A Spring Evening
Come evening, friend, who surrounds my forehead with darkness
Gliding on paths through soft-green sowing.
Also willows beckon solemnly and calmly;
A beloved voice whispers in the branches.
The tranquil wind floats beautiful things here from somewhere,
Scent of daffodils which silverly touches you.
In the hazel bush the blackbird makes music -
A shepherd's song gives answer from the firs.
How long the small house has disappeared
Where now a birch copse gushes;
The pond bears a lonely constellation -
And shadows rounding silently in the goldenness!
And time is so miraculous,
That one looks for angels in human glances
Which delight in innocent play.
Yes! Time is so miraculous.
poem by Georg Trakl
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After Drought
Upon the tranquil evening suddenly falls
The long-awaited passion of the rain,
A gushing silver torrent, spilling
On spear-like orchard boughs, where calls
A blackbird, over and over again,
Its joyous liquid note, filling
The cracked dry earth with that miraculous wine,
And making green the moss on flinty walls
And easing me of this constricting pain:
The heart's dry living death that knows the sign,
This leaping up of long lain dormant things-
Rain, splendid rain, how I can bless you now!
The moon rides up, a new and shining shilling,
While poised upon the silver-shining bough
The blackbird, out of timeless joy, still sings.
poem by Douglas Gibson
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Hour of Grief
Blackish the step follows the gleaming moon
In the autumnal garden,
The immense night sinks by the freezing wall.
O, the thorny hour of grief.
Silverly the candlestick of the lonely one flickers in the dusking room,
Dying away, when that one thinks a darkness
And bends the stony head over the perishable,
Drunk from wine and nightly harmonies.
The ear always follows
The soft lament of the blackbird in the hazel bushes.
Dark rosary hour. Who are you
Lonesome flute,
Forehead, bent over sinister times freezing.
poem by Georg Trakl
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To Angela
1
A lonely destiny in abandoned rooms
A soft insanity gropes on wallpapers.
Beds of geraniums flow by windows,
Daffodils also and more chaste in wasting away
As alabaster which gleams in the garden.
In blue veils India's mornings smile.
Their sweet incense scares away the stranger's worries,
Sleepless night by the pond because of Angela.
His pain rests hidden in an empty mask,
Thoughts which steal away blackly in the darkness.
The thrushes laugh all around from soft throats.
2
The fruits which round red in branches,-
Angela's lips which show her sweetness,
Like nymphs who bend over springs
In restful viewing for long hours,
The green-gold, long hours of the afternoon.
However, sometimes the spirit returns to fight and game.
In golden clouds a battle melee surges
And a hyacinth-like thing floats from mazy cresses.
A demon ponders thunderstorms in the sultriness,
In the grave's shadow of sad cypresses.
Then the first lightning falls from black flues.
3
The June willows' whisper in the evening;
A rain resounds long in flute sounds.
How motionless the birds hang in the gray!
And here Angela's rest in the dim branches;
The poet is this beauty's priest.
His mouth is flowed around by dark coolness.
In the valley fog softy rests poured out.
By the edge of the forest and gloom's shadow
A golden thing floats flowing from his mouth
By the edge of the forest and gloom's shadow.
Night embraces his drunken languishing.
poem by Georg Trakl
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De Profundis
There is a stubble field on which a black rain falls.
There is a tree which, brown, stands lonely here.
There is a hissing wind which haunts deserted huts---
How sad this evening.
Past the village pond
The gentle orphan still gathers scanty ears of corn.
Golden and round her eyes are gazing in the dusk
And her lap awaits the heavenly bridegroom.
Returning home
Shepherds found the sweet body
Decayed in the bramble bush.
A shade I am remote from sombre hamlets.
The silence of God
I drank from the woodland well.
On my forehead cold metal forms.
Spiders look for my heart.
There is a light that fails in my mouth.
At night I found myself upon a heath,
Thick with garbage and the dust of stars.
In the hazel copse
Crystal angels have sounded once more.
Translated by Jurek Kirakowski
Anonymous submission.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Kaspar Hauser's Song
He truly loved the purple sun, descending from the hills,
The ways through the woods, the singing blackbird
And the joys of green.
Sombre was his dwelling in the shadows of the tree
And his face undefiled.
God, a tender flame, spoke to his heart:
Oh son of man!
Silently his step turned to the city in the evening;
A mysterious complaint fell from his lips:
“I shall become a horseman.”
But bush and beast did follow his ways
To the pale people’s house and garden at dusk,
And his murderer sought after him.
Spring and summer and – oh so beautiful – the fall
Of the righteous. His silent steps
Passed by the dark rooms of the dreamers.
At night he and his star dwelled alone.
He saw the snow fall on bare branches
And in the murky doorway the assassin’s shadow.
Silvern sank the unborne’s head.
poem by Georg Trakl
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We Can Make The Morning
(words & music by j. ramsey)
I just thought I heard a small voice crying
Looked again and saw that it was me
I feel like a little boy denying
That he fears the night cause he cant see
Then a larger thought said stop your crying
Dont be scared to search cause you may find
Fate holds out a candle for your footsteps
Time rolls back the shadows of your mind
Its a long, long lonely night
You can make the morning if you try
Its a long, long lonely night
Oh, we can make the morning if we try
Girl, we can make the morning you and i
Together, together, together
Loneliness is darkness first companion
Spend the night alone and faith may bend
Share it all and see how fear starts fading
Chase away the shadows with a friend
Dawns elusive light is just beginning
Now the day can push away the night
Dreams can make the sun feel much brighter
Hope creates a foothold for the light
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Girl, we can make the morning you and i, oh
Together
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Picture Poem #108 (From, This Is My Wasteland)
Shadows
in evening souls
light through
the door gliding
angels of sunset’s
soft wings embracing
the time dancing moments
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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In This Garden
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
The flowers and the grass
The stones and the water
The sculptures and all art
Sing a song
A song of beauty
A song of harmony
A song of hope
The wind whistles gently
Is it to the east?
Or is it to the west?
I don’t know and I don’t need to know
All is so beautiful
Hush…
Hush humanity
Hush…
I can feel the scent on y nostrils
The scent of the flowers
The sound of the water nearby welcoming
Peace
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With beautiful flowers
Where art lives
Hush
Play the music
Let the flowers live the music
Let the drums be heard
Let the music come to life
Play the music
Let it be heard here today
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With very beautiful flowers
Where art comes to life
poem by Jack Shaka
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Daydreaming in the Evening
Where one goes in the evening is not the angel's shadow
And beauty! grief and gentler forgetting alternate;
The stranger's hands grope coolness and cypresses
And his soul is taken by an astonished languishing.
The market is emptied of red fruits and garlands.
Harmoniously the church's blackish pageantry attunes
In a garden the tones of soft play sound,
Where tired ones find each other after the meal.
A carriage rushes, a spring very far away through green puddles.
There a childhood appears dreamlike and elapsed,
Angela's stars, enclosed devoutly to a mystical constellation,
And calmly the evening coolness rounds.
White poppy loosens the limbs of the lonely ponderer,
So that he views righteousness and God's deep joy.
From the garden his shadow strays here in white silk
And bends down over mournful waters.
Branches knocked whispering into the abandoned room
And a loving and small evening flowers' tremor.
Corn and golden vines gird the site of man,
A lunar shimmer, however, ponders after the dead.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Music Makes My Day
(john farrar)
Music makes my day
It warms an empty place when youre away
Music makes my day
Love you are my song
Your melodys so soft
Your love so strong
Love you are my song
And though good fortune seems a long time calling
The sadness creeps into my song
My pearly friend will gently soothe me
And sing along
Music makes my day
It seems my waiting hours just fly away
Music makes my day
If I lost my friend
His loving words no more
My song would end
If I lost my friend
And though good fortune seems a long time calling
The sadness creeps into my song
My pearly friend will gently soothe me
And sing along
Music makes my day
It warms an empty place when youre away
Music makes my day
You know it makes it
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Oscar
My little friend has gone away, To where God only knows, He might be off to yonder pond, To play where the cattail grows, He could be hunting in the wood, Tracking heavy scent, Pausing where a deer had stood, And marked the branches bent, Our paths will cross on `the other side`, Where we`ll rest by the old oak tree, And forget about the tears we cried, My little friend and me.
poem by James Mcqueen Williams
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(Forgiveness Poem/Story) A Miraculous Healing
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
It's as if the wounds were never even there.
How is that even possible?
I saw the stabbing.
He should have died.
But yet he's alive.
Somehow he did survive.
Some say it is a pact of lies.
But I know the truth.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
A story of the fortunate.
The luck of the Irish.
It was a just miss.
A little to the right.
A little to the left.
And he wouldn't exist.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
A bloody blade.
With thoughts of a accomplishment drinking down some expensive chardonnay.
If he only knew.
The secrets of the autumn dew.
The water drips of the truth.
But it will never be heard by those who aren't looking with their heart.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
Some souls can never be stolen.
No matter how much one tries.
Corruption within the eyes.
Some souls can never be awoken.
A noose yet waits to be tied.
With in a smoke of mirror images it hides.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
Such an awesome feeling.
To know he yet lives.
How can he ever forgive such actions?
Hate does bring some satisfaction.
If only for a moment of self gratification.
Destination unknown, but now you are alone.
Facing the truth of what your attempt really did.
Guilt bares no mercy on those who know it by its first name.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
Mercy me.
Gods to the infinity.
A miraculous healing.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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In the Evening
A blue brook, path and evening along decayed huts.
Behind dark shrubbery children play with blue and red balls;
Some swap the forehead and the hands rot in the brown foliage.
In bony stillness the heart of the lonely one shines,
A small boat rocks on blackish waters.
Through dark woods hair and laughter of brown maids flutters.
The shadows of the old people cross the flight of a small bird;
Mystery of blue flowers on their temples.
Others sway on black benches in the evening wind.
Golden sighs quietly expire in the bleak branches
Of the chestnut; a sound of dark cymbals of summer,
When the strangeress appears on the decayed staircase.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Martha
"Once...Once upon a time..."
Over and over again,
Martha would tell us her stories,
In the hazel glen.
Hers were those clear gray eyes
You watch, and the story seems
Told by their beautifulness
Tranquil as dreams.
She'd sit with her two slim hands
Clasped round her bended knees;
While we on our elbows lolled,
And stared at ease.
Her voice and her narrow chin,
Her grave small lovely head,
Seemed half the meaning
Of the words she said.
"Once...Once upon a time..."
Like a dream you dream in the night,
Fairies and gnomes stole out
In the leaf-green light.
And her beauty far away
Would fade, as her voice ran on,
Till hazel and summer sun
And all were gone:--
All fordone and forgot;
And like clouds in the height of the sky,
Our hearts stood still in the hush
Of an age gone by.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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One Small Step
So many people
Need to go so many miles
How do we move them
To where the answer lies
Reach out to the ocean
Beyond the stars that shine
Weve got to take one small step in time
If we are the dreamers
Then the world must be the dream
Driven to question
All the things weve never seen
We search the horizon
Looking for a sign
Weve got to take one small step in time
One step beyond
All our hopes and our passion
There is the light of the universe flashin
All that it takes is one leap of faith
One small step, (one small step)
One small step in time
Deep in the darkness
(deep in the blackness)
Theres a wind that never dies
(theres a wind that never dies)
Out in the vastness
(out in the vastness)
Theres a road across the sky
(a road across the sky)
Out there is the reason
That we were meant to find
Weve got to take one small step in time
Weve got to take one small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Friend
Dear friend,
Today I turn the pages of our memories
Those laughter and tears
That we have shared for more many years
Those secrets that we hide
Underneath the cherry tree
These photographs I held, and
I used to smile every time I looked at them
Dear friend,
I've been to the place were we first met
It’s the same old, and new, nothing has changed
Like an old book with precious stories
Every page has a wonderful thing to say
Like a laughter that remains on air
They’re sounds music in my ear
A symphony of our yesterday
Dear friend,
I plow our memories that blanket by autumn leaves
On this mango tree
And its branches look so droopy
But there’s a last leaf-standing firm on a trunk
That forgotten, as the time goes by
Like this friendship buried from the shadow of past
Thou I know it will never last
Dear friend,
Remember the summer skies
Those butterflies that landed in our hands
The kites that we ever flew
In these green fields of our childhood memory
We were children once before
When the trees were tall and we were small
And now we are tall and the trees fall
Dear friend,
Autumn was come
And the leaves started to fall
I can’t count the hours, how long I've stood here
Waiting for your presence
That you have promised you will come
The wind whistle like your soft voice
I feel the heavenly touch on my face
Dear friend,
You never told me that you are leaving
Together with the clouds that passed by
Together with the angels that flew into the sky
Like the waters that flow freely back to the sea
Like a wind that danced on its own
But your soul still live inside of me
You will always be my special memory
Dear friend,
I wrote you a letter sealed with my tears
Saying take care, I miss our funny deeds
Id rather be sad
And my heart is in grief
But somehow I’ll be happy then
That once in my life I had you as my friend
Dear friend, you will always be my best friend
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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28 Wind Poems
Wind chimes play not on time... but when the Spirit moves.
The South Wind has for the evening donned jasmine scent*
*
The wind weaves many white caps so quickly for the blue sea
*
Mother Wind moves the water rocker
to and fro on the stormy sound's deeps. On the boatcradle by lapping
waves she is softly lulled to sleep.
*
Will, your winded wings will win.
*
Clouds' whitewaterweave covered the sky.. and yet
everywhere there was a patch of blue.. it was a different
hue... here aqua.. there cerulean... or teal or indigo
*
The east wind blowing westward marries the falling rain
turning her attention elsewhere
*
Crosswinds quilt the Connecticut River ever so slightly
but stil the waters flow to the sea.
*
As gauzy veils lie on the shoulders of the slender, as avalanche
clouds pour through tall firs, as morning mist
rolls through ship masts, do monsoon clouds flow
over the peaks of the Himalayas
*
Froggie croaks on his rock dais encircled by dizzy daisies
throughout summer days. The wind makes them wave in applause.
*
The wind has blown away the cloud cover..
and he pond's reflection from grey to blue clover
*
Spirit Wind when talking with wind chimes
strikes not on the hour nor at the 'right' time
================================= ===
poem by Saiom Shriver
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Musical Whispers
Music is soft,
music floats aloft.
Then it whispers in my ear,
that I should come near,
and learn the wonders of the world.
My mind twirled!
Oh the sounds!
The music flowed with ups and downs!
Now as I turn around,
the music frowns.
I must go home but I'll be back to play another day.
poem by Wre Rabaca
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Demons And Angels
He swore it was over and all in his past
A few hours later his hand's 'round a glass
A voice on the left says,
"There's peace in the wine"
From the right a voice whispers,
"Don't do it this time"
When he looks for the answer
down in his heart
Demons and angels tear him apart
She calls his name softly
as she lies in their bed
Listens for footsteps and prays for the best
She knows that he loves her
knows that he tries
But if he comes home drinking
she'll leave him tonight
She waits for the answer and
cries in the dark
while demons and angels tear him apart
For so long they've fought for his soul
The whisky and the woman at home
And they all know he must choose
the winner alone
There's not much that's sweeter
than a new life begun
Ain't much that's sadder
than a promise undone
He stares at the bottle,
longs for her arms
while demons and angels tear him apart
When he looks for the answer down in his heart
there's demons and angels that tear him apart
song performed by by Diamond Rio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Lost Youth
Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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