En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Eveningsong at Bellosguardo

Chi vuol esser lieto, sia:
di doman non c'e certezza.
-Lorenzo di Medici

In the poplars' lengthening shadows on this hill,
amid the rows of marigolds and earth,
and through the boxhedge labyrinth we walk,
together, to the choiring twilight bells.
Their fugue of echoes echoes through the hills
and sings against this time-streaked, flowering wall
where breezes coax the potted lemon trees,
the pendant, yellow fruit and shiny leaves.
Beneath the flaming watercolor sky,
the cultivated, terraced dropp of hill,
a gleaming city with its towers and domes,
the Arno shimmering as its drowns the sun.

Chameleon-like, I am tranformed by light,
and wine has blurred the edges of the night.
What gifts I give on this or any night
may be refracted in another light.
You understnad this in a foreign tongue,
but vaguely, for these things will not translate.
I feel it in the cadence of your walk:
you are not whom moonlight can create.
And you will think the loosening of these thighs,
the sudden, urging whiteness of the throat
are muted but distinctly pagan cries
and in your triumph you will fairly gloat.

Tonight the unplucked lemons almost gleam.
And with their legs, the crickets harmonize.
The trees are rustling an uncertain hymn,
and unseen birds contribute trembling cries.
When did the summer censor choiring things?
We know the blood is brutal though it sings.

poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Red House

On the wide fields the water gleams like snow,
And snow like water pale beneath pale sky,
When old and burdened the white clouds are stooped low.
Sudden as thought, or startled near bird's cry,
The whiteness of first light on hills of snow
New dropped from skiey hills of tumbling white
Streams from the ridge to where the long woods lie;
And tall ridge-trees lift their soft crowns of white
Above slim bodies all black or flecked with snow.
By the tossed foam of the not yet frozen brook
Black pigs go straggling over fields of snow;
The air is full of snow, and starling and rook
Are blacker amid the myriad streams of light.
Warm as old fire the Red House burns yet bright
Beneath the unmelting snows of pine and larch,
While February moves as slow, as slow
As Spring might never come, never come March.

Amid such snows, by generations haunted,
By echoes, memories and dreams enchanted,
Firm when dark winds through the night stamp and shout,
Brightest when time silvers the world all about,
That old house called _The Heart_ burns, burns, and still
Outbraves the mortal threat of the hanging hill.

poem by John Freeman
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Shadows And Tall Trees

Back to the cold restless streets at night
I talk to myself about tomorrow night
Walls of white protest
A gravestone in name
Who is it now
It's always the same
Who is it now
Who calls me inside
Are the leaves on the trees
Just living disguise
I walk sweet rain tragicomedy
I'll walk home again
to the street melody
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Life through a window
Discoloured pain
Mrs. Brown's washing is always the same
I walk street rain tragicomedy
I'll walk home again
to the street melody
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
(Out there)
Do you feel in me...
Anything redeeming
Any worthwhile feeling
Is love like a tightrope
Hanging from the ceiling
But I know, oh no
But I know, oh no
But I know...
Shadows and Tall Trees

song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night Of The Wolf

Streets are full of rain
Lightning cracks the sky
Hear a lonely cry, eyes full of pain
Searchin in the darkness
Eyes pierce the night
Calling for her young one
As she walks towards the light
Its the night of the wolf
Hear the cry of the wolf
Streets paved with gold
Night gives out a warning
Theres thunder in her heart
And mother wolf is calling
Searchin in the shadows
For the one she must save
She cries out a prayer
Like a song from beyond the grave
The bells will toll
No one will sleep tonight
While she alone will
Walk the streets tonight
Sun begins to rise
All the streets washed with rain
Still hear her cries
Eyes burnt with pain
Returning to the twilight
Betrayed by the night
Screaming for her young one
As she walks towards the light

song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Of The Spirit

Too sweet and too subtle for pen or for tongue
In phrases unwritten and measures unsung,
As deep and as strange as the sounds of the sea,
Is the song that my spirit is singing to me.

In the midnight and tempest when forest trees shiver,
In the roar of the surf, and the rush of the river,
In the rustle of leaves and the fall of the rain,
And on the low breezes I catch the refrain.

From the vapours that frame and envelop the earth,
And beyond, from the realms where my spirit had birth,
From the mists of the land and the fogs of the sea,
For ever and ever the songs come to me.

I know not its wording - its import I know -
For the rhythm is broken, the measure runs low,
When vexed or allured by the things of this life
My soul is merged into its pleasures or strife.

When up to the hill tops of beauty and light
My soul like a lark in the ether takes flight,
And the white gates of heaven shine brighter and nearer,
The song of the spirit grows sweeter and clearer.

Up, up to the realms where no mortal has trod -
Into space and infinity near to my God -
With whiteness, and silence, and beautiful things,
I am bourne when the voice of eternity sings.

When once in the winds or the dropp of the rain
Thy spirit shall listen and hear the refrain,
Thy soul shall soar up like a bird on the breeze,
And the things that have pleased thee will never more please.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Scattered echoes

To my wonderfull family.
I so very sorry.
Yes I finaly done it.
I took my own life.
But my life was taken long ago.

I heard scattered echoes in the wind.
They told me to go back home.
I listened to the scattered echoes of the wind.
Becuase I'd had enough of pointless pain.

Yes you'll be angry.
I know you'll be sad.
I guess you'll grieve for a while
But soon you will see this was meant to be.
Things have worked out for the best.

In the scattered echoes of the wind.
If you listen carefully you'll hear my cries.
My cries to you on earth below.
I'm sorry

My echoes in the scattered wind are crying to you.
I'm sorry really I am.
Go get on with your life.
Live for each other.
Live your dream.

The scattered echoes of the wind shout out to you.
Now the time has come let her go.
Move on with your life.
She wouldnt want you to live this way

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Up On The Hill

We come from a long line of lenders
Who get rich just exploiting you spenders
But now we just manage our blenders
Up, up, up on the hill
It helps to be charming and funny
Have cute names like binky and bunny
But the main things still oodles of money
Up, up, up on the hill
Up on the hill we are the big cheeses
Up on the hill we own the cool breezes
Top of the heap is where we know we belong
Up on the hill above the confusion
Up on the hill we live our illusions
Up, up, up on the hill
Marmalade mansions beneath cloudless skies
Breathtaking vistas that baffle your eyes
Were passing our days in a rare atmosphere
Sun, sea, and stars, and warm breezes all year
Our blood is decidedly blue-ish
Were leery of anything newish
And or course, darling, nobodys jewish
Up, up, up on the hill
Up on the hill we are the big cheeses
Up on the hill we own the cool breezes
The top of the heap is where we know we belong
Up on the hill above the confusion
Up on the hill we live our illusions
Up, up, up on the hill
Up, up, up on the hill
Way up, up, up on the hill

song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memories

I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.

Claudia Krizay

poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shadows & Tall Trees

Back to the cold restless streets at night
I talk to myself about tomorrow night.
Walls of white protest, a gravestone in name
Who is it now? its always the same.
Who is it now? who calls me inside
Are the leaves on the trees just a living disguise?
I walk the sweet rain tragicomedy
Ill walk home again to the street melody.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know
Shadows and tall trees
Shadows and tall trees
Life through a window, a discoloured pain
Mrs. browns washing is always the same
I walk the sweet rain tragicomedy
Ill walk home again to the street melody.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know.
(out there)
Do you feel in me, anything redeeming,
Any worthwhile feeling
Is life like a tightrope? hanging on my ceiling.
But I know oh no
But I know oh no
I know
Shadows and tall trees ....

song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is a Solemn Wind Tonight

There is a solemn wind to-night
That sings of solemn rain;
The trees that have been quiet so long
Flutter and start again.

The slender trees, the heavy trees,
The fruit trees laden and proud,
Lift up their branches to the wind
That cries to them so loud.

The little bushes and the plants
Bow to the solemn sound,
And every tiniest blade of grass
Shakes on the quiet ground.

poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 04: 07: 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 mass, we ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, with word upon murmured word,
We flow, we descend, we turn. . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves on 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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Winter Garden

Winter has visited our garden my love
Trees have been stripped bare and flowers wilt
A frost has been laid upon the ground
Even the birds have taken to flight, away
Amid the silence of the morning I walk
Through our garden which we nurtured
How solemn it now looks without colour
The summer seems but a distant memory
How beautiful it looked back then
How beautiful it will look once more
But now in the mornings drab light
With barren trees and wilted flowers
I walk upon the hardened earth
Which feels like stone beneath my feet
We talked of planting a fruit tree
For flavour and shade in years to come
Now that is an idea in waiting
Till winter has passed, and spring returns
Winter is here in our garden my love
As I watch the vapour of my breath rise
I say your name, a love for all time

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Appreciative Audience.

Soft moonlight filters through the trees
Which seem to dance to melodies
Created by the gentle breeze.

The shadows on the ground dance too
Or to my eyes they appear to
Disintegrate then form anew.

Sometimes the clouds blot out the light
The shadows gain a brief respite.
Rejoin the darkness of the night.

But clouds move on and when they do
And once again moonlight shows through.
The trees will dance, the shadows too.

The sun will rise to start the day.
The dancing shadows hide away
But where they hide no man can say.

The sun completes his daily quest.
Journeying from east to west.
Then sinks below the sea to rest.

The moon will rise she rules the night
Then once again to my delight
She bathes the trees in silver light.

The melodies played by the breeze
Will re awake the sleeping trees.
To dance again with practiced ease.

Beneath the trees reluctantly
the shadows still dance gracefully.
I watch in silence gratefully.

I know they do not dance for me
And I am privileged to see
The shadows dance under the trees.

Friday,23 September 2011
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Christ Is The Light

Revealing shadows of the night
Dispersing doubtful haze
When Jesus comes Salvation’s Light
Brings faith that will amaze

The faith to stand, to rise and shine
Move mountains to the sea
Turn normal water into wine
And set the captive free

Yet Light’s not all that Jesus brings
God’s Son is so much more
He is! The Light the bible sings
That leads to Heaven’s door

He’s hope, He’s joy, He’s Heaven’s grace
The strength of God’s elite
The radiance on Moses’ face
And Lamp unto our feet

When Heaven’s brilliant Light arrives
When Jesus reigns within
We’ll see the church not only thrives
But lives to combat sin

“I am! The Light” said Christ quite plain
“I came on earth to give
I came to die and rise again
In order that you live”

Walk not by night and fall astray
Be clad in robes of white
Believe in Christ God’s Son today
And walk within The Light

The Light in ever flowing streams
The Light of God divine
The Light fulfilling wildest dreams
The Light that now is mine

poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Summer Night City

Summer night city...
Summer night city...
Waiting for the sunrise, soul dancing in the dark
Summer night city
Walking in the moonlight, love-making in the park
Summer night city
In the sun i feel like sleeping
I can't take it for too long
My impatience slowly creeping
Up my spine and growing strong
I know what's waiting there for me
Tonight i'm loose and fancy-free
Aa-ahhh
When the night comes with the action
I just know it's time to go
Can't resist the strange attraction
From that giant dynamo
Lots to take and lots to give
Time to breathe and time to live
Waiting for the sunrise, soul dancing in the dark
Summer night city
Walking in the moonlight, love-making in the park
Summer night city
It's elusive party feeling
Somehow something turns me on
Some folks only see the middle
We don't miss them when they're gone
I love feeling in the air
My kind of people everywhere
When the night comes with the action
I just know it's time to go
Can't resist the strange attraction
From that giant dynamo
And tomorrow, when it's dawning
And the first birds start to sing
In the pale light of the morning
Nothing's worth remembering
It's a dream, it's out of reach
Scattered driftwood on the beach
Waiting for the sunrise, soul dancing in the dark
Summer night city
Walking in the moonlight, love-making in the park
Summer night city

song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After the Winter

Some day, when trees have shed their leaves
And against the morning's white
The shivering birds beneath the eaves
Have sheltered for the night,
We'll turn our faces southward, love,
Toward the summer isle
Where bamboos spire to shafted grove
And wide-mouthed orchids smile.

And we will seek the quiet hill
Where towers the cotton tree,
And leaps the laughing crystal rill,
And works the droning bee.
And we will build a cottage there
Beside an open glade,
With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,
And ferns that never fade.

poem by Claude McKay
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After the Hunt

Underneath the windy mountain walls
Forth we rode, an eager band,
By the surges and the verges and the gorges,
Till the night was on the land—
On the hazy, mazy land!
Far away the bounding prey
Leapt across the ruts and logs,
But we galloped, galloped, galloped on,
Till we heard the yapping of the dogs—
The yapping and the yelping of the dogs.
Oh, it was a madly merry day
We shall not so soon forget,
And the edges and the ledges and the ridges
Haunt us with their echoes yet—
Echoes, echoes, echoes yet!
While the moon is on the hill
Gleaming through the streaming fogs,
Don’t you hear the yapping of the dogs—
The yapping and the yelping of the dogs?

poem by Henry Kendall
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Lights: Green, Yellow, Red

flashes of lightning
sounds of thunder
woman whirling around
the green light
man gazing at the red light
above him

feathers of red chicken
around her head
asking if i am strong enough
asking where i slept last night
asking if i shall finally walk away
from her
as she sings at the top of her voice
her cheeks red like cherry
her eyes teeming with tears
as she swirls around the green light
as the man
stops on the yellow light
still thinking
whether to go or not to go
to stay and be part of this
traffic of paranoia
psychedelic feelings
the last goodbye

as she sings whether
she will live or die
she swirls around the yellow light now
with a knife on her hand
her wrist still pale and her pulse
still beating

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Change

Last year I heard the songs of birds,
And heard the trumpets of the bees.
I caught the winding river’s words,
And clutched at leaves of trees.

I heard the gales upon the height;
And heard each frightened windy rush,
I lay within the sultry night,
Eaves-dropping in the bush.

But now I walk within a town,
And hear the slyness of its feet.
Great cruel things stride up and down
Within a shady street.

I see quick things with ugly nails,
And hear their low half-smothered cries.
I hear men tell strange trembling tales
With big beseeching eyes.

I do not hear the singing bough.
I hear soft murders in a lane,
I do not feel the bush-call, now
I feel my brother’s pain.

poem by Leon Gellert
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