Journeying
so beautiful yet imperfect
lofty thoughts crammed
into asphyxiating spaces
with all the bold grace
of a cattle train full
once openly arrayed
each letter corrupts their
purity, dampens their joy
white petals wilting, scorched
thoughts and images divine
now uneasily bourne
by vessels corruptible
cursed with leaking hulls
what frail bearers of light
shadows cast by storm lamps
flickering bare intermittence
or maybe a spark of glory
yet from season to season
souls bare in furious compulsion
feverish quills worn past utility
asking ourselves, have we
could we have triumphed
reaching the terminus preset
or a foolish dream drifting
a journey we each must take
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Rain
Thoughts of rain at sunset
Clouds of rainbow blue
Thoughts of sun on sand-dunes
Where the seabirds flew
This was our season, and we said it couldnt end
But my love left with the rain.
Thoughts of leaves in autumn
Falling from the trees
Thoughts of hoaring tree tops
Leading to the sea
This was our season, no lies and no pretend
But my love left with the rain.
Thoughts of springtime rainfall
Touching flowers that bend
Thoughts of wind in willows
Days that never end
This was our season, but sorrow waited round the bend
For my love left with the rain.
Rains the way you move now
Sun the way you seem
Leaves the way you wonder
Flowers the way you dream
This was our season, and we said it couldnt end
But my love left with the rain
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Train thoughts
You see the train fires our thoughts-
We find a white metallic sky up there,
As though the train itself were the earth
Spinning like a top in cosmic space.
The train’s hoot pierces our awareness.
We then come down from the upper berth
To mundane matters of trivial concern-
Thoughts which are not train thoughts
But home kitchen and patio thoughts
Waiting for inquisitive neighbours to talk
So that we could pick large comic holes.
In the train, between our finiteness and sky
There is another white sky, train sky
Under which several celestial thoughts
Take place in our upturned sleeping faces
It is as though the metal sky does not exist
And we are faced with the Big sky itself.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When the Day Is White
When the day is white
Full of clouds from above
Just new from old night
With its dream full of
And your heart is young
Filled with thoughts so free
In and easy going song
That without end shall be
A love song so fine
Full of its finesses air
Drifting through sunshine
From here to everywhere
I feel you are so close
In my heartbeat you'll stay
Until everything away goes
That you and I knew today
When day becomes eve
And the white sky to red
When our day thoughts leave
And night is here instead
When we go on sleeping
And travel so far beyond
Where angels' stars are keeping
Until it becomes dawned
*(A lyric made now to my song, When the Day Is White, at Garageband.com)
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Soul
Liberates in fragile dreams and thoughts…
Rows in seas, fearless
Dances with light that into new days breaks
It rests on the age that is yet to come
It is the music that life makes
It hails from the enchanted forests of immortality
Rises like smoke; careless and free,
far away..
It breaks and recreates
It rebels and rouse
It is beautiful and boundless
It can't be contained
It can't die away
It is the ceaseless joy of childhood that roams bare foot on roof tops,
Basks under the sun
It is the kite that soars to infinite spaces
It is the creativity of life,
Perfect symmetry of divine mystery
It is the artistic passion
It is the breath of undying beauty
It is the mystic shadow of dusky day
It is Master's reflection,
It is calm as the sea
It is not a captive of your body
Nor a prisoner of your narrow thoughts
It can't be contained
It can't die away…
poem by Lama Abbas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hymn 98
Christ our wisdom, righteousness, etc.
1 Cor. 1:30.
How heavy is the night
That hangs upon our eyes,
Till Christ with his reviving light
Over our souls arise!
Our guilty spirits dread
To meet the wrath of Heav'n;
But, in his righteousness arrayed,
We see our sins forgiv'n.
Unholy and impure
Are all our thoughts and ways;
His hands infected nature cure
With sanctifying grace.
The powers of hell agree
To hold our souls in vain;
He sets the sons of bondage free,
And breaks the cursed chain
Lord, we adore thy ways
To bring us near to God;
Thy sovereign power, thy healing grace,
And thine atoning blood.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Reason For The Season
The shepherds are lit
A star in the sky
On the outskirts of town
A new baby cries
No room at the end
No crib to be found
Oh but look at him now
He is the reason for the season
He is the light that shines on our lives
The baby Jesus born in God's grace
So we all might rejoice on this day
He is the reason for the season
It is a time for presents and toys
Tales of Saint Nick
Tidings of joy
As we celebrate the miracle birth
Oh right here on this earth
He is the reason for the season
He is the light that shines on our lives
The baby Jesus born in God's grace
So we all might rejoice on this day
He is the reason for the season
He's the reason for the giving
The joy thats never ending
That comes on Christmas morning in the eyes of a child
It's what it means to me and you
That's the true meaning of this time
Oh this time
He is the
He is the reason for the season
He is the light that shines on our lives
The baby Jesus born in God's grace
So we all might rejoice on this day
He is the reason for the season
He is the light that shines on our lives
The baby Jesus born in God's grace
So we all might rejoice on this day
He is the reason for the season
song performed by by Lonestar from This Christmas Time
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Growing Season
The seasons work together
To make the world possible
Summer, the sun season
Fall, the leaf season
Winter, the snow season
And spring, the time of beauty
Summer, the yellow season
Fall, the orange season
Winter, the white season
And spring, the time of the rainbow
Summer, the blank season
Fall, the shadow season
Winter, the dying season
And spring, the growing season
The growing season
Images of Time
The images in my mind is like my thoughts.
Expressing my thoughts is like expressing my feelings.
Words are spoken.All my images are broken.
Broken down into pieces, which can never be made into new dishes.
Those images of past.It takes time to last.
It will last forever for met to take over.
All those images wore my past life.
But it has nothing to do with my past life.
Those images can be forgotten.But not those people.
Those people who are in your images.Can be in a real image.
When you see those people in front of you.
You like to say 'How are you'?
If they say I am fine.Then you will think of those time.
poem by Yash Pradhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Desertion
So light we were, so right we were, so fair faith shone,
And the way was laid so certainly, that, when I'd gone,
What dumb thing looked up at you? Was it something heard,
Or a sudden cry, that meekly and without a word
You broke the faith, and strangely, weakly, slipped apart.
You gave in - you, the proud of heart, unbowed of heart!
Was this, friend, the end of all that we could do?
And have you found the best for you, the rest for you?
Did you learn so suddenly (and I not by!)
Some whispered story, that stole the glory from the sky,
And ended all the splendid dream, and made you go
So dully from the fight we know, the light we know?
O faithless! the faith remains, and I must pass
Gay down the way, and on alone. Under the grass
You wait; the breeze moves in the trees, and stirs, and calls,
And covers you with white petals, with light petals.
There it shall crumble, frail and fair, under the sun,
O little heart, your brittle heart; till day be done,
And the shadows gather, falling light, and, white with dew,
Whisper, and weep; and creep to you. Good sleep to you!
poem by Rupert Brooke (1910)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
A winters morning
A winters morning
~
Amongst a listless morning
still thoughts linger
in the soft pale light
cold dew hangs in the air
bare trees line the horizon
a backdropp of grey cloud
there is nothing more
or less beautiful seen
within a winters portrait
than a world changing
stripped bare, naked
the frailty of life
witnessed
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Season Of Spring
THE SEASON OF SPRING
the season of spring
weather seems to sing
lovely lovely days
are coming our ways
the season of spring
blooming blossoming
of nature of all kind
let roots unbind
the season of spring
birds unfold their wings
diving high into sky
wish one could fly
the season of spring
careful hearts love sting
reaching out towards others
some persons might bother
the season of spring
nice sound bells ring
new wave new style
faces have on a smile
the season of spring
an new awakening
busy humanity on earth
as if it’s a new birth
listen listen to my words
the season of spring is near
now a look into your lovely eyes
and one can see spring is already here
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Four springtimes lost: and in the fifth we stand
Four springtimes lost: and in the fifth we stand,
here in this quiet hour of glory, still,
while o'er the bridal land
the westering sun dwells in untroubled gold,
a bridegroom proud of his permitted will,
whom grateful rapture suffers not be bold,
but tender now and bland
his amber locks and bended gaze are shed,
brimming, above the couch'd and happy clime:
all is content and ripe delight, full-fed.
And as your fingers brush my hand
so too the winning time
would charm me from regretful reverie
that keeps me somewhat sad, remembering —
not the old woodland days, for thou art near
and hold'st them safely hid
to rise and shine again, when waning skies shall bid —
but later dawns o' the year, away from thee
liv'd thro', even here,
and golden embraces of the light-hearted time
when I was sad at heart, remembering
the clear enchantments of our single year,
our woodland prime of love, its violet-budded vow,
receding ever now
farther and farther down the past, a gleam
that turns to softest pearl the luminous haze
drifting between in from the golden days
when I was sad at inmost heart, remembering
thee and the woodland season of bright laughter: —
so in my perverse and most loitering dream
(O fading, fading days!)
each season claims the homage due, long after
its glory has faded to an outcast thing.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
O! People Hear Me
O! People hear me,
The prayers that emerge on your lips,
The voices that float in the air,
Fidelities that mould themselves into love,
The ambitions that swagger on the dreamland,
Do not let them fall,
Adorn them on the eyes.
Enhance light of the amp,
And do not let it extinguish,
We have to plant yet flowers afresh,
We have to habitat yet a new world,
Though the tale is olden,
Yet new actors are to introduce,
New spectacles are yet to be shaped,
We shall have to be proud of our loyalties,
We shall have to burn
The boats to commence a new journey.
O! People hear me,
Transform this season of rigidity
And depression,
Erase shadows of fear, starvation and thirst,
Knock down the structures
That have been beleaguering
Us since beginning,
They neither show their mercy,
Nor do we protest for the rights,
How long bread
Will be distributed among the rich,
How long assassination
Will rule openly unhindered,
Let the season approach,
The scenario will change,
These structures will fall,
Let the countenance of Man be changed,
Let the bent looks uplift,
And let us challenge the enemy,
Let us begin
The journey carrying heads on the hands.
O! People hear me,
Uplift the down cast eyes,
Look towards the firmament,
Look into eyes of the dangers,
And see how the environ changes,
O! Astray people, you are only
At a little distance from your own caravan,
The world is destined to change;
Oppression is to enfold its wings,
This land, these oceans,
And these labouring countrymen all are mine,
These farms; these grain-yards are mine too,
I sell my sweat to rotate wheels of the mills,
These workers, these growers
And all professions are mine,
We the stone-bearers are proud of our madness,
Hear me!
Now we shall begin the journey afresh,
Caring least for assassinations of the heads.
Written by Asad Baig Translated by Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thoughts On A Grey Day
I thank my god
For perfect love and peace
Ill hold her tight
And always as
And always
Mine forever
Love, love
So great
So divine
Trees a gray day has changed everything
Its beautiful, just beautiful
So beautiful this first gray day is ours
My loving child, my grace of god
Relive my child and love
I crawl to me knees,my dear love
Will you promise to kiss my perfect healing hands And finger
And make a promise to me that you will also may my each command
And never ever fail me, youll be mine forever more
The sun is here my love, my love
My sun, our sun complete
God bless our perfect, prefect gray day
With trees so bare, so bare
But O so beautiful , so beautiful
The gray and blue sky
The world is here, ours
Just, justing , just ours
Our own hold us tight , I am yours
Just a dream, a gone dream
Mischievous ?
Never ever cease
My love, My love
Pregnant sweet , Love is tender.
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Christmas Is A Season...
christmas is a season of the heart,
a time to cherish family and friends;
a time to laugh and hug, or start,
to amplify the joy your prescense sends.
christmas is a season of the heart,
it knows the love that cannot die;
it knows the reasons that we part,
and gladdens, 'tho we know not why.
christmas is a season of the heart,
it shines it's light to all who see;
gifts are heaped upon it's cart,
and we are thrilled, to let it be.
christmas is season full of joy,
with acts of giving at every turn;
a child's eyes shine with it's new toy,
and lessons of love we slowly learn.
christmas is a season of happy sounds,
carols of praise float on the air;
the season of love that knows no bounds,
the season that shows we truly care.
poem by David Lessard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Soul's Season
Souls have music, which if shared, is transforming
and I was too upon hearing yours
Spirits fly and seldom land
but when they do hearts soar;
mine flew when your Spirit lighted.
I’m convinced that children are the angels
we humans are allowed
(well, most of them)
and are reminders of why we former cave dwellers
are on this earth.
I am convinced that seeing forever
is best done through another’s eyes;
that loving most is learned best
when one learns to love that which is not ourselves.
I am convinced that the road is no destination
but the opportunity to journey through life with others
all co-promising
for good or ill
to take both sunshine or storm,
smooth sailing, or typhoon,
blinking into both dark and light
whispering “You ok, I am
as long as I am with you.”
“Lets take, I hear you say
”and season this Season creating
a space
where music is heard,
where Souls hover
reaffirmed and united.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
S, A, D
A season with little light
Leaves a sense of dread
A foreboding thought persists
With little hope of change
The unidentified issues ponder
Upon so many thoughts
Leaving little else to reassure
The quick passing of the day
Affects the body and mind
Which yearn for just a little sun
To warm the heart and soul
A little light to shed upon the day
Something bright in this season
Dark mornings, grey skies and early nights
Seem to dispel those hopes
The disorder remains in place
Throughout the season
Leaving a sense of dread
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Man Standing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
held the earth
in his hands...
until time and storm
finally had their way.
the man standing
in the shadows,
plowed and planted,
season after season,
till winter grey
closed the last door.
the man standing
in the shadows,
built a house
and a bridge...
and swept room and porch
till it was finished.
the man standing
in the shadows,
picked up nests of straw,
and opened tiny cages,
blowing light from cupped hands
till the darkness swallowed.
the man standing
in he shadows,
played a wooden flute,
caught stardust in each note...
till the great stillness came,
and the wind stopped blowing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
still smells like you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
La Mélinite: Moulin Rouge
Olivier Metra's Waltz of Roses
Sheds in a rhythmic shower
The very petals of the flower;
And all is roses,
The rouge of petals in a shower.
Down the long hall the dance returning
Rounds the full circle, rounds
The perfect rose of lights and sounds,
The rose returning
Into the circle of its rounds.
Alone, apart, one dancer watches
Her mirrored, morbid grace;
Before the mirror, face to face,
Alone she watches
Her morbid, vague, ambiguous grace.
Before the mirror's dance of shadows
She dances in a dream,
And she and they together seem
A dance of shadows;
Alike the shadows of a dream.
The orange-rosy lamps are trembling
Between the robes that turn;
In ruddy flowers of flame that burn
The lights are trembling:
The shadows and the dancers turn.
And, enigmatically smiling,
In the mysterious night,
She dances for her own delight,
A shadow smiling
Back to a shadow in the night.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Your Holy Book or Mine?
`
So what if I've gone to Scripture
maybe just to have a look?
So what if it spoke to me so loud
with brilliant flashes of cutting blades?
So what if all my thoughts are laid bare
stripped of any guile or disguise?
We all are pilgrims in this journey,
We all seek for what we know
We do not have yet could not name;
We all of us are on a quest toward
What we know eternity must hold....
So what if in my searching I find
whims and wandering thoughts reigned
within the cosmic finiteness of this mind?
Then there must have been some use
undusting and poring through that Tome.
`
A challenge to do your own pilgrimage and make your own conclusions.
It is always best to travel, first hand. Then the journey is trully your own.
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!