Would You.... (Love Me?)
would you then love me?
for i am nothing but the wind.
i roam the earth with passion.
i have no home.
i carry the voices
of hunger and need.
are you then the rain?
falling on the good and the evil.
giving without asking,
touching deep without guilt.
dialogue, and encounter,
we rock the darkness.
leaving the trace of our madness,
in branches blown asunder...
and small puddles of water,
in the cracks in the pavement...
that children will wake to,
and leap over with awe!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wind, Rain, And The Eyes!
i went from the shadow of Jesus,
to Tao's uncarved block,
flowing with the water
for over a decade....
to the feet of Buddha,
awareness and universal compassion...
respect for all that lives.
each of them now a part of me,
of who i am and will be.....
but when i thought each the end,
my destination....
came a voice... Go further!
i went from virtue to evil,
to night needs day,
just as day needs night....
and still i was not finished.
i went from addiction to jail,
from jail to books....
each leaving a scar,
each feeding the fire!
i went from love to loss,
from family to old age...
and still i felt the hunger!
and now i've returned
to my primitive spirit,
i hear voices in the wind,
i make love to the rain!
from time to time....
seeing glimpses of God,
in the hungry eyes of children,
in the eyes of the oppressed....
in the eyes of the homeless,
in the eyes of dead bodies,
without home, naked and honest...
in the eyes....
wind, rain, and the eyes!
go further!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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High Water
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
When the waters rose
In the darkness
In the wake of the endless flood
It flowed into our memory --
It flowed into our blood
When something broke the surface
Just to see the starry dome --
We still feel that relation
When the water takes us home
In the flying spray of the ocean
The water takes you home --
Springing from the weight
Of the mountains
Like the heart of the earth
Would burst
Flowing out from marble fountains
In the dreams of a desert thirst
Something swam through
The jungles
Where the mighty rivers roam --
Something breaks the silence
When the water takes you home
I hear the wordless voices
When the water takes me home --
Waves that crash on the shoreline
Torrents of tropical rain
Streaming down
Beyond our memory
Streaming down inside our veins
When something left the ocean
To crawl high above the foam --
We still feel that elation
When the water takes us home
In a driving rain of redemption
The water takes me home...
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Puddles
Rain bashing, rain crashing,
In the puddles, children splashing,
Mother's tongue has started lashing,
Everyone is wet!
Rain slopping, rain stopping,
In the puddles, children hopping,
Mother's hands have started mopping,
Everyone, I bet!
Sun waking, sun breaking,
In the puddles, children quaking,
Mother's arms have started shaking,
Everyone, she'll net!
Sun applying, sun drying,
In the puddles, children crying,
Mother's breath is now a sighing,
Everyone's upset!
Sun gleaming, sun scheming,
In the puddles, children steaming!
Mother's smile, now is beaming,
Everyone's her pet!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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When The Rain Stopped Falling
there is this heavy rain
falling on top of your roof and it is so disturbing
that you wake up
and lock your windows
to shut yourself away from the sounds
of falling
but you cannot help worrying even when you cannot
literally hear the sound of the falling rain
you still imagine how they fall inside your mind
as though you can hear every syllable that every neddle of rain
is pricking in your brain
your ears
and your eyes still have the image of these
series of fallings
that even if the rain finally stopped
and you open your window to check
in the middle of this time
when morning cracks fromt the shutters of your windows
you still think like crazy
you hear the sound of the wind and it is like the sound of the falling
rain
and even if the wind has left like a leaf flown to the eastern side
of your house
even if there is no shadow of the leaf anymore
you hear your heart falling from your chest
now you must accept
leaving.
now you must accept the pain.
do not deny it.
it is you that is falling out
from the grace of her love.
it is you.
cry it out!
shout it!
it is you.!
it is you!
it is not the rain, it is not the wind, it is not the leaf that was blown away
towards the eastern part of the house.it is not the design of the house.
it is not the purple curtains. it is not the lonely courtyard
it is not the red bowl. it is not the tower.
it is not the blank sheets of paper.
it is not the bell.
it is not the winding stairs.
it is not the dirty garage.
it is not the scaffold.
it is not the white paint.
it is not the doorbell.
it is not the turbulence of the plane.
it is not the slap of the hand.
it is not the blue fan.
it is not the cellophance floating in the air and whirling in that corner
a dead-end.
it is you! and that is the truth!
be calm now. wipe the tears.
try sleep and dream.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Walk A Nameless River
I walk a nameless river
One which collects water from the houses,
The streets and such,
A river of rain that carry small sticks,
Cigarettes butts and, bits of paper
A shadow river that moves pap like rocks
A river trapped in the street cars’ tracks
A river rushing past ants and praying mantises
Against butterflies and worms that comes up and leave
Body tracks in the mud.
A river fed by puddles and cracks; indents in the sidewalks
By downward slanted driveways and situated front yards
By small streams on window glass and streams down sycamore trucks,
Maple, oak and such.
A cleaning river of gutterized rain,
A leaf drooping rain of green things,
River of no name
Too thin to carry twigs
Easily distracted by my foot
Easily stagnated into a nameless pond
When the sky has dried out.
I walk a one street river
A shallow river of clinched fists
A narrow river of butterflies in the nameless sky
A concrete river of feet saturated against the maple rocks
A river of bodies coming up leaving a river of cracks
A river of cigarettes of worms of sycamore trunks, oak
Marble and such.
A thin river of destruction, of gutters and traped tracks
Of sticks collected among themselves like dead praying mantises
In the rush of houses and driveways stacked in the water
Of a small rainy sky.
poem by David E. Patton
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Rain-Stuck
rain within
takes me away from me
from the rain outside
throughout the day night
its falling hard
no trace of any map anywhere
no boundary line
no other objects
as far my eyes run
rain rain and falling water
with a ceaseless passion
can't close the eyes
can't sleep
can't think to write
a successful rain-poem
alone moving on the surface
as a rain-legend myself
no where dry anymore
nothing wants to be dried
but alone
and rain within
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Teardrops of Rain
The rain outside is falling steadily but slowly
I look at each leaf seeing a tear dropp slide down
Each branch of this bush carries it's own burden
Some stand at attention feeling alive and excited feeling refreshed
While others droop in sadness as each tear dropp hits it
As the rain hits the leaves the rain drops stay resting on each petal
How will I shake this so the tears fall away leaving only happiness
As I stand outside there is a calm that comes over me
I hear the pain of the rain drops hitting the ground
Puddles form on the surface allowing people to walk all over your emotions
Little children stomp their way through each puddle not understanding the depth of the pain felt
As I walk through the rain I am careful not wanting to challenge the puddles that lie under my feet
Some puddles are deeper then others
Leaving more to soak up
I hear the steady dripping of rain falling against the down spout
The rain plays to it's own beat making beautiful music
Makes me want to lie down and take it all in
It is the most peaceful sound and brings stillness to my thoughts
As the night goes to bed and the morning takes over everything looks refreshed and wide awake
It is thime to take on a new day
A day of no teardrops of rain
poem by Anne Jones
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One Small Step
So many people
Need to go so many miles
How do we move them
To where the answer lies
Reach out to the ocean
Beyond the stars that shine
Weve got to take one small step in time
If we are the dreamers
Then the world must be the dream
Driven to question
All the things weve never seen
We search the horizon
Looking for a sign
Weve got to take one small step in time
One step beyond
All our hopes and our passion
There is the light of the universe flashin
All that it takes is one leap of faith
One small step, (one small step)
One small step in time
Deep in the darkness
(deep in the blackness)
Theres a wind that never dies
(theres a wind that never dies)
Out in the vastness
(out in the vastness)
Theres a road across the sky
(a road across the sky)
Out there is the reason
That we were meant to find
Weve got to take one small step in time
Weve got to take one small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Quarter Time
the smell of woodsmoke
lingers in the air;
darkness falls,
like silent thunder.
the earth tremors and turns,
you walk from room to room....
or perhaps only,
a curtain blown by passion,
a broken cup, cobwebs
on pulsing walls.
a cry of passion,
water bursts the pipes...
one of my shirts
that you wore to bed.
a single shot
on a November morn....
the deer falls in
three quarter time.
sheets that still
carry your scent...
the ground naked,
and hungry for rain!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Just Grass
THE ROOTLESS GRASS
There’s no soil to settle
nor the water to drink
nor the air to breath
for the times you roam
in the continent of passion and despair
You are the dust of the road
a sigh of the passage
being blown up by the soundless wind
of indifference
You fall down to a shore
where the unknown gathers and departs
towards the horizon
of sinful hope
(Tadanori Tanigawa)
O outward stranger, you are part of all
Why are you heedless of all?
o part come!
do not be heedless of the whole
become aware and come to know all
(Shams al-Din Tabrizi)
In the continent of passion and despair
being blown up by the soundless wind
where the unknown gathers and departs
O outward stranger, you are part of all
(Yahya)
*
And the light shineth in darkness;
and the darkness comprehended it not
poem by Howlin' Dervish
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A Voice On The Wind
I
She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
II
Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
III
She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
IV
Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
V
'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Water Wings
Water Wings
I am of the water, and my dreams foretell my home.
I have dreamt of the water, it is where my mind does roam.
Life manages our paths by the steps that we take,
I want my path to lead to the ocean, where the waves do break.
The water glistens in my soul, and runs through my veins,
And when I am one with the water, I carry the reigns.
Whether on or under or flying above,
The water is my passion, it is my true love.
I wake from the night, from my hopes and my dreams
I wake to find a world with all water themes.
Surrounded by love and caressed by the air
I see the lord has accepted my little dare.
My dreams have become life, and I have transformed.
I am now an angel of the sea, and water wings I have formed.
The ocean, the sea, the lakes and rivers blue
They give me my strength and my life they do fuel.
My water wings glide and are as smooth as ice,
They are gift from the heavens and they much more than suffice.
I sit here and I rest, on the shore of the land,
Knowing, the lord is my savior, and my biggest fan.
poem by Rik Bertrand
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A Death-Parting
LEAVES and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All these fall, and my soul gives ear,
And she is hence who once was here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Ah! but now, for a secret sign,
(The willow's wan and the water white,)
In the held breath of the day's decline
Her very face seemed pressed to mine.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
O love, of my death my life is fain;
(The willows wave on the water-way,)
Your cheek and mine are cold in the rain,
But warm they'll be when we meet again.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Mists are heaved and cover the sky;
(The willows wail in the waning light,)
O loose your lips, leave space for a sigh,—
They seal my soul, I cannot die.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
Leaves and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All still fall, and I still give ear,
And she is hence, and I am here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Nine Voices
Anderson/squire/howe/white/sherwood/khoroshev
On a beach
North africa
Nine tribesmen stand alone
Waiting for a distant call
Waiting for the world to answer
Thru' the night of a thousand stars
Encircled by the light
They began to sing a new song
Of forces that surround us
Nine voices
This dialogue
Nine voices
Singing as one
Nine voices
This dialogue
Nine voices
When the sun came up they sang
As the perfect calendar says
Each had the power of people
Speaking new languages
They gave forgiveness meaning
New ways of letting go
Each child is born for greatness
With forces that surround them
This voice
This dialogue
This voice
Singing as one
Nine voices
This dialogue
Nine voices
Singing as one
His voices
This dialogue
This voices
Singing as one
Nine voices
Nine voices
Nine voices
Nine voices
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nine Voices
Anderson/squire/howe/white/sherwood/khoroshev
On a beach
North africa
Nine tribesmen stand alone
Waiting for a distant call
Waiting for the world to answer
Thru' the night of a thousand stars
Encircled by the light
They began to sing a new song
Of forces that surround us
Nine voices
This dialogue
Nine voices
Singing as one
Nine voices
This dialogue
Nine voices
When the sun came up they sang
As the perfect calendar says
Each had the power of people
Speaking new languages
They gave forgiveness meaning
New ways of letting go
Each child is born for greatness
With forces that surround them
This voice
This dialogue
This voice
Singing as one
Nine voices
This dialogue
Nine voices
Singing as one
His voices
This dialogue
This voices
Singing as one
Nine voices
Nine voices
Nine voices
Nine voices
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why are you so troubled? [Ce te legeni?]
– "Why are you so troubled, forest?
There's no wind and there's no rain
Yet your branches are in pain".
– "Yes, I'm troubled, you know why?
'Cause my life is passing by
Days are shrinking, nights are growing
And my leaves are quickly falling.
Wind is blowing from the bay
Chasing singing birds away
Wind is blowing without fear
Summer's gone, winter is here.
How could I avoid to bow
When the birds are leaving now!
Over branches, in the sky
Swallow flocks are flying high
And I'm watching them go by
Knowing that my hope will die.
And are passing all the day
Darkening the airy way,
And like seconds they are flying
With their wings the wind defying.
In their wake, I remain numb
Whitered and a little dumb
Only with my own desire
Which is burning me like fire!"
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The Key To Time!
the dawn of creation,
again and again...
with every step
on the path to liberation!
our bodies shells,
holding undiscovered universes....
our spirits roam,
orphaned travellers,
in search of....
and light is only touch
put to darkness with passion,
the voices of God
pulse through our veins!
hunger, and magic,
a simple dropp of rain,
holding the secrets of infinity,
and the key to time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Sudden Downpour
Rain beats down on the window pane
As the flood gates of Heaven suddenly open
It is pouring out in torrential flow
Like a Reservoir, all at once, broken
It has come down as a welcome respite
To fan away the humid sweltering heat
It falls in drops and flows in rivulets
Washing the dust of summer drought
With a sudden burst from the weight laden clouds
It lashes down in steam and fury
Plummeting to form ripples in puddles
And filling pools and ponds in hurry
In slanting sheets, it almost pounds
Flooding roads and making puddle
Gushing through pipes and rushing down drains
Water floods, causing men to waddle
Rain has its abode in heavens so high
And hides behind clouds of mournful gloom
In silver strings, it spans the Earth
And cleanses the plants in resplendent gleam
Sudden is the wind, coming to shoo away the clouds
And the sky is once more cerulean blue
As the music stops and the humdrum stills
The water seeps, giving no evident clue.
After an angry couple's furious fight,
As the house goes back to an uncanny calm,
The rain has vanished, leaving little trace
Cooling the Earth and causing no harm
poem by Valsa George
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 01: The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Dreamer Of Dreams
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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