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Tis Said, That Some Have Died For Love
'Tis said, that some have died for love:
And here and there a churchyard grave is found
In the cold north's unhallowed ground,
Because the wretched man himself had slain,
His love was such a grievous pain.
And there is one whom I five years have known;
He dwells alone
Upon Helvellyn's side:
He loved--the pretty Barbara died;
And thus he makes his moan:
Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid
When thus his moan he made:
"Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak!
Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,
That in some other way yon smoke
May mount into the sky!
The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart.
I look--the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;
But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.
"Oh! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves,
That murmur once so dear, when will it cease?
Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,
It robs my heart of peace.
Thou Thrush, that singest loud--and loud and free,
Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder sit;
Or sing another song, or choose another tree.
"Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain-bounds,
And there for ever be thy waters chained!
For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
That cannot be sustained;
If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,
Oh let it then be dumb!
Be anything, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.
"Thou Eglantine, so bright with sunny showers,
Proud as a rainbow spanning half the vale,
Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,
And stir not in the gale.
For thus to see thee nodding in the air,
To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Thus rise and thus descend,--
Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can dear."
The Man who makes this feverish complaint
Is one of giant stature, who could dance
Equipped from head to foot in iron mail.
Ah gentle Love! if ever thought was thine
To store up kindred hours for me, thy face
Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk
Within the sound of Emma's voice, nor know
Such happiness as I have known to-day.
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Waterfall
THE SONG of the water
Doomed ever to roam,
A beautiful exile,
Afar from its home.
The cliffs on the mountain,
The grand and the gray,
They took the bright creature
And hurled it away!
I heard the wild downfall,
And knew it must spill
A passionate heart out
All over the hill.
Oh! was it a daughter
Of sorrow and sin,
That they threw it so madly
Down into the lynn?
. . . . .
And listen, my Sister,
For this is the song
The Waterfall taught me
The ridges among:—
“Oh where are the shadows
So cool and so sweet
And the rocks,” saith the water,
“With the moss on their feet?
“Oh, where are my playmates
The wind and the flowers—
The golden and purple—
Of honey-sweet bowers,
“Mine eyes have been blinded
Because of the sun;
And moaning and moaning
I listlessly run.
“These hills are so flinty!—
Ah! tell me, dark Earth,
What valley leads back to
The place of my birth?—
“What valley leads up to
The haunts where a child
Of the caverns I sported,
The free and the wild?
“There lift me,”—it crieth,
“I faint from the heat;
With a sob for the shadows
So cool and so sweet.”
Ye rocks, that look over
With never a tear,
I yearn for one half of
The wasted love here!
My sister so wistful,
You know I believe,
Like a child for the mountains
This water doth grieve.
Ah! you with the blue eyes
And golden-brown hair,
Come closer and closer
And truly declare:—
Supposing a darling
Once happened to sin,
In a passionate space,
Would you carry her in—
If your fathers and mothers,
The grand and the gray,
Had taken the weak one
And hurled her away?
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like The Breeze, Like A Storm
I ain’t easy to live with
Some say it’s bloody hard
My life’s a keyboard
And sometimes a guitar
I’ve lived every note from the heart
Without love, life is empty
Like the clear blue sky, sometimes you need a little rain
Take my heart, take it empty,
Fill it with your love, then give it back again
And in return I’ll touch you like the breeze and ravish you like a storm
I ain’t easy to live with
Some say it’s bloody hard
My life’s a keyboard
And sometimes a guitar
I’ve lived every note from the heart
Without thoughts, you are empty
Like the bird that flies, sometimes you need the earth
Take my mind, take it empty,
Fill it with everything, give it birth and everything you have come to know
And in return I’ll touch you like the breeze and ravish you like a storm
Each dropp of water that falls to the ground
Makes it’s own unique sound
Each star that flickers deep into the night
Send a note of pure delight
Without love, life is empty
Like the clear blue sky, sometimes you need a little rain
Take my heart, take it empty,
Fill it with your love, then give it back again
And in return I’ll touch you like the breeze and ravish you like a storm
I ain’t easy to live with
Some say it’s bloody hard
My life’s a keyboard
And sometimes a guitar
I’ve lived every note from the heart
Copyright Colin Coplin 2010 / 20111
poem by Colin Coplin
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Too Late
Now I see what I meant to you
I didn't know what you would do
Too late to get back what we had
Happy memories now turned sad
If I could just turn back the clock
Step up and somehow be your rock
Prove your life was worth the living
All that love that you were giving
I would return it back to you
Show you how much I felt it too
For now I know you were the one
To set me free and let me run
poem by Paul H Nelson
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The Little Girl Found
All the night in woe
Lyca’s parents go
Over valleys deep,
While the deserts weep.
Tired and woe-begone,
Hoarse with making moan,
Arm in arm, seven days
They traced the desert ways.
Seven nights they sleep
Among shadows deep,
And dream they see their child
Starved in desert wild.
Pale through pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famished, weeping, weak,
With hollow piteous shriek.
Rising from unrest,
The trembling woman pressed
With feet of weary woe;
She could no further go.
In his arms he bore
Her, armed with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A couching lion lay.
Turning back was vain:
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground,
Then he stalked around,
Smelling to his prey;
But their fears allay
When he licks their hands,
And silent by them stands.
They look upon his eyes,
Filled with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit armed in gold.
On his head a crown,
On his shoulders down
Flowed his golden hair.
Gone was all their care.
‘Follow me,’ he said;
‘Weep not for the maid;
In my palace deep,
Lyca lies asleep.’
Then they followed
Where the vision led,
And saw their sleeping child
Among tigers wild.
To this day they dwell
In a lonely dell,
Nor fear the wolvish howl
Nor the lion’s growl.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Experience (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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