En.Citatepedia^®.ro

With Before!

a poem...
a letter kept
in a favorite book,
too long on the shelf.

the memory of your lips,
whispering in a language
that only the wind knew!
now your silence betrays...

we are the grain
too deep imbedded!
the tree itself
cannot remember!

the door that wont close,
the broken pane in the window.
the pot now empty,
charred with before!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This House Is Empty Now

(costello/bacharach)
These rooms play tricks upon you
Remember when they were always filled with laughter
But now theyre quite deserted
They seem to just echo voices raised in anger
Maybe you will see my face
Reflected there on the pane
In the window up above for long
In broken home
Yet this house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
These walls were lined with pictures
Remember the glass we charged in celebration
But now I fill my life up
With all that I can to deaden this sensation
Do you recognize the face
Fixed in that fine silver frame
Were you really so unhappy there
You never said
So this house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do to make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
Oh, if I could just become forgetful
When night seems endless
Does the extinguished candle care
About the darkness
Its funny how the memory
Will bring you so close then make you disappear
Meanwhile all our friends must choose
Who they will favour, who they will lose
Hang the garland high, or close the door
Or throw away the key
This house is empty now
Theres no one living here
You have to care about
This house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
This house is empty now
This house is empty now
Theres nothing I can do
This house is empty now
This house is empty now

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silence Of Nothing To Say

The silence of nothing to say
Is forcibly broken by the will for words
A poem is made not born
And there are nights when only determination can say anything-

I write now in the shadow of the night
When all the light is artificial
When inside me is only an empty emptiness
A quiet of nothing deep or beautiful –

I can make a poem out of nothing
But then it may be nothing too
Words alone are not enough
The truer poem comes out of something deeper I do not have now

Let the words play
Let the silence be broken
Let this night be written down
For the empty poem it is.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Remember

I got no means to show identification
I got no papers show you what I am
Youll have to take me just the way that you find me
Whats gone is gone and I do not give a damn
Empty stomach, empty head
I got empty heart and empty bed
I dont remember
I dont remember
I dont remember, I dont recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I dont remember, I dont recall
I got no memory of anything
-anything at all
Strange is your language and I have no decoder
Why dont you make your intentions clear
With eyes to the sun and your mouth to the soda
Saying, tell me the truth, you got nothing to fear
Stop staring at me like a bird of prey
Im all mixed up, I got nothing to say
I dont remember
I dont remember
I dont remember, I dont recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I dont remember, I dont recall
I got no memory of anything
Anything at all
I dont remember, I dont recall
I got no memory of anything at all
I dont remember, I dont recall
I got no memory of anything
Absolutely anything at all
I dont remember

song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lonesome Farewell...

lonesome farewell...
wind blown dust,
cardboard boxes in the rain.
the doorknob broken,
the window nailed shut.

empty fields, briars and thorns.
a dead rabbit rotting
on the side of the road.
signs falling down,
tree limbs on the ground.

silence screams, waves of grief!
the smell of want, forgotten lips.
words cling like cobwebs
to the empty walls...
where are you now?

where are you now?

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This House Is Empty Now (feat. Burt Bacharach)

These rooms play tricks upon you
Remember when they were always filled with laughter?
But now they're quite deserted
They seem to just echo voices raised in anger
Maybe you will see my face
Reflected there on the pane
In the window of our poor
Forlorn and broken home
Still this house is empty now
There's nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how
Am I supposed to live without you?
These walls were lined with pictures
Remember the glass we charged in celebration?
But now I fill my life up
With all that I can to deaden this sensation
Do you recognize the face
Fixed in that fine silver frame
Were you really so unhappy then?
You never said
So this house is empty now
There's nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how
Am I supposed to live without you?
Oh, if I could just become forgetful
When night seems endless
Does the extinguished candle care
About the darkness?
It's funny how my memry
Will bring you so close then make you disappear
Meanwhile all our friends must choose
Who they will favour, who they will lose
Hang the garland high or close the door
And throw away the key
This house is empty now
There's no one living here
You have to care about
This house is empty now
There's nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how
Am I supposed to live without you?
This house is empty now
There's no one living here
You have to care about
This house is empty now
There's nothing I can do
To make you want to stay
So tell me how
Am I supposed to live without you

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain Keeps Fallin

I remember the night so well.
The rain was fallin but I just couldnt tell,
If it was you that was callin to my love-sick brain.
But the rain kept fallin on my window pane.
Out of the night the thunder rang in my ear.
I cant fight the feelin, lord, that brings forth my fears.
I wish it was over, lord, please stop the rain.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
Every night the rains on time, I can feel it in this heart of mine.
But I dont know what to do.
Well, I guess I could go back home, cause you know back home is where I belong.
But it just aint home without you.
And I dont know what to do, baby.
Well, I guess Im a looser but it just dont seem fair.
I lost all my life so tell me, why should I care?
The night that you left me is the night that it came.
And the rains still fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain ...
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
... keeps right on fallin.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said, the rain keeps fallin ...

song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Scriptures

i read the scriptures written in human faces,
in calloused hands, in bruises and scars.
in the spider's web, in the trail of the snail.
in the pot stained with use,
in the axe and the plow.
in the old woman's silence,
in the broken window.
in worn out boots, and the broken lock.
in the gravel drive,
in the eyes of the hungry....
in the fear of those oppressed by war.
in the dead squirrel's body,
in the nest left empty.
in the prisoner staring
through a window barred.
in the old man's chair,
a dog's turd and a hill of ants.
in the fallen leaf,
in the empty room.
in solitude and stillness,
in the prayer of lonliness.
in trash strewn in the alley,
in the grave unmarked.
in the truth of doubt,
in a puddle of rainwater.
in fresh cut grass,
in the cow fresh milked.
in the lover's touch,
in the dialogue of silence.
in the shovel, the hammer, and the flute.
in the grain of the old tree,
and the woman giving birth...
let us speak of nothing less!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Strive Against The Silence Of The Night

I STRIVE AGAINST THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT

I strive against the silence of the night
Against my own inner emptiness
I wait to hear some song from inside myself -
Nothing is written.

I go back to where I am
And begin again.

There is always a poem if one is patient enough.

But what poem?
And for what special meaning of this night?

I write again and again
A poem which is about writing a poem
And when I come to end it
I question again and again
Whether it is real.

This night is already deep in darkness
And yet I have almost broken its silence

One more line
One more writing about writing a poem -

Perhaps Memory will come back to me
And I will write a more real poem
Than this strained effort now.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Through The Veil for Dave Walker

there's a light
in the window
of the house

forgotten by time;
a book on the table,
unopened.

footprints on the floor
covered with dust.
a cup in the sink

half-empty.
the wind blows
curtains grey with time....

whispering, whispering....
names that cannot
be heard.

voices, echoes,
creaking the floor.
a book of photographs

on the closet floor.
walking through the mist,
the fog and the shadows,

touching small particles
of being left like gifts....
lives unwrapped into mine!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Thoughts (Imagine: I'm aging)

- The winter wind blows through the cracks
Around an old window pane,
It mournfully howls a brooding tune
Flashing images of age into my brain.

Time walks on
Always at a steady pace,
Continuously spitting dirt
In humanities face.
The elderly forced to wear age
Worn and weary,
Towards the end
No longer in such a hurry.
For all who long enough live
Age shall wear old upon old,
Yet amazingly for so many
The soul refuses to grow cold.

- (more thoughts come in, with the wind)
I'm alone
And barely breathing
Ecclesiastes is the book
I prefer these days to be reading.
Quietly pondering and listening
I know time is winding down,
For increasingly, in the wind I hear drawing near
A far off inescapable sound.

Far too soon spring buds turn
Into fall's dried and dead leaves.
So short are the sweet summer birdsongs
Hence, south they have flown
Leaving behind empty, old and brittle trees.

So many May days
Have come and gone,
It all starts to sound
Like the same old melancholy song.
The falls not much changed
From the spring,
'Cept the lack of desire
To jump and sing.
Winter's chill draws closer than ever
And summer is far gone,
Cheap thrills no longer seem so clever
As days grow short, and nights long.

Yes 'old' is the way to say
We are running beyond
Our youthful days,
But, old shall take us step-by-step
To the end, of ourselves, and
To the end of all that is here wrong,
Slowly returning us from exile, back
To where we started, and
Have always belonged.

- Through this broken pane tonite
The wild wind yet blows,
Mysteriously whispering epic secrets
About age, life, and meaning.......
The outcome of which, we must trust
God alone fully knows.

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fallen, Empty, And Broken

fallen soldier
fallen sky
fallen angel
from on high
fallen heartache
fallen soul
fallen man
losing control

empty bed
empty arms
empty dreams
empty heart
empty wallet
empty hands
cant take nothin'
from an empty man

broken promises
broken vows
broken spirit
wont allow
broken fences
broken lives
broken tomorrows
broken nights

fallen, empty, and broken
every road is the same
bent, bruised, and shaken
still numb from the pain
now you dont answer
when i call out your name
fallen, empty, and broken
walking in the rain...

fallen, empty, and broken...

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the spirit of Rumi - 67 - To Rumi

I’m not too proud to say
please write a new poem through me
and I promise not to claim that
I wrote it myself…

or if that’s too much to ask,
just a line somewhere, that I’ll watch
as it writes itself and know
that you, not I, write it

or if that’s too much to ask,
open an old book at
a page that smells just faintly
of attar of roses, and know that
Rumi read this page too

or sitting quietly waiting for a poem,
or after a poem, and there’ll be
a slight breeze for a moment
carrying the memory of a rose
from an old Persian species
mixed with the faintest scent of wild herbs
after desert rain

or if that’s too much to ask,
just the occasional memory
that you lived, and wrote,
and a poem comes to mind
as if you’re reading it first to a friend

and I’ll smile and look at
the rose in the blue and white vase over there,
neither of us caring about time
while your book lies open by the window,
the breeze turning the pages gently
as if it knew which poem to choose

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poem Of Syntax

A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree

The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue

The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog

I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue

I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem

This poem is not addressed to you.
You may come into it briefly,
But no one will find you here, no one.
You will have changed before the poem will.

Even while you sit there, unmovable,
You have begun to vanish. And it does not matter.
The poem will go on without you.
It has the spurious glamor of certain voids.

It is not sad, really, only empty.
Once perhaps it was sad, no one knows why.
It prefers to remember nothing.
Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.

Your type of beauty has no place here.
Night is the sky over this poem.
It is too black for stars.
And do not look for any illumination.

You neither can nor should understand what it means.
Listen, it comes with out guitar,
Neither in rags nor any purple fashion.
And there is nothing in it to comfort you.

Close your eyes, yawn. It will be over soon.
You will forge the poem, but not before
It has forgotten you. And it does not matter.
It has been most beautiful in its erasures.

O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!
Nor is one silence equal to another.
And it does not matter what you think.
This poem is not addressed to you.

poem by Donald Justice
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Could It Be The Wind? (For Dave)

is it then the wind,
that rattles the pane?
causing the candle to flicker,
the curtains to walk?

could it be the wind,
making shapes of shadow?
and that long shaking moan
you feel in your bones?

the wind that whispers
in voices almost remembered.
that tugs at the door
to your forbidden room?

that taste of blackness
from an empty cup?
could it be the wind,
or something more?

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lemnos Harbour

The island sleeps,-but it has no delight
For em, to whom that sleep has been unkind.
My thoughts are long of what seems long ago,
And long, too, are my dreams. I do not know
These trailing glories of the star-strewn night
Or the slow sough of the wind.

I hear the rattle of the moving car;
The children crying in the lighted street,
I walk along the same old asphalt way.
I see the church,-I hear the organ play.
I see the hills I wandered on afar,
And spots of rain at my feet.

I see the dust-strewn hedge,-the latched gate;
The gravelled path with roses either side;
The cedar tree,-my mother’s window pane.
I see the place where I sat long and late
By the trellis deep and wide.

The red Virginia crumbles at the wall.
The bed is bare where winter’s snow-drops grew.
I feel my dog come licking at my hand.
I pause awhile beside the door, I stand.
And hear the well-known footsteps softly fall
And the voices that I knew.

I slowly creep and peep beneath the blind.
-My father reads his book within his chair.
Some children play their game of dominoes.
My mother sits beside the fire and sews;
Her head is bowed. I know her eyes are kind
By the grey lines in her hair.

I tap the pane to see those tears unshed.
I see all turn, and watch them sadly stirred
By the sound, and peer to see my face without.
They see, and smile, I hear no welcome shout.
They sit and gaze as they that see the dead,
But no one says a word.

The island sleeps. May sleep come soon to me,
And lull these dreams within my shaken mind;
-These dreams that tell me I have seen the last
of those I left so,-loved so in the past.
* * *
I hear the murmur of the moving sea,
And the murmur of the wind.

poem by Leon Gellert
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Chained To A Memory

(rodgers / ahlert)
Why am I chained to a memory?
Why does the thought of you still torture me?
When will I find someone to set me free?
So I wont be chained to a memory, mmm
Why am I chained to the hurt I knew?
Each day the thought of something so cruel to do
Where in this world will I escape from you?
So I wont be chained to a memory
Your letters threw them on the fire
Your pictures out the window
All that I could find that reminded me of you
I threw them all away
I get up in the morning
Im pacing the floor
Like Im expecting you to walk in the door
I keep forgetting I wont see you anymore
Guess Im doomed to be chained to a memory
Oh, yes I am
I get up in the morning
Im pacing the floor
Like Im expecting you to walk in the door
I keep forgetting I wont see you anymore
Guess Im doomed to be chained to a memory
Yes I am

song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Retrospect

In your arms was still delight,
Quiet as a street at night;
And thoughts of you, I do remember,
Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,
Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
Love, in you, went passing by,
Penetrative, remote, and rare,
Like a bird in the wide air,
And, as the bird, it left no trace
In the heaven of your face.
In your stupidity I found
The sweet hush after a sweet sound.
All about you was the light
That dims the greying end of night;
Desire was the unrisen sun,
Joy the day not yet begun,
With tree whispering to tree,
Without wind, quietly.
Wisdom slept within your hair,
And Long-Suffering was there,
And, in the flowing of your dress,
Undiscerning Tenderness.
And when you thought, it seemed to me,
Infinitely, and like a sea,
About the slight world you had known
Your vast unconsciousness was thrown. . . .

O haven without wave or tide!
Silence, in which all songs have died!
Holy book, where hearts are still!
And home at length under the hill!
O mother quiet, breasts of peace,
Where love itself would faint and cease!
O infinite deep I never knew,
I would come back, come back to you,
Find you, as a pool unstirred,
Kneel down by you, and never a word,
Lay my head, and nothing said,
In your hands, ungarlanded;
And a long watch you would keep;
And I should sleep, and I should sleep!

poem by Rupert Brooke (1914)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Book Of Love

Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Who wrote the book of love
Well, Ive got to know the answer
Is it someone from above
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Baby, baby, baby
I love you, yes I do
And it says so in this book of love
That Im the one thats true
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
Chapter one says you love her
You love her with all your heart
Chapter two says youll never
You never, never... never gonna part
Chapter tree, remember
The meaning of romance
In chapter four you break up
Oh, wont you give me just one more chance
Oh, I wonder, wonder who
But who knew who
Who wrote the book of love
I wonder who
Who wrote the book of love

song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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