Age
An animal face in the brown green
Glows shyly to me, the bushes smolder.
Very far away an old fountain sings
With children's voices. I listen there.
The wild jackdaws mock me
And all around the birches veil themselves.
I stand silent before a weed fire
And softly pictures paint themselves on it,
An ancient fairytale of love on golden ground.
The clouds spread their silence on the hill.
From the ghostly pond-mirror
Fruits beckon, shining and heavy.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Related quotes
Psalm
Stillness; as if blind people sank down by autumnal wall,
Listening with rotten temples to the flight of the ravens;
Golden stillness of autumn, the countenance of the father in the flickering sun
At evening the old village decays in the peace of brown oaks,
The red hammering of the smithy, a pounding heart.
Stillness; in slow hands the maid hides the hyacinthine forehead
Under fluttering sunflowers. Fear and silence
Of extinguishing eyes fulfills the dusking room, the halting steps
Of old women, the escape of the purple mouth which slowly expires in the darkness.
Taciturn evening in vine. From the low rafters
A nocturnal moth fell, nymph buried into bluish sleep.
In the courtyard the farm boy slaughters a lamb, the sweet smell of the blood
Clouds our foreheads, the dark coolness of the fountain.
The gloom of dying asters regrets, golden voices in the wind.
When it becomes night you look at me from moldered eyes,
In blue stillness your cheeks decayed to dust.
So quietly a weed's fire expires, the black hamlet in the ground falls silent
As if the cross climbed down the blue hill of Calvary,
The silent earth ejected its dead.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Luminous Hour
Far on the hill flute-sounds.
Fauns lurk in the marshes,
Where sluggishly the slender nymphs
Rest hidden in reed and seaweed.
In the pond's mirror-glass
Golden butterflies ecstacize,
Quietly an animal with two backs
Moves in the velvety grass.
Sobbing in the birch grove
Orpheus breathes tender love-babble,
Softly and jokingly the nightingales
Join in his song.
Phoebus a flame glows
Still on Aphrodite's mouth,
And drizzled from ambergris scent -
The hour reddens darkly.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Australianisation
Sounds of gravel under heavy tires
Teasing the silence of little house in the
Bushes and surrounding of wild flowers
Open my exotic fear
Someone behind those bushes has captured
My reviving heart
Warialda here I come
Tell me if the Kangaroos and Koalas
Are in love with you too
Summer in December
Would deliver
Me to you
Cockatoo would say
‘I love you too’
Forget about others
I don’t give a damn
Say you love me
Say ‘I do’
Together we storm
The desert highway
Of New South Wales
Right to Grafton
The place we would be
Pictures of Great Barrier Reef
Silky beaches of Gold Coast
Are the sketches
We would paint
On our hearts
Colorful as the strokes
Of Michaelangelo
Your tender age
Is the barrier?
Love is blind they say
The bush lands
The wild flowers
And the girl
Named Trystal
You’re the crystal
In me
Growing
And glowing
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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Meet Me in the Green Glen
Love, meet me in the green glen,
Beside the tall elm-tree,
Where the sweetbriar smells so sweet agen;
There come with me.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me at the sunset
Down in the green glen,
Where we've often met
By hawthorn-tree and foxes' den,
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me in the green glen,
By sweetbriar bushes there;
Meet me by your own sen,
Where the wild thyme blossoms fair.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me by the sweetbriar,
By the mole-hill swelling there;
When the west glows like a fire
God's crimson bed is there.
Meet me in the green glen.
poem by John Clare
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Colorful Autumn
The fountain sings, the clouds stand
In clear blueness, white, delicate;
Silent people wander thoughtfully
Down there in the evening-blue garden.
The ancestors' marble has turned grey.
A line of birds streaks into the distance
A faun with dead eyes gazes
On shadows that glide into darkness.
Leaves fall red from the old tree,
Rotate inside through the open window.
The room glows in dark fires,
In it shadows, like ghosts.
Opal smoke weaves over the grass,
A cloud of wilted, bleached scents,
In the fountain the sickle moon shines
Like a green glass in freezing air.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Bernadette
Waves of moonlight flow
She is the giving sea
I am the land of loneliness
She walks the whispering shore
She prays by the silent dawn
We connect like tropic waters
Parrots along the river
Vines with mystic leaves
Ancient waves of wholeness
Ripe fruit sings in the wind
Your fire glows in forest roses
Dreams sigh with golden flesh
Your words bring the tide
Ancient shells of Aphrodite
Women as strong as stars
Necklace of regal desire
Your wet beasts haunt me
Bernadette glows in the moonlight
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Dream of an Afternoon
Be silent! the ancestor arrives;
And his step dusks away again.
Shadows float up and down -
Birches hanging in the window.
And on the old vine-hill
The round dance of fauns romps anew,
And the slender nymphs rise
Quietly from the fountain-mirror.
Hear! A far thunderstorm threatens.
Incense steams from dark cresses,
Moths celebrate silent masses
Before decayed flower trellises.
poem by Georg Trakl
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The Holy Hour
I kneel and wait in silence
As one by one the people slip away
Into the night
The quiet and empty bodies
Kiss the ground before they pray
Kiss the ground
And slip away
I sit and listen dreamlessly
A promise of salvation makes me stay
Then look at your face
And feel my heart pushed in
As all around the children play
The games they tired of yesterday
They play
They play
I stand and hear my voice
Cry out
A wordless scream at ancient power
It breaks against stone
I softly leave you crying
I cannot hold what you devour
The sacrifice of penance
In the holy hour
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Village Pond
Here, there, women, children and men
Talk animatedly, little water waves disrupted by scooping
Water vessels, the faded green water lilies, shoved aside.
Cows moo, the goats bleat,
School children scramble for a spill,
The edges, slippery and muddy, non of a bother.
The gold, liquid of life, simmers under the hot sun,
Though, shrinking in size, by every draw,
The earth is bare, the pond tags their hope.
Here in the pond, they see, sigh and fall
The feminine and masculine bodies attract
The gossip, filters, confirmed, a new life sees dawn.
Wild tree fruits, like monsters surround the village pond
I'm told the fruits, purify the village pond
Lives ruled, made to see day, Honor to the village pond.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Paper In Fire
She had a dream
And boy it was a good one
So she chased after her dream
With much desire
But when she get too close
To her expectations
Well the dream burned up
Like paper in fire
Chorus:
Paper in fire
Stinkin up the ashtrays
Paper in fire
Smokin up the alleyways
Whos to say the way
A man should spend his days
Do you let them smolder
Like paper in fire
He wanted love
With no involvement
So he chased the wind
Thats all his silly life required
And the days of vanity
Went on forever
And he saw his days burn up
Like paper in fire
Chorus:
Paper in fire
Stinkin up the ashtrays
Paper in fire
Smokin up the alleyways
Whos to say the way
A man should spend his days
Do you let them smolder
Like paper in fire
Theres a good life
Right across the green fields
And each generation
Stares at it from afar
But we keep no check
On our appetites
So the green fields turn to brown
Like paper in fire
Chorus:
Paper in fire
Stinkin up the ashtrays
Paper in fire
Smokin up the alleyways
Whos to say the way
A man should spend his days
Do you let them smolder
Like paper in fire
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wamberal
Just a shell, to which the seaweed glittering yet with greenness clings,
Like the song that once I loved so, softly of the old time sings -
Softly of the old time speaketh - bringing ever back to me
Sights of far-off lordly forelands - glimpses of the sounding sea!
Now the cliffs are all before me - now, indeed, do I behold
Shining growths on wild wet hillheads, quiet pools of green and gold.
And, across the gleaming beaches, lo! the mighty flow and fall
Of the great ingathering waters thundering under Wamberal!
Back there are the pondering mountains; there the dim, dumb ranges loom -
Ghostly shapes in dead grey vapour - half-seen peaks august with gloom.
There the voice of troubled torrents, hidden in unfathomed deeps,
Known to moss and faint green sunlight, wanders down the oozy steeps.
There the lake of many runnels nestles in a windless wild
Far amongst thick-folded forests, like a radiant human child.
And beyond surf-smitten uplands - high above the highest spur -
Lo! the clouds like tents of tempest on the crags of Kincumber!
Wamberal, the home of echoes! Hard against a streaming strand,
Sits the hill of blind black caverns, at the limits of the land.
Here the haughty water marches - here the flights of straitened sea
Make a noise like that of trumpets, breaking wide across the lea!
But behold, in yonder crescent that a ring of island locks
Are the gold and emerald cisterns shining moonlike in the rocks!
Clear, bright cisterns, zoned by mosses, where the faint wet blossoms dwell
With the leaf of many colours - down beside the starry shell.
Friend of mine beyond the mountains, here and here the perished days
Come like sad reproachful phantoms, in the deep grey evening haze -
Come like ghosts, and sit beside me when the noise of day is still,
And the rain is on the window, and the wind is on the hill.
Then they linger, but they speak not, while my memory roams and roams
Over scenes by death made sacred - other lands and other homes!
Places sanctified by sorrow - sweetened by the face of yore -
Face that you and I may look on (friend and brother) nevermore!
Seasons come with tender solace - time lacks neither light nor rest;
But the old thoughts were such ~dear~ ones, and the old days seem the best.
And to those who've loved and suffered, every pulse of wind or rain -
Every song with sadness in it, brings the peopled Past again.
Therefore, just this shell yet dripping, with this weed of green and grey,
Sets me thinking - sets me dreaming of the places far away;
Dreaming of the golden rockpools - of the foreland and the fall;
And the home behind the mountains looming over Wamberal.
poem by Henry Kendall
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It Is A Spring Afternoon
Everything here is yellow and green.
Listen to its throat, its earthskin,
the bone dry voices of the peepers
as they throb like advertisements.
The small animals of the woods
are carrying their deathmasks
into a narrow winter cave.
The scarecrow has plucked out
his two eyes like diamonds
and walked into the village.
The general and the postman
have taken off their packs.
This has all happened before
but nothing here is obsolete.
Everything here is possible.
Because of this
perhaps a young girl has laid down
her winter clothes and has casually
placed herself upon a tree limb
that hangs over a pool in the river.
She has been poured out onto the limb,
low above the houses of the fishes
as they swim in and out of her reflection
and up and down the stairs of her legs.
Her body carries clouds all the way home.
She is overlooking her watery face
in the river where blind men
come to bathe at midday.
Because of this
the ground, that winter nightmare,
has cured its sores and burst
with green birds and vitamins.
Because of this
the trees turn in their trenches
and hold up little rain cups
by their slender fingers.
Because of this
a woman stands by her stove
singing and cooking flowers.
Everything here is yellow and green.
Surely spring will allow
a girl without a stitch on
to turn softly in her sunlight
and not be afraid of her bed.
She has already counted seven
blossoms in her green green mirror.
Two rivers combine beneath her.
The face of the child wrinkles.
in the water and is gone forever.
The woman is all that can be seen
in her animal loveliness.
Her cherished and obstinate skin
lies deeply under the watery tree.
Everything is altogether possible
and the blind men can also see.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Elegy Before Death
There will be rose and rhododendron
When you are dead and under ground;
Still will be heard from white syringas
Heavy with bees, a sunny sound;
Still will the tamaracks be raining
After the rain has ceased, and still
Will there be robins in the stubble,
Brown sheep upon the warm green hill.
Spring will not ail nor autumn falter;
Nothing will know that you are gone,
Saving alone some sullen plough-land
None but yourself sets foot upon;
Saving the may-weed and the pig-weed
Nothing will know that you are dead,—
These, and perhaps a useless wagon
Standing beside some tumbled shed.
Oh, there will pass with your great passing
Little of beauty not your own,—
Only the light from common water,
Only the grace from simple stone!
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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From Spring Days to Winter (For Music)
In the glad springtime when leaves were green,
O merrily the throstle sings!
I sought, amid the tangled sheen,
Love whom mine eyes had never seen,
O the glad dove has golden wings!
Between the blossoms red and white,
O merrily the throstle sings!
My love first came into my sight,
O perfect vision of delight,
O the glad dove has golden wings!
The yellow apples glowed like fire,
O merrily the throstle sings!
O Love too great for lip or lyre,
Blown rose of love and of desire,
O the glad dove has golden wings!
But now with snow the tree is grey,
Ah, sadly now the throstle sings!
My love is dead: ah! well-a-day,
See at her silent feet I lay
A dove with broken wings!
Ah, Love! ah, Love! that thou wert slain -
Fond Dove, fond Dove return again!
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Sunny Afternoon
A branch rocks me in the deep blue.
In the frolicking, autumnal leaf-tangle
Moths flicker, intoxicated and crazy.
Ax blows resound in the floodplain.
My mouth bites into red berries
And light and shadows sway in the foliage.
For hours golden dust falls
Crackling in the brown ground.
The thrush laughs from the bushes
And frolicking and loudly the autumnal leaf-tangle
Strikes together above me -
Fruits detach bright and heavy.
poem by Georg Trakl
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The Wake Of The Medusa
The guests are stood in silence
They stare and drink their wine
On the wall the canvas hangs
Frozen there in time
They marvel at the beauty
The horror and despair
At the wake of the medusa
No one shed a tear
Sit my friends and listen
Put your glasses down
Sit my friends and listen
To the voices of the drowned
In the moonlights ghostly glow
I waken in a dream
Once more upon that raft I stand
Upon a raging sea
In my ears the moans and screams
Of the dying ring
Somewhere in the darkness
The siren softly sings
Out there in the waves she stands
And smiling there she calls
As the lightning cracks the sky
The wind begins to howl
The architects of our doom
Around their tables sit
And in their thrones of power
Condemn those theyve cast adrift
Echoes down the city street
Their harpies laughter rings
Waiting for the curtain call
Oblivious in the wings
The casket is empty
Abandon ye all hope
They ran off with the money
And left us with the rope
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Silent River Part2
Sunday is a holiday
I'do again
I'makes again
The memories of the silent river
I'come again
To remember
I'have ever love and miss
Here in the silent river, silent so silence
The memories of the silent river
I'felt his love again in this river
I'felt his longing again in this river
I'felt his kindly again in this river
And i'see again his softly face in the water
In this silent river, silent so silence
The silent river
Makes me remember
I'miss again
the silent river
Makes me to get so many things
Sitting nearby silent river
Come to me the lonely
Come to me the long yearning
Come to me the tears
Come to me the rain
The silent river keep my memories good
In the silent river, silent so silence
Save me now, from all the dejected
To spin around all back
This silence is geeting on my nerves
Were i'am so afraid
You were to be lost in thought
And all was lost to me
Here in the silent river, silent so silence
Ode to Lake District
'Ode to Lake District' by Tan Mei Yin
Only then do I know
what Beauty is
when you spread out
like cool green silk,
draping over the humble
earth upon which I
stood
I can hear you
the songs that
you have sung me to
sleep,
the birds are your
voices,
the water your humming
The flowers, children of yours
welcome me,
sways and dances in your arms
Mirror-like lakes
witness your magnificence
under the blazing sky,
the grace of God shining
on a glorious you.
In yourself, a paradise,
that Man for all his sins,
dreamt of.
poem by by unknown author
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Animal
I look out over this dusty ridge ~~ I look around me and wonder why I am alone all the time ~~ Even though I know I am not ~~ Wondering why I feel this way ~~ I feel as if a animal is tearing me apart on the inside ~~ I want to say something about the feeling of claws ripping though my chest ~~ I feel the wind pick up ~~ I notice the clouds ~~ I want the hurt in my chest to stop ~~ I look down into the valley of this place ~~ Knowing I am so far up, making the trees look like ants ~~ It starts to rain, as it rains I start to cry ~~ All I want to know is what happened ~~ Why won’t you let me know you after all this ~~I am soaked to the bone ~~ It is a cool rain ~~ The animal is still clawing me apart on the inside ~~ I tell myself that I can do something about it ~~ The more I start to realize what I can do to fix this ~~ The more the hurt stops, the animal stops for now ~~ My knee’s fall to the ground with a heavy thud ~~ The animal starts to pace ~~ I see the mixture of rain and mud clouds from it ~~ Then as more happens, as I try to fix it ~~ All it does is make the animal return ~~ The memories return ~~ My heart starts racing ~~ The animal is more fierce then before ~~ The hurt returns, along with all the heart ache ~~ The rest of my body grows weak as it start’s clawing in my chest ~~ My body falls the rest of the way to the ground with another heavy thud ~~More mud and dust clouds raise up ~~ The animal claws are like razors in my chest ~~ My face is now laying upon the mixture of mud and dust ~~ My limbs go numb ~~ I can hear the animal’s roaring in my ears ~~ I can feel my eyes slip shut ~~ I can’t see anything but black ~~ I know it won’t be long before I let the animal have it’s way ~~ All I wanted to do is know you ~~ I can feel the animal starting at my heart ~~ The animal starts to clam as I take my last breath of life ~~ Then I know is it all over, and I’m gone ~~ There is finally peace ~~
poem by Marla Smith
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The thick golden stream of honey took so long
1
The thick golden stream of honey took so long
To pour, our host had time to say:
'Here in the dismal Taurides, where fate has brought us,
We don't get bored at all' -- and she looked over her shoulder.
2
The services of Bacchus everywhere, as if on earth
Were only guards and dogs. You go along, you notice no one --
Like heavy barrels, the peaceful days roll by:
Far off. Voices in a hut: you cannot understand, nor reply.
3
After tea, we went out in the huge brown garden,
The dark blinds were lowered like eyelashes.
Past white columns, we went to look at the grapes,
Where the drowsy mountains are glazed with airy glass.
4
I said: the vines live like an ancient battle
Where curly-headed horsemen fight in twisted order.
The science of Hellas in the stony Tauride -- and here
There are the noble, rusty rows of golden acres.
5
Silence stands in the room white as a spinning wheel,
From the cellar, smells of paint, vinegar, fresh wine.
Remember, in the Greek house: the woman loved by everyone --
Not Helen -- another -- how long she embroidered?
6
Golden fleece, where are you, golden fleece?
The sea's heavy waves roared the whole way.
Abandoning the ship, its canvas worn out on the seas,
Odysseus returned, full of space and time.
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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