En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Wine And Joy

Wine and joy are completely forgotten,
As well as his armor and sword.
Alone he descends in the rotten
Mysterious dungeon. The door
Is squeaking with long drawn sound
For no one has entered inside.
The dark and the damp reign around.
The window is narrow and high.

His eyes grow accustomed to the gloom and
Through the dust and the web he explores
Some strange marks, emerging and looming
On the floor, on the vaults, on the walls.
He gazes at the marks’ interlacement
At those incomprehensible signs
And tarries for Death to embrace him
To enlighten his soul and eyes.

poem by Fyodor Sologub
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Dark As A Dungeon

Come and listen you fellows
So young and do fine
And seek not your fortune
In the dark, dreary mines
It will form as a habit
Seep in your soul
til the blood in your veins
Runs as black as the coal
Theres many a man
That Ive known in my day
Who lived just to labor
His whole life away
Like a fiend with his dope
And a drunkard his wine
A man will have lust for
The lure of the mine
Its dark as a dungeon
Damp as the dew
The danger is double
And the pleasures are few
Where the rain never falls
Where the sun never shines
Its dark as a dungeon
Way down in the mine
I hope when Im gone
And the ages shall roll
My body will blacken
And turn into coal
Then Ill look out the door
Of my heavenly home
And Ill pity the miners
A-diggin my bones
Its dark as a dungeon
Damp as the dew
The danger is double
And the pleasures are few
Where the rain never falls
Where the sun never shines
Its dark as a dungeon
Way down in the mine
Where the rain never falls
Where the sun never shines
Its dark as a dungeon
Way down in the mine

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Feet

his feet speak
the obvious intentions as he enters
the door of hidden affections
they leave marks and her mother sees them
and tells her whether
he can make a good husband
a loving father to all your children

it is not the hands who are too conscious
about what signs to make
not the big mouth attuned to lies
and not the tongue with sweet tastebuds
not even the eyes which are prepared to deceive you
to its long gazes

you must listen with the ears of your heart

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hmmm, Something That Is Mysterious

hmm, i press the word
and lowered my face
so my eyes may see clearly
and there the enigma
slides upon itself on the monitor
the mysterious line of words
keep coming like a rain of
thoughts a train of trickles
pushing itself on the
dark tunnel begging for
an understanding something
that i cannot comprehend
completely and then i said
i like this
something so beautiful
inside my heart
and yet something so
incomprehensible... life
hmmm.... life, oh life!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Two Face

Can't you see
The monster inside of me
A growling snarling beast
Eyes blood red
Mouth bursting with knives
Black fur standing on end
Claws fully extended ready to kill
Can't you see
The knight inside of me
A valiant champion ready to fight for his maiden
Blue eyes crystal clear
Shining armor ready to deflect rending claws
Silver sword drawn ready to kill
Can't you see
The battle inside of me
An epic clash of the titans
Shaking me to the very soul

poem by Patrick Tincher
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Moodswing Whiskey

Mood swing whiskey
Drank it all in the morning
Waiting for the dark to move in
Sitting in my step-sisters kitchen
Horseflies on the window sill
Eyes trained on the lemon king
And wishing it were a gun
Im thinking of our wedding rings
Trapped inside the heater
Spring water on the floor of this
Sex starved room
The nightmares fires burn
The waves of bliss
I tried to stop it with my hand
I was lost in the kiss
With you
Mood swing whiskey
Your bliss, the actress,
Bliss, the assassin
Bliss, the abyss
Did a crazy shot of whiskey
In about zero to sixty
All I could see was the beer
I face the future with a drink in my right
Eyes to the sparkling gloom
Body naked, afraid, and amazed
Say boost me up to your junkyard paradise
Boost me up to your junkyard paradise
With a sweet-ass photo of you
She cheated, and she lied, and you stole her
Stung my tongue just like
Sweat from her shoulder
Ooh, mood swing whiskey
Your love, the destroyer
Love, the destroyer
Love, love...
Yes mood swing whiskey has my brain
Only you can break this chain
Are you here in my bed again
Can you hear my love again (x4)
Run down the subway station babe
Im packing my rod
All and present histories erased
I am a punishing god
Mood swing whiskey
Yeah the leaves are made of
Messy things again
And I said this is all the headless acrobats
Faces crushed in the circus dust
All for the law of gravity
And the price of admission
Beautiful loser warm hearts have let you down
Beautiful loser warm hearts have left you
Oh no, you...
I think of mankind in quotation marks
Ever since I took a drink from you
This is for all the headless acrobats
Faces crushed in the circus dust
All in the name of gravity
And the price of admission
Beautiful loser while eyes have let you now
Beautiful loser while eyes have let you now
Cause youre beautiful
I think of mankind in quotation marks
Ever since I took a drink of you

song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gardener LXXIX: I Often Wonder

I often wonder where lie hidden
the boundaries of recognition between
man and the beast whose heart knows
no spoken language.
Through what primal paradise in a
remote morning of creation ran the
simple path by which their hearts
visited each other.
Those marks of their constant tread
have not been effaced though their
kinship has been long forgotten.
Yet suddenly in some wordless
music the dim memory wakes up
and the beast gazes into the man's
face with a tender trust, and the
man looks down into its eyes with
amused affection.
It seems that the two friends meet
masked, and vaguely know each other
through the disguise.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Forgotten Accommodation

We climbed the narrow attic stair,
And entered rooms established there.
Thick grey dust lay across the gloom,
Many years spent without a broom.
Cobwebs hung in every place,
New occupants had filled the space.

On a shelf sat an old birdcage,
Tenanted in another age.
Chills swept in from a broken pane,
Small window letting in the rain.
A rickety stained brocade chair,
Seat and back were now threadbare.

Curtains frayed along their edges,
Hanging crooked. Also ledges
Nailed up on the damp crumbling walls,
Odour of abandoned mothballs.
Wallpaper, once with roses pink,
Now gave off a horrendous stink.

Forgotten accommodation,
In this lonely bleak location.
Empty now of occupation,
Who slept here, what was their station.
Just how hard was their daily grind,
So much history we could find.

Something scuttled along the floor,
Down the steps to the corridor.
A resident we had no doubt,
Some little local layabout
Who we had unkindly disturbed,
Leaving so quickly quite perturbed.

We climbed back down the attic stair,
Away from this poor mouse’s lair,
Back to the present and fresh air,
Off down a pleasant thoroughfare.
Happy that we wouldn’t have to see,
What their life turned out to be.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Pêcheresse

Down the long quay the slow boats glide,
While here and there a house looms white
Against the gloom of the waterside,
And some high window throws a light
As they sail out into the night.

At dawn they will bring in again
To women knitting on the quay
Who wait for him, their man of men;
I stand with them, and watch the sea
Which may have taken mine from me.

Just so the long days come and go.
The nights, ma Doué! the nights are cold!
Our Lady's heart is as frozen snow,
Since this one sin I have not told;
And I shall die or perhaps grow old

Before he comes. The foreign ships
Bring many a one of face and name
As strange as his, to buy your lips,
A gold piece for a scarlet shame
Like mine. But mine was not the same.

One night was ours, one short grey day
Of sudden sin, unshrived, untold.
He found me, and I lost the way
To Paradise for him. I sold
My soul for love and not for gold

He bought my soul, but even so,
My face is all that he has seen,
His is the only face I know,
And in the dark church, like a screen.
It shuts God out; it comes between;

While in some narrow foreign street
Or loitering on the crowded quay,
Who knows what others he may meet
To turn his eyes away from me?
Many are fair to such as he!

There is but one for such as I
To love, to hate, to hunger for;
I shall, perhaps, grow old and die,
With one short day to spend and store,
One night, in all my life, no more.

Just so the long days come and go,
Yet this one sin I will not tell
Though Mary's heart is as frozen snow
And all nights are cold for one warmed too well.
But, oh! ma Doué! the nights of Hell!

poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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Shatterproof

I see those newly weds
Their eyes wide and believing
They bill and coo at the mention of chez nous
Appearances can be deceiving
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
We papered over all the cracks
And painted a cats lick and a promise
The landlord was a man of few words
And most of them were ominous
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
It was nothing really to write home about
Then one day it all appears too much
Here comes my little hammer and its shatterproof touch
He said, be practical,
These are most unreasonable demands.
Forget about the broken spectacles
And the damage to your hand.
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
And the doctors say Im almost shatterproof

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Demon Lord (Part V)

The air is thick
Smoke rises from the flames
Phelan’s blades scrap against the floor
In front of Him stands the Demon Lord
Fire spews from its mouth
The flames engulf Phelan
They fly from his body
The floor shakes as the Demon Lord leaps down from his throne
Their eyes meet
The flames grow
The Hatred within the Demon Lord’s heart grows
Your reign is over
Are the words that fly from Phelan’s mouth
The words are met by fire
His blades shine
The Demon Lord’s hand grabs a sword
A blade of pure fire appears
Both opponents know the other must die
Fire fills the room
The heat is unbearable
Yet both struggle against each other
Your reign is over
Gold strikes fire
Silver strikes fire
Fire strikes armor
Both slowly weaken
The battle rages on
Your reign is over
Neither gives ground
Neither gain ground
Phelan lifts his mighty blades to the sky
The Demon Lord strikes
Your reign is over
The gold crashes down
The sword of fire is shattered
The pieces fly over the entire world
Your reign is over
The silver blade slices through the air
A gurgled scream is heard through the lands
The body of the Demon Lord crumples
The head rolls out of the palace
As Phelan whips the blood from the swords he yells
Your reign is over

poem by Phillip Dodham Cormier
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London Interior

Autumn is in the air,
The children are playing everywhere.

One dare not open this old door too wide;
It is so dark inside.
The hall smells of dust;
A narrow squirt of sunlight enters high,
Cold, yellow.
The floor creaks, and I hear a sigh,
Rise in the gloom and die.

Through the hall, far away,
I just can see
The dingy garden with its wall and tree.
A yellow cat is sitting on the wall
Blinking toward the leaves that fall.
And now I hear a woman call
Some child from play.

Then all is still. Time must go
Ticking slow, glooming slow.

The evening will turn grey.
It is sad in London after two.
All, all the afternoon
What can old men, old women do?

It is sad in London when the gloom
Thickens, like wool,
In the corners of the room;
The sky is shot with steel,
Shot with blue.

The bells ring the slow time;
The chairs creak, the hours climb;
The sunlight lays a streak upon the floor.

poem by Harold Monro
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A Room At The Top.

It was a room
at the top of the building

music being played
from some hifi system

and Judy said
you dance quite well

thanks
you said

haven't seen you
here before

she looked at you
with her dark eyes

I come for the drug aid
they help me here

to get of the junk
oh right

you replied
looking for signs

of needle marks
or signs in the eyes

you take junk?
No I'm a booze clown

you said
she nodded

and danced to the music
for a moment or so

my parents are doctors
in the City and have put me

in the hospital but I get out
for a few hours

and they let me
come here for the help

you looked at her dressed
in her tight slacks

and over long jumper
her breasts small

compact
untouchable

her hips swaying
to the music's beat

the way she moved
drawing you in

smelling her scent
her words lost

in a singer's voice
a guitar whining

in and out
maybe I can come see you

you have to shout
over the music's rising sound

sure
she said

moving her neat ass
as she moved around

and she whispered
the address and where

the hospital was
and how to get there

then she was whisked away
by some guy

with a drugged out
look in his eye

and you watched her sway
moving off

going slowly
but sexily away.

poem by Terry Collett
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The Keys of Morning

While at her bedroom window once,
Learning her task for school,
Little Louisa lonely sat
In the morning clear and cool,
She slanted her small bead-brown eyes
Across the empty street,
And saw Death softly watching her
In the sunshine pale and sweet.

His was a long lean sallow face;
He sat with half-shut eyes,
Like a old sailor in a ship
Becalmed 'neath tropic skies.
Beside him in the dust he had set
His staff and shady hat;
These, peeping small, Louisa saw
Quite clearly where she sat -
The thinness of his coal-black locks,
His hands so long and lean
They scarcely seemed to grasp at all
The keys that hung between:
Both were of gold, but one was small,
And with this last did he
Wag in the air, as if to say,
"Come hither, child, to me!"

Louisa laid her lesson book
On the cold window-sill;
And in the sleepy sunshine house
Went softly down, until
She stood in the half-opened door,
And peeped. But strange to say
Where Death just now had sunning sat
Only a shadow lay:
Just the tall chimney's round-topped cowl,
And the small sun behind,
Had with its shadow in the dust
Called sleepy Death to mind.
But most she thought how strange it was
Two keys that he should bear,
And that, when beckoning, he should wag
The littlest in the air.

poem by Walter de la Mare
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Dark

What will I do with a fountain
of time
my silence
is a well without a dropp of water
I can weep in the dark
weep and its silence will hear me
but it will close its eyes
it will not speak
the evening will tread on
quietly an old man
it will walk on without looking back
without seeing where its shadow
sleeps
and I can say wait where
are you going
and I can think of all the places I can think of
I can think of walls walls walls
of walls behind which anything lurks
I can lock myself
in a closet full of clothes not my size
fill my pockets with dust
or take off my clothes and imagine
my skin is ice
and I will be standing here
where I am standing stepping on moments
that sharpen into hours like thorns
into my feet
the wound in my heart is deep
the pain does not answer to any name
where is the door
the window the door

*reprinted from a friend

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Within the Alamo

He drew a straight line
Across the dirt floor:
Within, it was death-still--
Without, was a roar
And a scream of the trumpets:
Within, was a Word--
And a line drawn clean
By the sweep of a sword.
No help was coming, now--
That hope was done.
No more the free air,
no more the sun
Bright on the blue leagues
Of buffalo-clover.
Travis drew a line
And they all crossed over.
Travis had a wife at home,
Travis was young;
Travis had a little boy
Whose tight arms clung,
But Travis saw a far light
Shining before:
Travis drew a sword-cut
Across the dirt floor.

And now the old fort stands
Placid and dim,
Blinking and dreaming
Of them and of him;
And now past the Plaza
Other tides roar,
since Travis wrote "Valor"
Across the sand floor,
And the guns they will rust,
And the captains will go,
And an end come at last
To the wars that we know,
But as long as there travails
A Spirit in man,
In a war that was ancient
Before Time began,
Here will the brave come
To read a high Word--
Cut clean in the dust
By the stroke of a sword.

poem by Karle Wilson Baker
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Amma: the loving Mother

She sits all alone by the same old divine door
Just longing for the days that are blessing for us
And a love that She knew seems not so far away
Like an Amma with divine blessing that'll come ashore

my Dear Mum…….

Somewhere in the east, where a lone bird cries
the quite of the wind in the wide open skies
Lord,
the emptiness around us, just vanish away…..
the grace of mother, when the stars were here

She walks all alone through smiling face
How She longs to us, and feel Her divine touch
And the world that She knew seems so far not away
Oh She wonders deep inside us, a looming touch,

Somewhere long ago in an old forgotten town
When the rain did fall as the sun went down
Oh the sound of the wind like music in the sky
Lord the lines on Her face say it all with a godly, sigh

So She sits all alone crown…….
With a tear in her eyes singing the same old song
Om Namasivaya……….
Oh her heart can bear all sorrows of you, the time fades away
Just a soul in the dark with no place to belong.

-------------------

poem by Thampi KEE
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The Eerie Little House

Wandering lonely through the forest track,
An eerie little house, I saw.
Its tiled roof and tall chimney,
Peered through the foliage of leaves.
Pacing down a dark ravine,
I found myself before a latched gate,
With a creaking sound, the latch gave way,
Letting me into a dilapidated house.

Its walls were painted grey and white.
The plaster on them bore cracks and marks.
It stood aloof on a small hillock.
The air around bore a strange scent.
Owls were heard hooting aloud,
Desolate it was with none to care,
Thorny shrubs grew all around,
And tall trees shut it out from view.

Dark and dreary it stood remote,
And I sensed it to be a haunted house.
Peeping down through its splintered door,
I got a glimpse of the dingy rooms,
Old frames decked the walls,
Shield and armour, near winding stairs,
Sultry the air, trapped inside,
The floors covered with grimy dust,
Shadows moved like snakes curling,
And giant bats flew about my head,
Cobwebs hung from the chequered roof,
And strange sounds began renting the air.

I felt a tremor within my brain,
Sparks of fear darted through my vein,
Behind me, I heard a rattling sound.
Turning around, I found the phantom of a man!
Blood curdled within my veins,
My heart ticked off in drumming beats,
My limbs, I could hardly move.
I grimly sensed ‘the Thing' upon me,
It tightened its grip around my neck,
Its sharp claws went deep into my throat.

Ohhh! I screamed a terrible scream,
And found myself lying below my cot! !

poem by Valsa George
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The House of Clay

THERE was a house, a house of clay,
Wherein the inmate sat all day,
Merry and poor;
For Hope sat with her, heart to heart,
Fond and kind, fond and kind,
Vowing he never would depart, --
Till all at once he changed his mind:
"Sweetheart, good by!" He slipped away
And shut the door.
But Love came past, and, looking in,
With smile that pierced like sunbeam thin
Through wall, roof, floor,
Stood in the midst of that poor room,
Grand and fair, grand and fair,
Making a glory out of gloom: --
Till at the window mocked cruel Care:
Love sighed; "All lose, and nothing win?" --
He shut the door.
Then o'er the close-barred house of clay
Kind clematis and woodbine gay
Crept more and more;
And bees hummed merrily outside,
Loud and strong, loud and strong,
The inner silentness to hide,
The patient silence all day long;
Till evening touched with finger gray
The bolted door.
Most like, the next step passing by
Will be the Angel's, whose calm eye
Marks rich, marks poor:
Who, fearing not, at any gate
Stands and calls, stands and calls;
At which the inmate opens straight, --
Whom, ere the crumbling clay-house falls,
He takes in kind arms silently,
And shuts the door.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Rhythm Of The Heat

Looking out the window
I see the red dust clear
High up on the red rock
Stands the shadow with the spear
The land here is strong
Strong beneath my feet
It feeds on the blood
It feeds on the heat
The rhythm is below me
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm is around me
The rhythm has control
The rhythm is inside me
The rhythm has my soul
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm of the heat
The rhythm of the heat
Drawn across the plainland
To the place that is higher
Drawn into the circle
That dances round the fire
We spit into out hands
And breathe across the palms
Raising them up high
Help open to the sun
Self-conscious, uncertain
Im showered with the dust
The spirit enter into me
And I submit to trust
Smash the radio
No outside voices here
Smash the watch
Cannot tear the day to shreds
Smash the camera
Cannot steal away the spirits
The rhythm is around me
The rhythm has control
The rhythm is inside me
The rhythm has my soul

song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Star of Bethlehem

‘Will you come again? ’
I asked you that evening
Your steps moved silently
Towards the door
The setting sun by then
Stealthily entered through
The door ajar
All set to grab you
The floor under my feet
Felt damp
Dusk, gathering its shadows

The question silently repeated
As silently as the stars that
Revealed themselves
On the fading sky

You turned your head
Standing one step
Outside the door
Your eyes twinkled
As those stars

Hope hoisted
A star-like flag…

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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