By The Streams Of Killclarke
And the stream was long and narrow
Running 'side.....the crooked marrow
Of the smoked-black....wooded bark
Through the dark woods of Killclarke
And, on Augustides...afternoons face
We watched magic......take its' place
Off the windbreaks and the shadows
Silhouettes..........of nesting sparrows
Flight juxtaposed....and flanked in ''V
Then breaking flank.......in serpentine
They flutter..............into verdant tree's
And, goldenrod is aroused in breeze
'Bove our heads windpipes in whistle
Stroking.......... prickled flower thistles
Painting colours........shades of green
Creating the artists..........finest dream
And, could life yet, get.........any better
Then with you, and i................together
Sharing love...............against the bark
By the cool streams..........of Killclarke
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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The Stringy-Bark Tree
There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.
Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.
And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings its wood was the best;
And for shingles and palings to last while men be,
There was nothing on earth like the stringy-bark tree.
Far up the long gullies the timber-trucks went,
Over tracks that seemed hopeless, by bark hut and tent;
And the gaunt timber-finder, who rode at his ease,
Led them on to a gully of stringy-bark trees.
Now still from the ridges, by ways that are dark,
Come the shingles and palings they call stringy-bark;
Though you ride through long gullies a twelve months you’ll see
But the old whitened stumps of the stringy-bark tree.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Leaves Compared with Flowers
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.
Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.
I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.
Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
poem by Robert Frost
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An Old Picture
THERE are times when a dream delicious
Steals into a musing hour,
Like a face with love capricious
That peeps from a woodland bower;
And one dear scene comes changeless;
A wooded hill and a river;
A deep, cool bend, where the lilies end,
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
And I lie on the brink there, dreaming
That the life I live is a dream;
That the real is but the seeming,
And the true is the sun-flecked stream.
Beneath me, the perch and the bream sail past
In the dim cool depths of the river;
The struggling fly breaks the mirrored sky
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
There are voices of children away on the hill;
There are bees thro' the flag-flowers humming;
The lighter-man calls to the lock, and the mill
On the farther side is drumming.
And I sink to sleep in my dream of a dream,
In the grass by the brink of a river,
Where the voices blend and the lilies end
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
Like a gift from the past is the kindly dream,
For the sorrow and passion and pain
Are adrift like the leaves on the breast of the stream,
And the child-life comes again.
O, the sweet sweet pain of a joy that died—
Of a pain that is joy forever!
O, the life that died in the stormy tide
That was once my sun-flecked river.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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My dogs
bark at the neighbors,
bark at the UPS man,
bark at cars
and kids on bicycles.
they bark at the television,
the radio
and the stereo.
they bark at
the vacuum cleaner,
the dust mop
and the broom.
they bark at
anyone
who enters the house
uninvited.
and
when they’re not barking,
they’re sitting there
waiting
for something
to bark at.
good dogs.
poem by John Yamrus
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Our Secret Sonar Romances
bats are back
their fruit trees in fruit
night feast flight
flit flit flutter flight
fruit passion consumed
in tree dance flight
season past season
come dance our night
under shades of moon
I click my fingers
a few bats flit flight
fly up circle come
fly past my face
a few feet away
flit flight greetings
they like the audience
sonar image my face
thought whisper greet
ink veil night magic
moon crescent night magic
arch phases paint magic
dark building backdrops
stand tall solid frame trees
in background night prayers
silhouette shadow salutes
sky heaven altar glorious
heart stirs in night shades
friend bats flutter flight
disappearing back into trees
feast feed ripe flower fruits
friend bats I know
your ways of disappearing
friend bats I know
your night vision trails
your night vision paths
your night cycle dances
flowers fade into rebirth
organic petal forget me nots
out of sight out of mind
love is bat night flight born
bats my rest break companions
we share night flight visions
this realm of darkness
our mind flight mansions
our secret sonar romances
Dedicated to Miroslava Odalovic who shared a few of my nights with conversation between ritual night writing songs of creativity.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Silhouettes In Disguise
Silhouettes debate then they test their fate
Pride is on the line the signs are dangerous
Hands too number to feel wrapped around the wheel
Tonight they face the fact some are never coming back
Silhouettes in Disguise leather hearts lawless eyes
Dancing shadows over rock and under fire
Some will cry "table's turned."
Some will die but none will learn
Silhouettes in Disguise crash and burn.
They pick the time and place then they fall from grace
They're riding on a rail trying to chase the dragon
Engines never cool trade their sins for fuel
That's what they're running on
When they're blown to kingdom come
Silhouettes in Disguise leather hearts lawless eyes
Dancing shadows over rock and under fire
Some will cry "table's turned."
Some will die but none will learn
Silhouettes in Disguise crash and burn.
Silhouettes in danger on the wrong side of the tracks
Eye to eye. Eye to eye.
Rising up in anger. Disguising their attacks
On the edges of the world.
Silhouettes in Disguise leather hearts lawless eyes
Dancing shadows over rock and under fire
Some will cry "table's turned."
Some will die but none will learn
Silhouettes in Disguise crash and burn
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Butterflys Life
A butterfly flutters
its wings of delight
in the soft gentel breeze
it flickers to life
its colours like rainbows
flash briefly for a day
in fields full of colours
they spread wings
and fly away
they hover in midflight
it finds its mate for life
and they become one
in the midsummer sun
then together they climb
dazzling, turning
Ecstasy of delight
climaxing on high
impregnating new life
then finding a leaf
to lay down their eggs
flutter drifting
from flower to leaf
exhausted from joining
they slowly flutter down
and glide together
with one final flight
and there they lay
both colours so bright
slowly fade into
Mother Natures
garden of life
poem by Kaila George
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The Tree of Waking Life
The tree that says with elation,
'I think I'll fly instead.
Although there's but water in my roots
to last me through the day,
today will be the finest day
I've ever seen or heard of.'
Is the tree I sing my ode to,
The Tree of Waking Life.
The tree upon whose branches
I am so tempted to rest,
but it laughs and calls me foolish,
and gives but one suggestion.
'Men are not meant to be reflections,
but forms of their very own.
Not shadows of their fathers,
but explorers of this stone.'
The tree that will die
from its curious internal lust,
and will curl a fulfilled smile
across its bark encrusted lips,
and sleep as a child with steady mind,
The Tree of Waking Life.
The tree that says with elation,
'I think I'll fly instead.
there is but water in my roots
to last me through the day,
but today will be the finest day
for I will fly today.'
Is the tree I sing my ode to,
The Tree of Waking Life.
The tree upon whose branches
I am so tempted to rest,
but it laughs and calls me foolish,
and gives but one suggestion.
'Men are not meant to be reflections,
but forms of their very own.
Not shadows of their fathers,
but explorers of this stone.'
And as the sun begins to set
and its leaves begin to wilt
when its too weak to control its flight
it will sleep the sleep of a pleasant child
the Tree of Waking Life.
Below poverty line
Below poverty line,
a boy leads his life.
Poverty makes his dream colourless.
He don't know what is the colours of happiness.
He has not a developed or developing dream.
He lead his life on a narrow stream.
Red dream, green dream, white or black dream.
Life below the povery line.
A developed life, see his life shine.
poem by Imtiaz Emon
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Kristallnacht
In the dead of night
when the moon was high
and crystals were energized
from natures moon,
energy to give life.
But this energy was dark and black,
and midnights' hidden faces,
showing shameful deeds.
Masked by moonlight.
Secret evil always hides its face,
and dark, unsigned letters,
whispered conversations, balaclava.
And breaking glass with running steps.
Truth will always face the Sun,
and not need back lane path,
like thieves.
But call at front in day.
Shame upon you crystal sinners,
in your shame filled deeds
of darkness, empty hollows echo,
a dead tree, rotten bark.
poem by Bernard Kennedy
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He had his Dream
He had his dream, and all through life,
Worked up to it through toil and strife.
Afloat fore'er before his eyes,
It colored for him all his skies:
The storm-cloud dark
Above his bark,
The calm and listless vault of blue
Took on its hopeful hue,
It tinctured every passing beam -
He had his dream.
He labored hard and failed at last,
His sails too weak to bear the blast,
The raging tempests tore away
And sent his beating bark astray.
But what cared he
For wind or sea!
He said, 'The tempest will be short,
My bark will come to port.'
He saw through every cloud a gleam -
He had his dream.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The May Flower Tree
I was walking lone there,
Where we once had been.
I sought the house we lived in,
In the lush lush green.
Perhaps inmates out, I thought,
As none I could see.
She has been haunting ever,
Where's May Flower Tree?
Looked around and discovered,
Ah! she lost her grace!
Hugged her with my eager hands,
Alone at that place.
Touched her old bark earnestly,
Felt the touch of past.
Childhood cried in deep deep pain,
Days crept in we passed.
Suddenly the tree turned green,
The Sun shone brightly.
I saw the May Flower Tree,
An emblem of Infancy!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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You're My Evergreen
The words we say, old flowers fade away
Remember yesterday, wish it would bloom again
Apathy and pain, here comes the autumn rain
Old apologies scattered in the wings of fate
Cause today it all looks black and white, wish it would change
We can't keep painting colours when its
Don't hesitate, cause you will bleed
A thousand tears won't wash it clean
Don't hesitate cause you can free yourself
Evergreen, evergreen
Down on my knees, crawling though the streets again
Surrendered to my needs, so i can breathe the air
You're my evergreen, regents park in spring
It takes me to a place, where i can dream again
Cause today it all looks black and white, wish it would change
We can't keep painting colours when it rains
I just want some place where i can breathe without this bitter taste
Cause today it all looks black and white, wish it would change
We can't keep painting colours when it's grey
It all looks black and white today
You're my evergreen, regents park in spring
It takes me to a place, where i can dream again
Cause today it all looks black and white, wish it would change
We can't keep painting colours when it rains
Evergreen, evergreen, evergreen
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tree's
In the morning the birds sing
The Church bells ring
The Beautiful Tree's Covered In Bark
But what do they look like in the dark
Your walking, and you see the moon
The moon Silhouettes a scary looking tree that fills you with gloom
Carry on walking, Don't worry, no scare
You look behind you 'wasn't there a tree there? '
poem by Holly Chanel
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Silhouette (live)
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes,
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes.
Took a walk and passed your house late last night,
All the shades were pulled and drawn way down tight.
From within the dim light cast two silhouettes on the shade.
Oh what a lovely couple they made.
Put his arms around your waist, held you tight.
Kisses i could almost taste, in the night.
Wondered why i'm not the guy whose silhouettes on the shade.
I couldn't hide the tears in my eyes.
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes,
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes.
Lost control and rang your bell, i was sore,
"let me in or else i'll beat down your door".
Saw two strangers who had been two silhouettes on the shade,
My heart skipped a beat i was on the wrong street.
Rushed down to your house with wings on my feet,
Loved you like i've never loved you my sweet.
Vowed that you and i would be, two silhouettes on the shade.
All of our days two silhouettes on the shade.
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes,
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes.
Two silhouettes on the shade.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silhouettes
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes,
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes.
Took a walk and passed your house late last night,
All the shades were pulled and drawn way down tight.
From within the dim light cast two silhouettes on the shade.
Oh what a lovely couple they made.
Put his arms around your waist, held you tight.
Kisses I could almost taste, in the night.
Wondered why Im not the guy whose silhouettes on the shade.
I couldnt hide the tears in my eyes.
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes,
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes.
Lost control and rang your bell, I was sore,
Let me in or else Ill beat down your door.
Saw two strangers who had been two silhouettes on the shade,
My heart skipped a beat I was on the wrong street.
Rushed down to your house with wings on my feet,
Loved you like Ive never loved you my sweet.
Vowed that you and I would be, two silhouettes on the shade.
All of our days two silhouettes on the shade.
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes,
Silhouettes, silhouettes, silhouettes.
Two silhouettes on the shade.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orara
THE STRONG sob of the chafing stream
That seaward fights its way
Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam,
Is in the hills to-day.
But far and faint, a grey-winged form
Hangs where the wild lights wane—
The phantom of a bygone storm,
A ghost of wind and rain.
The soft white feet of afternoon
Are on the shining meads,
The breeze is as a pleasant tune
Amongst the happy reeds.
The fierce, disastrous, flying fire,
That made the great caves ring,
And scarred the slope, and broke the spire,
Is a forgotten thing.
The air is full of mellow sounds,
The wet hill-heads are bright,
And down the fall of fragrant grounds
The deep ways flame with light.
A rose-red space of stream I see,
Past banks of tender fern;
A radiant brook, unknown to me
Beyond its upper turn:
The singing silver life I hear,
Whose home is in the green,
Far-folded woods of fountains clear,
Where I have never been.
Ah, brook above the upper bend,
I often long to stand
Where you in soft, cool shades descend
From the untrodden land!
Ah, folded woods, that hide the grace
Of moss and torrents strong,
I often wish to know the face
Of that which sings your song!
But I may linger, long, and look
Till night is over all:
My eyes will never see the brook,
Or sweet, strange waterfall.
The world is round me with its heat,
And toil, and cares that tire;
I cannot with my feeble feet
Climb after my desire.
But, on the lap of lands unseen,
Within a secret zone,
There shine diviner gold and green
Than man has ever known.
And where the silver waters sing
Down hushed and holy dells,
The flower of a celestial Spring,
A tenfold splendour, dwells.
Yea, in my dream of fall and brook
By far sweet forests furled,
I see that light for which I look
In vain through all the world—
The glory of a larger sky
On slopes of hills sublime,
That speak with God and morning, high
Above the ways of Time!
Ah! haply, in this sphere of change
Where shadows spoil the beam,
It would not do to climb that range
And test my radiant Dream.
The slightest glimpse of yonder place,
Untrodden and alone,
Might wholly kill that nameless grace
The charm of the unknown.
And therefore, though I look and long,
Perhaps the lot is bright
Which keeps the river of the song
A beauty out of sight
poem by Henry Kendall
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Treecreepers
Elusive birds them one don't often see
Treecreepers build their cup shaped nest of bark behind loose bark of tree
From predators concealed and hidden away
And pinkish spotted eggs the female lay.
Shy woodland birds of humans they show respectful fear
They climb tree trunks in search of insects and when human to them venture near
Of the tree trunk they disappear to the other side
Of watchers eyes they'd much prefer to hide.
They will never be renowned as birds of song
Though their familiar chirps one hardly could get wrong
The ornithologists and bird watchers on studying them don't spend much of their time
And they seldom have inspired the poets to rhyme.
From the day they leave the nest until the day they die
From ground up they climb the tree and then to the next tree fly
To climb again in search of invertebrates such things they like to eat
They must have great strength in their tiny feet
In wooded places they like to reside
And from predators their cup shaped nest they hide
Shy little birds when human to them venture near
To the other side of the tree trunk they disappear.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Never The Time And The Place
Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!
This path--how soft to pace!
This May -- what magic weather!
Where is the loved one's face?
In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,
But the house is narrow, the place is bleak
Where, outside, rain and wind combine
With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,
With a malice that marks each word, each sign!
O enemy sly and serpentine,
Uncoil thee from the waking man!
Do I hold the Past
Thus firm and fast
Yet doubt if the Future hold I can?
This path so soft to pace shall lead
Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed!
Or narrow if needs the house must be,
Outside are the storms and strangers: we
Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she, --
I and she!
poem by Robert Browning
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The Mind’s Diet
No life worth naming ever comes to good
If always nourished on the selfsame food;
The creeping mite may live so if he please,
And feed on Stilton till he turns to cheese,
But cool Magendie proves beyond a doubt,
If mammals try it, that their eyes drop out.
No reasoning natures find it safe to feed,
For their sole diet, on a single creed;
It spoils their eyeballs while it spares their tongues,
And starves the heart to feed the noisy lungs.
When the first larvae on the elm are seen,
The crawling wretches, like its leaves, are green;
Ere chill October shakes the latest down,
They, like the foliage, change their tint to brown;
On the blue flower a bluer flower you spy,
You stretch to pluck it--'tis a butterfly;
The flattened tree-toads so resemble bark,
They're hard to find as Ethiops in the dark;
The woodcock, stiffening to fictitious mud,
Cheats the young sportsman thirsting for his blood;
So by long living on a single lie,
Nay, on one truth, will creatures get its dye;
Red, yellow, green, they take their subject's hue,--
Except when squabbling turns them black and blue!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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