Th' White, Stone Crosses O' Donnegal
The today's begin- as the yesterday's,
frosted dew from th' nights cold mist
blanketing acres of serrate damp soil,
grassblades wear th' sun on their tips,
a peacefully warm white burst o' light,
perhaps, Mother Natures kinder side,
accomodations for they dwelling here,
boxed below th' sod, forever sleeping-
th' many souls of unfinished business,
far-long beyond injustice an' sacrifice,
taken young, for love of country, and-
buried in a sea of white stone crosses;
real names attached to dates and war,
the dates not nearly far enough apart,
an' their stories..... would pale a ghost.
'n, from th' Lowlands to th' Highlands,
past th' scarlett shores.....of Donnegal,
there be scant sod, for the future dead
as th' green turf, lo, has turned to sage
from th' souls asleep, numbered large;
th' red nascent sunset eclipsing arches,
shadows creep, gradually....hauntingly
o'er th' etchings.... of each white Cross
An' we visit.....lay down a silent prayer
that peace be found...within this yard
keep mem'ries warm in their eversleep
'neath th' chill o' the white stone cross.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Avalanche-the White Death
The land is white
The name of the land brings you
to the land of nothing
The name is white
The white is dead
Sun shines pale, the land shades full of pain
Avalea doesn't bloom and fall in this drain
I'm going back alive again
But no one's crying for the dead
The land is still white
Ice and snow are still the same as yesterday
But the wind is stronger in the sorrow
The land is white
The white is dead
They weep wherever they blow
Forever love, cursed land
Forever goodbye, my lovely land
No more tears falling in this land
Even the sand doesn't know
why he doesn't round to anywhere
The land has frozen like stone
The air is blowed dead
The land is white
The name is white
The land called white is dead
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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God's Acre
’NEATH the spiring of spruces
Above the blue sea,
Lo, a field of white crosses,
A garden of grief!
—And a riot of roses,
Of red and white roses,
Rich Death! all in blossom,
Fair Loss! all in leaf.
Aye, their warm cherub-cheeks
To cold marble they press;
With sweet summer-kisses
Dead names they caress;
Yon tomb, see, all garlands,
All roses this cross!
—So breathe, my lamenting!
So bloom, O my loss!
poem by Blanche Edith Baughan
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White and Red
The cold,
the white,
that fell,
from the sky.
The warm,
The red,
That fell,
from my skin.
The white is clean,
stained by my red.
It is white and I am red,
But I am now one with white,
and the white is one with red,
What is white,
what is red,
If something is white,
Then it cant be red,
If something is red,
then it cant be white,
Something that is not white...
Something that is not red...
Something that is both...
Is what?
poem by Rebecca Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The ghost Bereft
THE poor ghost came through the wind and rain
And passed down the old dear road again.
Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed
Like little children that shrank afraid.
The wind was wild and the night was late
When the poor ghost came to the garden gate;
Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet,
The weeds stood up where the rose was set.
The wind was angry, the rain beat sore
When the poor ghost came to its own house-door.
'And shall I find her a-weeping still
To think how alone I lie and chill?
'Or shall I find her happy and warm
With her dear head laid on a new love's arm?
'Or shall I find she has learned to pine
For another's love, and not for mine?
'Whatever chance, I have this to my store,
She is mine, my own, for evermore!'
So the poor ghost came through the wind and rain
Till it reached the square bright window pane.
'Oh! what is here in the room so bright?
Roses and love, and a hid delight?
'What lurks in the silence that fills the room?
A cypress wreath from a dead man's tomb?
'What sleeps? What wakes? And oh! can it be
Her heart that is breaking--and not for me?'
Then the poor ghost looked through the window pane,
Though all the glass was wrinkled with rain.
'Oh, there is light, at the feet and head
Twelve tall tapers about the bed.
'Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare,
But not the garland a bride may wear.
'Jasmine white and a white white rose,
But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes.
'Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier--
But the room is empty--she is not here!
'Her body lies here, deserted, cold;
And the body that loved it creeps in the mould.
'Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free,
Would not have hastened and come to me?
'Can the soul that loved mine long ago
Be hence and away, and I not know?
'Oh, then God's judgment is on me sore,
For I have lost her for evermore!'
And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain
To its own appointed place again.
But up in Heaven, where memories cease
Because the blessed have won to peace,
One pale saint shivered, and closer wound
The shining raiment that wrapped her round.
'Oh, fair is Heaven, and glad am I,
Yet I fain would remember the days gone by.
'The past is veiled, and I may not know,
But I think there was sorrow, long ago;
'The sun of Heaven is warm and bright,
But I think there is rain on the earth to-night.
'O Christ, because of Thine own sore pain
Help all poor souls in the wind and rain.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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All Souls
I
A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
II
Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:
It is only their call that comes on the breeze;
Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:
It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;
Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:
It is only the touch of their hands that grope -
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.
III
And where should a man bring his sweet to woo
But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?
Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,
The empty hands that their fellows miss,
Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,
Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
IV
And now that they rise and walk in the cold,
Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.
Let them see us and hear us, and say: 'Ah, thus
In the prime of the year it went with us!'
Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,
Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.
V
Till they say, as they hear us - poor dead, poor dead! -
'Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed -
Just a thrill of the old remembered pains
To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,
Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,
As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart -
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.'
VI
And where should the living feel alive
But here in this wan white humming hive,
As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,
And one by one they creep back to the fold?
And where should a man hold his mate and say:
'One more, one more, ere we go their way'?
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the living can learn by the churchyard light.
VII
And how should we break faith who have seen
Those dead lips plight with the mist between,
And how forget, who have seen how soon
They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?
How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too,
Who must do so soon as those others do?
For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,
And behold, with the light the dead are away. . . .
poem by Edith Wharton
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Untended
Stone dead she looked.
Only the flicker of an eye lid
Quick as the flash of a butterfly wing
Belied the fact.
Tears rolled,
Trickled slowly
As if in slow motion
down pale cheek;
A ghastly white,
Stark in the ethereal light.
Her hair turned to snow,
And she only twenty.
Lips moved in silent prayer,
A requiem for lost innocence?
From child to woman in a heart beat.
Here is bloody war, destruction.
But she is blind to the suffering
Deaf to the moans of the dying,
The shriek of bombs
And the sobs of the living.
She cannot tend to those broken bodies,
Nor comfort those lost souls.
For she is frozen,
Rigid.
And stone dead she looked.
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unfinished Business
Took a walk outside, the truth was on my side,
But I didnt even make the corner.
Revolution in my sights, the time seems so right,
But I never even saw it coming.
Cant let it go. oh no, no.
Cant you hear me call, bang my head against the wall,
Cant stay around this place forever.
Cant you see, we gotta be free,
We all gotta come together.
Dont let go, oh no.
Unfinished business,
You thought youd keep me quiet.
You put a bullet in my side, but you cant put out my light.
Unfinished business,
Yes, loves the only way to find peace today.
The futures here today, we gotta find a way,
To put all the pain behind you.
You gotta put down the guns, all religion is one,
Politicians only want to blind you.
Break away, oh theres a way.
Oh, the message is clear, wipe away all the tears,
And build a better world around you.
Got to give out your love to each and every one,
Cant you see its only fear that holds you,
Let it go. oh, let it go.
Unfinished business,
I though that I was right[? ].
What that fool put out that night, [? ] burn so bright.
Unfinished business,
Oh yes, loves the only way to find peace today.
So you thought youd take my life,
Put a bullet in my side, but you cant put out my light.
Unfinished business,
Loves the only way to find peace today.
Unfinished business
Unfinished business
Unfinished business
Theres a long road behind you,
Its a hard life if you make it one
Come on to the other side [? ]
There is no place to hide
Unfinished business
Unfinished business
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mother
I
IT was April, blossoming spring,
They buried me, when the birds did sing;
Earth, in clammy wedging earth,
They banked my bed with a black, damp girth.
Under the damp and under the mould,
I kenned my breasts were clammy and cold.
Out from the red beams, slanting and bright,
I kenned my cheeks were sunken and white.
I was a dream, and the world was a dream,
And yet I kenned all things that seem.
I was a dream, and the world was a dream,
But you cannot bury a red sunbeam.
For though in the under-grave's doom-night
I lay all silent and stark and white,
Yet over my head I seemed to know
The murmurous moods of wind and snow,
The snows that wasted, the winds that blew,
The rays that slanted, the clouds that drew
The water-ghosts up from lakes below,
And the little flower-souls in earth that grow.
Under earth, in the grave's stark night,
I felt the stars and the moon's pale light.
I felt the winds of ocean and land
That whispered the blossoms soft and bland.
Though they had buried me dark and low,
My soul with the season's seemed to grow.
II
From throes of pain they buried me low,
For death had finished a mother's woe.
But under the sod, in the grave's dread doom,
I dreamed of my baby in glimmer and gloom.
I dreamed of my babe, and I kenned that his rest
Was broken in wailings on my dead breast.
I dreamed that a rose-leaf hand did cling;
Oh, you cannot bury a mother in spring!
When the winds are soft and the blossoms are red
She could not sleep in her cold earth-bed.
I dreamed of my babe for a day and a night,
And then I rose in my grave-clothes white.
I rose like a flower from my damp earth-bed
To the world of sorrowing overhead.
Men would have called me a thing of harm,
But dreams of my babe made me rosy and warm.
I felt my breasts swell under my shroud;
No star shone white, no winds were loud;
But I stole me past the graveyard wall,
For the voice of my baby seemed to call;
And I kenned me a voice, though my lips were dumb:
Hush, baby, hush! for mother is come.
I passed the streets to my husband's home;
The chamber stairs in a dream I clomb;
I heard the sound of each sleeper's breath,
Light waves that break on the shores of death.
I listened a space at my chamber door,
Then stole like a moon-ray over its floor.
My babe was asleep on a stranger's arm,
'O baby, my baby, the grave is so warm,
'Though dark and so deep, for mother is there!
O come with me from the pain and care!
'O come with me from the anguish of earth,
Where the bed is banked with a blossoming girth,
'Where the pillow is soft and the rest is long,
And mother will croon you a slumber-song–
'A slumber-song that will charm your eyes
To a sleep that never in earth-song lies!
'The loves of earth your being can spare,
But never the grave, for mother is there.'
I nestled him soft to my throbbing breast,
And stole me back to my long, long rest.
And here I lie with him under the stars,
Dead to earth, its peace and its wars;
Dead to its hates, its hopes, and its harms,
So long as he cradles up soft in my arms.
And heaven may open its shimmering doors,
And saints make music on pearly floors,
And hell may yawn to its infinite sea,
But they never can take my baby from me.
For so much a part of my soul he hath grown
That God doth know of it high on His throne.
And here I lie with him under the flowers
That sun-winds rock through the billowy hours,
With the night-airs that steal from the murmuring sea,
Bringing sweet peace to my baby and me.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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The Whiteness Within Me.
The whiteness within…me
Yesterday I saw an albino raven
it had just killed a sparrow and
had drops of blood on its chest.
Having had the privilege to be
white you would think it would
desist from killing sparrows.
But I must be wrong perhaps it
was an angel dressed as cardinal
they wear red and eat meat.
Or was it was a dove of peace
wearing a ruby necklace, or had
it been hurt by an Israeli sniper?
Perhaps it was a white cloud
I saw drifting along on blue
being lit up by a red eyed sun.
A white feather, cowardice is
pale as cold snow, so why does
a peace dove has to be white?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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In The Stone
Maurice white, david foster & allee willis
I found that love, provides
The key-unlocks, the heart and souls, of you and me-
Love will love, to sing your song,
Love is written in the stone
Every man, I meet is walking time-
Free to wander, past his conscious mind,
Love will come, and take you home-
Love is written, in the stone
Do you believe, my friend, in what you claim, people of the world,
All doubt the same-bringing questions
Of their own-truth is written,
In the stone
In the stone, youll find the meaning
Why youre not standing tall
In the stone
The light is shining, forever touching all-
Life experience a passing day
Time will witness, what the ole
Folks say-getting stronger every day
-strenght is written in the stone-
Deep inside, our hearts for us
To keep-lies a spark of light that
Never sleeps
The greatest, youve ever known-
Yea is written-
In the stone
In the stone, youll find the meaning
Why youre not standing tall
In the stone
The light is shining, forever touching all-
Never, never my darling, never youll
Be alone-forever, ever my darling
True love is written in the stone-
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Golden Hour
Only time will tell when my cross
joins the thousands upon the side of this road
I've traveled a thousand times before
and a tousand more will follow
for tomorrow does not exist.
Rain upon my back is nothing
but a track to set thoughts into motion.
The kind of motion that steps in time and place
yet with a pace killing heart beats and silent speaks.
Black marks upon ourselves
we roll with thunderous hellhounds on our tails.
Forward is the only notion needed when
Death beats at the door with a
house warming gift fit for a losing king.
Those lost,
who had their youthful loom snipped
by the three shrews of fate;
their final hour dressed in thoughts of lavender
or gal,
now hangs in the form of a tear on the cheeks of loved ones
who won't accept the setting of another sun.
These White Crosses,
a sea of White Crosses,
a living testimony
of the dead in our wake.
May their names be writ in stone upon
our memories and live on until we too
join their elegy.
poem by Shawn Greyling
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One Day You Dissolve Into Whiteness...
a white car waits for you
at the white side of the road
you are in your white suit
white socks and white shoes
you are white yourself
pale lips and snowy face
dusty eyes, clear tears
falling down to your cheeks
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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White Hat White Coat
To the late doug whalan.... from your daughter.....
White hat white coat and greying in hair
he would dance around the dance floor with plenty of flair
White hat white coat black pants to boot
the men would all say 'silly old coot'
Whitehat white coat and a big friendly smile
when he went to a dance he'd dress in style
White hat white coat and a beat in his feet
it's of to the dance and people to meet
White hat white coat and a scotch on the rocks he'd love to dance
and the men would all mock
White hat white coat asleep at the wheel
he's danced all night 'boy i know how he feels'
White hat white coat have been put to the test
it's time to go home for a well earned rest
White hat white coat clean shirt and socks too
he's all geard up and ready for round two
White hat white coat so tired and run down
close your eyes and dream of your nights on the town
White hat white coat you've seen better days
your torn around the edges and your starting to fray
White hat white coat the time's come for us to part
but always remember ' i love you with all my heart '
poem by Debbie Gregory
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Autumn: A Dirge
The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
And the Year
On the earth is her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
Is lying.
Come, Months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest array;
Follow the bier
Of the dead cold Year,
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.
The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling
For the Year;
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
To his dwelling.
Come, Months, come away;
Put on white, black and gray;
Let your light sisters play--
Ye, follow the bier
Of the dead cold Year,
And make her grave green with tear on tear.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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White rose, red
Take my white rose
White rose, red
Love everlasting
Even when dead
Kiss my white rose
White rose, red
In which love flows
In what is said
Cry on my white rose
White rose, red
Always there to be with you
And comfort you when sad
Love my white rose
White rose, red
So I may forever be with you
Loving you with the symbol
White rose...
White rose stained blood red
(Xanxus)
poem by Giotto Vongola
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White rose, red
Take my white rose
White rose, red
Love everlasting
Even when dead
Kiss my white rose
White rose, red
In which love flows
In what is said
Cry on my white rose
White rose, red
Always there to be with you
Always there to be with you sad
Love my white rose
White rose, red
So I may forever be with you
So I may forever dream with you
So I may forever love with you
All in the symbol
White rose....White rose stained red
poem by Trey Mitchell
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White Lie
One little white lie
One white lie surrounds us
One white lie wont stop the love
That I feel around us
Darlin, do you think about me
What I feel for you, dont you ever doubt me
You see the lock on the door
Of this heart, but you hold the key
I need the trust you can give
Is there something that you need from me?
One little white lie
One white lie surrounds us
One white lie wont stop the love
That I feel around us
Secrets, and the way we keep them
Between you and me
Promise well never need them
I can see something so true
No one else could ever see
And Ill never chance losing you
I believe my heart, I hear what its telling me
One little white lie
One white lie surrounds us
One white lie wont stop the love
That I feel around us
One little white lie
One white lie tears us apart
One white lie wont stop the love
Thats waiting in this heart
Thats waiting in this heart
Temptation leave us alone
cause I know youre always there
But white lies can weigh like stone
And in this world I hear them everywhere
One little white lie, ooh yeah
One white lie surrounds us
One white lie wont stop the love
That I feel around us
One little white lie, one lie
One white lie tears us apart
One white lie wont stop the love
Thats waiting in this heart
Thats waiting in this heart
One lie, one lie
One little white lie, one white lie
One white lie, one little white lie
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The White African
The White African
By
Ross Dix-Peek
Over the great ocean seas
My ancestors did choose to flee,
Europe’s rumblings and poverty,
And to “Darkest Africa” did journey
It was many, many years past,
When Queen Vic’ was still at the mast,
When my forebears resolute did come,
To live beneath the great African sun
Since has Mother Africa suckled our young
To us her lullabies and sweet songs sung,
And all this time ‘neath her fiery mantle
Did my people in Africa live, toil and battle
Africa is not for the mild and the meek,
It's no place at all for the feeble and the weak,
And the days oft be savage and so very long,
Yes, it's only for the brave and the very strong
Many generations did pass, and many years shorn,
Before I too upon African soil was born,
Like my fathers’ before, a White African,
Created and cast beneath her scorching sun
And although I have since her rugged shores left,
My soul to Mother Africa’s bosom will forever be cleft,
And though I may miss the tight embrace of an African sun,
It matters not, for I will forever be a White African!
poem by Ross DixPeek
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Finding
From the candles and dumb shadows,
And the house where love had died,
I stole to the vast moonlight
And the whispering life outside.
But I found no lips of comfort,
No home in the moon's light
(I, little and lone and frightened
In the unfriendly night),
And no meaning in the voices. . . .
Far over the lands and through
The dark, beyond the ocean,
I willed to think of you!
For I knew, had you been with me
I'd have known the words of night,
Found peace of heart, gone gladly
In comfort of that light.
Oh! the wind with soft beguiling
Would have stolen my thought away;
And the night, subtly smiling,
Came by the silver way;
And the moon came down and danced to me,
And her robe was white and flying;
And trees bent their heads to me
Mysteriously crying;
And dead voices wept around me;
And dead soft fingers thrilled;
And the little gods whispered. . . .
But ever
Desperately I willed;
Till all grew soft and far
And silent . . .
And suddenly
I found you white and radiant,
Sleeping quietly,
Far out through the tides of darkness.
And I there in that great light
Was alone no more, nor fearful;
For there, in the homely night,
Was no thought else that mattered,
And nothing else was true,
But the white fire of moonlight,
And a white dream of you.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1909)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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White Winter Wonderland
Oh, these white winter walks exhilarate
As does the crisp frost tipped air
Blown 'cross the mountain tops and vales
Light as a butterfly-snow flakes so fair;
'Tis the whitest of white times
Heralding in all the holidays best
Celebration 'cross the countryside and nearby vales
Pass the most perilous of slippery road test;
Out upon the sod-a snowman or two
With building of snowcastles supreme
Oh, those white winter walks encite exuberance
Hence giving credence to my white winter dream;
As glorious winter makes her snowy bed
And the invigorating air chills to the bone
I am ever thankfu for this white winter world
And for all of the past winters i have known;
poem by Theodora Onken
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