Ireland
I called you by sweet names by wood and linn,
You answered not because my voice was new,
And you were listening for the hounds of Finn
And the long hosts of Lugh.
And so, I came unto a windy height
And cried my sorrow, but you heard no wind,
For you were listening to small ships in flight,
And the wail on hills behind.
And then I left you, wandering the war
Armed with will, from distant goal to goal,
To find you at the last free as of yore,
Or die to save your soul.
And then you called to us from far and near
To bring your crown from out the deeps of time,
It is my grief your voice I couldn't hear
In such a distant clime.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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Related quotes
Little Queen
now and forever
till the sun, oh my heart
become cold
how many time have you heard 'I love you'?
how many time have you said that?
you don't understand what it is
it couldn't be catched
it couldn't be seen
something there
it doesn't have a name and isn't called a name
some shining there
I keep listening what small creations say
one by one
through silence, spreads like water ripples
I like you
and I love you
we all open our ears and listening your voice
I am going to take you home
going home and learning again
the way to respect precious thing
learning again not letting go
and holding it with all your hands
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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In Itself, A Long Time Ago, But Which We Did Not Notice
at the earliest hour of the morning
this first day of January, i hear a faint cry from the
valley, outside this old house, seemingly like a
cry from my imagination,
my mind listening to the sound
of its making
i knew i heard it, it was like
a shrill voice of a little girl,
or was it a parrot, or the vine,
or from the distant wind,
sunlight lands in my skin from its distant flight
no longer a soft shade, or a leaning shadow, a little shallow
it is outside my flesh, this body
it does not come from this daily monologue
of a memory fading with the passage of time
the sun emerges from the hills and mountains
and walls and fences, and boundaries, and markings
outside my body
that faint cry - it has a personal note of its own
like a blow of a horn, it comes from the sun's majesty
surrounded by the laces of its own
magnificent roundness, yet still far away from me
a trillion miles, a number of light years
it is like a fresh awareness, a new way of looking at things, of what
was there a long time ago.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Hills Of Shiloh
Have you seen Amanda Blaine in the hills of Shiloh
Wandering through the morning rain through the hills of Shiloh
Have you seen her at her door, listening for the cannon's roar
And a man who went to war from the hills of Shiloh
Have you heard her mournful cries in the hills of Shiloh
Have you seen her haunted eyes in the hills of Shiloh
Have you seen her running down searching through the sleeping
town
In her yellowed wedding gown in the hills of Shiloh
Have you seen her standing there in the hills of Shiloh
Wind a blowing through her hair in the hills of Shiloh
Listening for the sound of guns listening for the rolling drums
And a man who never comes to the hills of Shiloh
Have you heard Amanda sing in the hills of Shiloh
Whispering to her wedding ring in the hills of Shiloh
Hear her humming soft and low, poor Amanda doesn't know
'Twas ended forty years ago in the hills of Shiloh
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Calling Again
Album : Silencer (2001)
When I wake up
Find it so hard to breathe
Time to take up
Because now I'm not even me
Fighting heaven fighting hard
But you're not listening to me
No...
Strike a zero
Unknown wants I can't see
You're my hero
Why don't I believe in me
Fighting heaven fighting hard
But you're not listening to me
No...
And I hear your voice, you're calling again
But there's no answer from me
And I hear your voice, you're calling again
Face the window
Time to set you free
Hear the wind blow
Making mockery of me
Fighting heaven fighting hard
But you're not listening to me
No...
song performed by by Zed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jaws
Seven nations stood with their hands on the jaws of death.
It was the first week in August, Nineteen Hundred Fourteen.
I was listening, you were listening, the whole world was listening,
And all of us heard a Voice murmuring:
“I am the way and the light,
He that believeth on me
Shall not perish
But shall have everlasting life.”
Seven nations listening heard the Voice and answered:
“O Hell!”
The jaws of death began clicking and they go on clicking.
“O Hell!”
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Sestina
I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth,
And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height
Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies.
Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad highway
I caught the glimmer of a golden goal,
While from a blooming bower smiled siren Love.
Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at Love,
With all the haughty insolence of youth,
As past her bower I strode to seek my goal.
'Now will I climb to glory's dizzy height, '
I said, ' for there above the common way
Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skies.'
But when I reached that summit near the skies,
So far from man I seemed, so far from Love-
'Not here, ' I cried, 'doth Pleasure find her way, '
Seen from the distant borderland of youth.
Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height,
But frowns in shadows when we reach the goal.
Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal,
Dear to all sense-sunk souls beneath the skies.
Gold tempts the artist from the lofty height,
Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love,
Gold buys the fresh ingenuous heart of youth,
'And gold, ' I said, 'will show me Pleasure's way.'
But ah! the soil and discord of that way,
Where savage hordes rushed headlong to the goal,
Dead to the best impulses of their youth,
Blind to the azure beauty of the skies;
Dulled to the voice of conscience and of love,
They wandered far from Truth's eternal height.
Then Truth spoke to me from that noble height,
Saying: 'Thou didst pass Pleasure on the way,
She with the yearning eyes so full of Love,
Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal.'
Two blending paths beneath God's arching skies
Lead straight to Pleasure. Ah, blind heart of youth,
Not up fame's height, not toward the base god's goal,
Doth Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies
Where Duty walks with Love in endless youth.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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That Voice Again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
Im listening to the conversation
Judge and jury in my head
Its colouring everything
All we did and said
And still I head that sharp tongue talking
Talking tangled words
I can sense the danger
Just listen to the wind
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
Hear that voice again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
Im hearing right and wrong so clearly
There must be more than this
Its only in uncertainty
That were naked and alive
I hear it through the rattle of a streetcar
Hear it through the things you said
I can get so scared
Listen to the wind
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
Hear that voice again
What I carry in my heart
Brings us so close or so far apart
Only love can make love
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
I hear that voice again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beyond The Distant Hills
The sun is shining for me,
beyond the distant hills.
Where my love is waiting,
for my return.
The water is sweet to drink,
beyond the distant hills,
where a warm fire is waiting,
for my return.
The grass bends in the breeze,
beyond the distant hills.
Where my love’s heart yearns
for my return.
A candle lights a window,
beyond the distant hills.
Where someone keeps a watchful eye,
for my return.
Beyond the distant hills,
where no clouds gather,
and no storms darken the sky.
Beyond the distant hills,
bright eyes wait for my return.
Beyond the distant hills,
my dreams will come true,
and I promised myself one day I will get there.
25 April 1988
poem by David Harris
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Tainted Obligation
I saw the shoals at night, with the moon above.
I felt an obligation, and heard your voice again.
If you were here once, you were here a hundred times.
If I reached out tonight, I found I couldn't fight it.
If you were here once, you were here a hundred times.
Ohhhhhh
Best as a wishing star, I saw you better far away,
and I felt obligation, and heard your voice again.
Hear the rush of water, passing over the shoals.
Hear my heartbeat rather, if I reached out tonight.
If I reach out tonight and find I can't fight it,
and look to the stars, and wander towards a
heartfelt obligation, a place that you called home
and heard your voice again, but it's too late.
You left long ago, and now you're probably dead and gone,
and I'm left here with the water and the shoals and a tainted obligation.
Ohhhhhh
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Response
I said this morning, as I leaned and threw
My shutters open to the Spring's surprise,
'Tell me, O Earth, how is it that in you
Year after year the same fresh feelings rise?
How do you keep your young exultant glee?
No more those sweet emotions come to me.
'I note through all your fissures how the tide
Of healthful life goes leaping as of old;
Your royal dawns retain their pomp and pride;
Your sunsets lose no atom of their gold.
How can this wonder be?' My soul's fine ear
Leaned, listening, till a small voice answered near:
'My days lapse never over into night;
My nights encroach not on the rights of dawn.
I rush not breathless after some delight;
I waste no grief for any pleasure gone.
My July noons burn not the entire year.
Heart, hearken well!' 'Yes, yes; go on; I hear.'
'I do not strive to make my sunsets' gold
Pave all the dim and distant realms of space.
I do not bid my crimson dawns unfold
To lend the midnight a fictitious grace.
I break no law, for all God's laws are good.
Heart, hast thou heard?' 'Yes, yes; and understood.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Shipmate Sorrow
I was shipmates with Sorrow in a day gone by;
We shared the wheel and look-out, old Sorrow and I:
Good times and bad times, foul weather and fair,
The old grey face of him was always there.
There was never shanty raised there, never song I heard,
But his voice would be in it like a crying bird;
I was dull in the dog watches when the laugh went free
Because of old Sorrow sitting down by me.
I thought I could lose him in the stir and change
Of bright wicked cities all sunlit and strange;
There came a hand at my elbow and a voice in my ear -
It was patient Sorrow saying: 'Lad, I'm here!'
And by the bustling harbour, up the busy street,
Many a time I see him, many a time I meet
The old grey face there of one I used to know . . .
And it's old shipmate Sorrow out of long ago.
And the watch at the halliards, they may sing with a will,
But the voice I used to hear, oh I think I hear it still,
Like the wind in a shroud piping, or a seabird's cry . . .
And it's old Sorrow singing out of times gone by!
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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S.O.S.
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
I'm shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'll be standing here and I'm miles away
Making signals hoping they'd save me
I lock myself inside these walls
'Cause out there I'm always wrong
I don't think I'm gonna make it
So while I'm sitting here
On the eve of my death bed
I'll write this letter and hope it saves me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm stuck in my own head and I'm oceans away
Would anybody notice if I chose to stay?
I'll send and SOS tonight
Wonder if I will survive
How in the hell did I get so far away this time
So now I'm sitting here
The time of my departure's near
I say a prayer
Please someone save me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm lost here
I can't make it on my own
I don't wanna die alone
I'm so scared
Drowning now
Reaching out
Holding on to everything I love
Crying out
Dying now
Need some help
Is anybody listening?
Can you hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening?
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voice On My Tv
Its a familiar voice
Sometimes I wonder
If I have a choice
You give it everything
Youre selling god
But am I listening
I hear youve seen the light
Your message comes to me
By satellite
You say I must believe
I say its just another way
To deceive
If my salvation has anything to do
With your empty promises
And what you think is true
Well heres my donation
If its all the same to you
I am the voice on your tv
But I am one and I am free
Always to say what I believe
I know youre only
A voice on my tv
The numbers on the screen
Will help me get to heaven
So it would seem
The money flows and flows
And no-one cares enough
To know where it goes
Look at all the millions
That youve taken for a ride
With the warmest words
And the coldest heart inside
And how much longer
Can I listen to your lies
What are all the
Credit card believers gonna say
When they hear about the scandals
And the lovers that you pay
And all about the meetings
In your secret hideaway
I am the voice on your tv
But I am one and I am free
Always to say what I believe
Youre just a voice on my tv
Your powers strong but I am free
Always to say what I believe
I am the voice on your tv
But I am one and I am free
Always to say what I believe
Can you hear me
I am the voice on your tv
But I am one and I am free
Always to say what I believe
This is your conscience speaking
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This 'Thing' About Time
I have this 'thing' about time.
And those who express,
Time for them is meaningless.
It is like having a discussion about discipline.
And many can intellectualize it...
But the act of it is too distant for them.
Being on time some define,
Is stated for the purpose to be on it and not late.
Others will take it and waste it as they see fit.
Not arriving before or on time at all.
Just to have another irritated losing patience...
Awaiting to hear an excuse someone makes.
I have this 'thing' about time.
And those who express,
Time for them is meaningless.
It is like having a discussion about discipline.
And many can intellectualize it...
But the act of it is too distant for them.
And long past the hour,
Someone appears in an atmosphere...
That by the minute is getting sour.
And more time is spent,
Listening to inventive excuses...
Describing why they had not called,
To apologize at all.
I have this 'thing' about time.
And those who express,
Time for them is meaningless.
With no sign of respect...
To the one that is questioned,
Why is it they seem to be quite upset!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Distant Hope
A distant hope
Miles beyond reach,
But nothing that two hearts
Can't easily breach.
A distant hope
May seem out of control,
But love has a way
Of fulfilling it's goal.
A distant hope
May seem like a dream,
But dreams can come true
With two hearts as a team.
A distant hope
May be distant now,
But time and patience
Will close distance somehow.
poem by Adam McKim
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He Called Father
He remembered that fear,
Shaking in bed listening.
He called son.
Hearing the druken man,
He called father.
The womans cries, the punches,
Slaps, blackend eyes,
On she called mother.
Burying his head in the pillow
To shut out the noise.
He remembers the comfort
The gentle hand and soft voice
Of she called sister.
But the scars lie deep
A nightmare that he runs from
In the black despair of night.
From He Called Father
poem by Paul Brookes
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Wind Child
The Wind has a voice,
A sad, sweet voice
I've heard it sing
Long and beautiful
Like Wind should be,
Carrying forever
The singing Wind is rarely heard
It's quiet and soft and
Unnoticeable
I am a Wind Child
I hear the Wind as
She sings her sad, sweet song
I am a Wind Child
And I sing with the Wind
Wind Children are rare as
True Hope
Special as Love
Wind Child
Is me
poem by Sahar Alive
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We Are All The Snow Men
WE ARE ALL THE SNOW MEN
(Homage to Wallace Stevens)
We are all the snow men
Minor would- be Poets
Listening in the distant glitter
To the poem someone else has written
Far better than us.
We are all the quiet readers
Connecting our eyes and ears with images
Finer than those
We can ourselves fantasize:
The ‘junipers shagged with ice’
And ‘the spruces rough in the distant glitter’
We are all minor makers of our own nothingness
Beside the Great Poets who find a music of the soul
We seek and strive for and never find.
We are all the lesser snow men
Out in the cold of our own small minds
Shivering to death in the unending winter
of our own frosted souls
While the great long-lines rise up in flight
And go by
Beyond ‘ambiguous undulations’
A fierce parting light
Our bare selves
strain to surmise and survive.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Grief
I saw grief drinking a cup of sorrow;
I called out,
“It tastes sweet, does it not? ”
Grief answered;
“Oh, you’ve caught me and ruined my business,
How can I sell sorrow, when you know it’s a blessing? ”
(Inspired by Rumi)
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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One Small Voice!
just one small voice
in a sea of voices,
all different languages,
male and female...
crying out against the roar:
WE WANT TO BE FREE!
one small voice,
a face soon forgotten,
but a body and a soul...
one small voice,
but now every voice counts,
we are together the voice
of humanity and hope...
WE WANT TO BE FREE!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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