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From the Still Days

So ghostly are these late days

Just like the look of sick people, sent here

In the light. However, the night shades the muted lament

Of their eyes, toward which they already turn.

They probably smile and recall their celebrations,

How one is moved after songs, half forgotten,

And searches words for a sad gesture,

Which already grows pale in silence unmeasured.

So the sun still plays around ill flowers

And lets them shiver in the thin, clear airs

With a death-cool delight.

The red forests whisper and darken,

And more death-nightly the woodpeckers' hammering echoes

Just like a reverberation from airless crypts.

poem by Georg Trakl
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The Echoes of Silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
narrow streets of cobble stone,
'Neath tha halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp,
When my eyes stabbed by the flash of neon light
that split the night and touched
The Echoes of Silence.

And in the naked light I saw
ten thousand people maybe more
People talking without speaking,
people hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
and no one dares to disturb
The Echoes of Silence.

'Fools! ' said I, 'You do not know
silence like a cancer grows
'Hear my words that I might teach you
take my arm that I might reach you.'
But my words like silent raindrops fell
and echoed in the wells of silence,
And people bowed and prayed
to the neon gods they made
And the signs flash out its warning
in the words that it was forming
And the signs said, 'The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
and the tenement halls' and whispered...
The Echoes of Silence.

poem by InNer WhisPers
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Arabia

Far are the shades of Arabia,
Where the Princes ride at noon,
'Mid the verdurous vales and thickets,
Under the ghost of the moon;
And so dark is that vaulted purple
Flowers in the forest rise
And toss into blossom 'gainst the phantom stars
Pale in the noonday skies.

Sweet is the music of Arabia
In my heart, when out of dreams
I still in the thin clear mirk of dawn
Descry her gliding streams;
Hear her strange lutes on the green banks
Ring loud with the grief and delight
Of the dim-silked, dark-haired Musicians
In the brooding silence of night.

They haunt me -- her lutes and her forests;
No beauty on earth I see
But shadowed with that dream recalls
Her loveliness to me:
Still eyes look coldly upon me,
Cold voices whisper and say --
'He is crazed with the spell of far Arabia,
They have stolen his wits away.'

poem by Walter de la Mare
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Death Of Samantha

Two, one, two, three, four.
People say i'm cool,
Ya', i'm a cool, chick baby.
Ev'ry day i thank god
That i'm such a cool, chick baby.
When i'm on the phone, i thank god,
My voice sounds smooth and clear without a trace of tear.
When i'm at work, i thank god,
I still have that smile ma used to say lit her day.
But something inside me, something inside me died that day.
People say i'm cool,
Ya', i'm a cool, chick baby.
Ev'ry day i thank god
That i'm such a cool, chick baby.
When i'm with people, i thank god,
I can talk hip when i'm crying inside.
When i'm with friends, i thank god,
I can light a cigarette when i'm choking inside.
People say i'm cool,
Ya', i'm a cool, chick baby.
Ev'ry day i thank god
That i'm such a cool, chick baby.
A friend lent me shades
So i could hide my eyes that day.
Was a snowy day,
The shades have seen a lot of things i didn't want to know myself.
Was like an accident, part of growing up,
People tell me.
But something inside me, something inside me died that day.
What do you do-oo? what can you do?
What do you do-oo? what can you do?
The world suddenly looks a strange place,
People seem talking in foreign words.
And something inside me, something inside me died that day.
What do you do-oo? what can you do?
What do you do-oo? what can you do?

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Of Samantha

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sound Of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence.
"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls."
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence.

song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Death

(Yet another early work - one month shy of 17)

When death is coming up your walk,
And you're unaware of his escence,
You invite him in, and have a talk
Which reeks of omniprescence

When death is sitting in your home
And you're enchanted by his smile
He's been to places like Paris and Rome,
You ask him to stay awhile

When death is leaning very near,
And your house is all aglow,
He whispers something in your ear,
You know it's time to go

When death is touching you all around
And he plays within your head,
You cannot see, nor hear a sound,
You know you'll soon be dead

When death becomes a part of you,
In the still of night
There is nothing you can do,
Until you see the light

When death takes you to the place
Where you'll see the light,
You will not find a familiar face,
But you'll be too tired to fight

When death begins to say good bye
And says you're on your own
You watch the light, and then you sigh -
You see how bright it's grown

When death gets up, and walks through the light
(Which feels like half-melted ice)
You follow him through to discover your plight
And find you're in paradise

poem by Michael Troy Buffo
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Dead Man's Morrice

There came a crowder to the Mermaid Inn,
One dark May night,
Fiddling a tune that quelled our motley din,
With quaint delight,
It haunts me yet, as old lost airs will do,
A phantom strain:
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

In that old wood, where ghosts of lovers walk,
At fall of day,
Gleaning such fragments of their ancient talk
As poor ghosts may,
From leaves that brushed their faces, wet with dew,
Or tears, or rain,...
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

Have we not seen them--pale forgotten shades
That do return,
Groping for those dim paths, those fragrant glades,
Those nooks of fern,
Only to find that, of the may they knew,
No wraiths remain;
_Yet they still look, as I should look for you,
And look in vain._

They see those happier ghosts that waned away--
Whither, who knows?--
Ghosts that come back with music and the may,
And Spring's first rose,
Lover and lass, to sing the old burden through,
Stave and refrain:
_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

So, after death, if in that starless deep,
I lose your eyes,
I'll haunt familiar places. I'll not keep
Tryst in the skies.
I'll haunt the whispering elms that found us true,
The old grass-grown lane.
_Look for me there, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

There, as of old, under the dreaming moon,
A phantom throng
Floats through the fern, to a ghostly morrice tune,
A thin sweet song,
Hands link with hands, eyes drown in eyes anew,
Lips meet again....
_Look for me, once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain._

poem by Alfred Noyes
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Life's Turn

How can death be near
Does it whisper still
All I hear is the lark singing

How can death be real
Safe within your light
How can death bring back the night

How can death here
Knocking at the door
He should know
I don’t live here anymore

Oh death be gone!
I’ve known you well
Tonight it’s life’s turn

poem by Sonya Florentino
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Moved Earth

In unthinkable death how do you carry
yourself?
An intimate dialogue with death
Fearless, undaunted.
I admire your grit.

One thin blade, one silken noose
but you want to face the bullet
straight in your heart.
The death should come instantly, because you
want to be witness, your head falling with
grace.

Why did you chase death
whistling on the beach,
taunting the eccentric sky
like muted revenge.

The grave will be too small for you
Your legs sticking out.
Lime burning your eyes.
Turning back the grave diggers may
not like to face your moved earth!

poem by Satish Verma
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It's Death Again

It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'

The Reign of Death

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Disingenuousness

Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.

Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:

Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!

Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.

The March of Death

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sounds Of Silence

=======================================
Simon & Garfunkel - The Sound of Silence
=======================================
(3:06)
P. Simon, 1964
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turn my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
"Fools," said I, "you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sound of silence

song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature Theater

Now I step through the slender gate!
Promiscuous step in the avenues
Drifts away and quiet waft of words
From people, passersby.

I stand before a green stage!
Begin, begin again, you play
Of lost days, without crime and punishment,
Ghostly only, strange and cool!

To the melody of the early days
I see myself going up there again,
A child whose quiet, forgotten lament
I see weeping, strange to my understanding.

You wondering face turned to the evening,
Was I once this, that now makes me weep,
Like your still unfinished gestures
That point to the night mutely and shuddering.

poem by Georg Trakl
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A Fresh Endeavour

So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.

I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death, Anger, Silence.

For years I've been trying to evade it
And I thought I'd finally succseeded
But the blackness just keeps crawling in
deadly, angry, silent.

The road that I walk down is long
And I'm not really sure where it goes
But I keep walking, trying to hide
From the death, anger and silence

It starts out as a shadow
Nothing but a little blocked light
Except soon I'm surrounded; I can't get out
Of the death, anger and silence

As the shadow grows big, I become small
Blending in, hidden from one and all
To make myself seen I have to scream
And make death, anger and silence

I look around, I look around,
Trying to find simewhere safe
But soon I see, it becomes clear to me;

You can't stop the death
You can't hide from the anger
And you can't escape the silence

poem by Sasha Julia
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To Natasha

The crimson summer now grows pale;
Clear, bright days now soar away;
Hazy mist spreads through the vale,
As the sleeping night turns gray;
The barren cornfields lose their gold;
The lively stream has now turned cold;
The curly woods are gray and stark,
And the heavens have grown dark.

Where are you, my light, Natasha?
No one's seen you, - I lament.
Don't you want to share the passion
Of this moment with a friend?
You have not yet met with me
By the pond, or by our tree,
Though the season has turned late,
We have not yet had a date.

Winter’s cold will soon arrive
Fields will freeze with frost, so bitter.
In the smoky shack, a light,
Soon enough, will shine and glitter.
I won't see my love, - I'll rage
Like a finch, inside a cage,
And at home, depressed and dazed,
I’ll recall Natasha's grace.

poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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Echoes of silence

A silent scream
A bad dream..
nightmare

Wake me up
Some one dare
Spare me.. spare!

Everytime i remember
that touch that smell
The day i experienced hell

my cross to bear
All my life
My death knell

My tortured sigh
someone hear in silence
my helplessness

As i laid that night
Silence echoes my fight
my plight!

Silence echoes
Scot free, he walks away
echoes till this day

Silence echoes
My lost innocence
At nights in dreams..

Night, witness to my pain
Driving me insane
within my heart...

Silence echoes,
My silent scream
my broken dreams..

Silence echoes....

poem by Meena Iyer
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Nocturne Of Remembered Spring

Moonlight silvers the tops of trees,
Moonlight whitens the lilac shadowed wall
And through the evening fall,
Clearly, as if through enchanted seas,
Footsteps passing, an infinite distance away,
In another world and another day.
Moonlight turns the purple lilacs blue,
Moonlight leaves the fountain hoar and old,
And the boughs of elms grow green and cold,
Our footsteps echo on gleaming stones,
The leaves are stirred to a jargon of muted tones.
This is the night we have kept, you say:
This is the moonlit night that will never die.
Through the grey streets our memories retain
Let us go back again.

II.

Mist goes up from the river to dim the stars,
The river is black and cold; so let us dance
To flare of horns, and clang of cymbals and drums;
And strew the glimmering floor with roses,
And remember, while the rich music yawns and closes,
With a luxury of pain, how silence comes.
Yes, we loved each other, long ago;
We moved like wind to a music's ebb and flow.
At a phrase from violins you closed your eyes,
And smiled, and let me lead you how young we were!
Your hair, upon that music, seemed to stir.
Let us return there, let us return, you and I;
Through changeless streets our memories retain
Let us go back again.

III.

Mist goes up from the rain steeped earth, and clings
Ghostly with lamplight among drenched maple trees.
We walk in silence and see how the lamplight flings
Fans of shadow upon it the music's mournful pleas
Die out behind us, the door is closed at last,
A net of silver silence is softly cast
Over our thought slowly we walk,
Quietly with delicious pause, we talk,
Of foolish trivial things; of life and death,
Time, and forgetfulness, and dust and truth;
Lilacs and youth.
You laugh, I hear the after taken breath,
You darken your eyes and turn away your head
At something I have said
Some intuition that flew too deep,
And struck a plageant chord.
Tonight, tonight you will remember it as you fall asleep,
Your dream will suddenly blossom with sharp delight,
Goodnight! You say.
The leaves of the lilac dip and sway;
The purple spikes of bloom
Nod their sweetness upon us, lift again,
Your white face turns, I am caught with pain
And silence descends, and dripping of dew from eaves,
And jeweled points of leaves.

IV.

I walk in a pleasure of sorrow along the street
And try to remember you; slow drops patter;
Water upon the lilacs has made them sweet;
I brush them with my sleeve, the cool drops scatter;
And suddenly I laugh and stand and listen
As if another had laughed a gust
Rustles the leaves, the wet spikes glisten;
And it seems as though it were you who had shaken the bough,
And spilled the fragrance I pursue your face again,
It grows more vague and lovely, it eludes me now.
I remember that you are gone, and drown in pain.
Something there was I said to you I recall,
Something just as the music seemed to fall
That made you laugh, and burns me still with pleasure.
What were those words the words like dripping fire?
I remember them now, and in sweet leisure
Rehearse the scene, more exquisite than before,
And you more beautiful, and I more wise.
Lilacs and spring, and night, and your clear eyes,
And you, in white, by the darkness of a door:
These things, like voices weaving to richest music,
Flow and fall in the cool night of my mind,
I pursue your ghost among green leaves that are ghostly,
I pursue you, but cannot find.
And suddenly, with a pang that is sweetest of all,
I become aware that I cannot remember you;
The ghost I knew
Has silently plunged in shadows, shadows that stream and fall.

Let us go in and dance once more
On the dream's glimmering floor,
Beneath the balcony festooned with roses.
Let us go in and dance once more.
The door behind us closes
Against an evening purple with stars and mist.
Let us go in and keep our tryst
With music and white roses, and spin around
In swirls of sound.
Do you foresee me, married and grown old?
And you, who smile about you at this room,
Is it foretold
That you must step from tumult into gloom,
Forget me, love another?
No, you are Cleopatra, fiercely young,
Laughing upon the topmost stair of night;
Roses upon the desert must be flung;
Above us, light by light,
Weaves the delirious darkness, petal fall,
And music breaks in waves on the pillared wall;
And you are Cleopatra, and do not care.
And so, in memory, you will always be
Young and foolish, a thing of dream and mist;
And so, perhaps when all is disillusioned,
And eternal spring returns once more,
Bringing a ghost of lovelier springs remembered,
You will remember me.

VI.

Yet when we meet we seem in silence to say,
Pretending serene forgetfulness of our youth,
"Do you remember but then why should you remember!
Do you remember a certain day,
Or evening rather, spring evening long ago,
We talked of death, and love, and time, and truth,
And said such wise things, things that amused us so
How foolish we were, who thought ourselves so wise!"
And then we laugh, with shadows in our eyes.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Hast Thou Forgotten Me?

HAST thou forgotten me? the days are dark—
Light ebbs from heaven, and songless soars the lark—
Vexed like my heart, loud moans the unquiet sea—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten me? O dead delight
Whose dreams and memories torture me to-night—
O love—my life! O sweet—so fair to see—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Lo, if one should say—
Noontide were night, or night were flaming day—
Grief blinds mine eyes, I know not which it be!
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Ah, if Death should come,
Close my sad eyes, and charm my song-bird dumb—
Tired of strange woes—my fate were hailed with glee—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten me? What joy have I?
A dim blown bird beneath an alien sky,—
O that on mighty pinions I could flee—
Hast thou forgotten me?

Hast thou forgotten? Yea, Love’s horoscope
Is blurred with tears and suffering beyond Hope—
Ah, like dead leaves forsaken of the tree,
Thou hast forgotten me.

poem by Philip Joseph Holdsworth
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Mark R. Slaughter

Just like the dahlia
Death comes in all its beauty

And so I stroke her petals
Push my feet root-deep
Into the composted soil
As weary clouds unite
Coalesce
Darken through the greys
In preparation

Incontinence prevails
Lachrymose in empathy

They cry for me
Sharing tears
Mortality brings
As twilight closes

I rot
(They fade)

To be the plant
(They'll water)

I, denomination Mark R. Slaughter

Struggle thro' my fantasy
To seal the state of mind

That I of soul
Remain eternal

Back on the windowsill
A daffodil stretches
From a bulbous foot

Flirts like a ballerina

STOPS

Wonders of the world

My cat hears the brassy thoughts
From yellow trumpet
Pricks up his ears
Iridescent eyes
Focussed on the future

I'll wait
For his appraisal

A Trail of Death

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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From the Still Days

Related quotes

The Echoes of Silence

Arabia

Death Of Samantha

Death Of Samantha

Sound Of Silence

When Death

Dead Man's Morrice

Life's Turn

Moved Earth

It's Death Again

Disingenuousness

Sounds Of Silence

Nature Theater

A Fresh Endeavour

Death, Anger, Silence.

To Natasha

Echoes of silence

Nocturne Of Remembered Spring

Hast Thou Forgotten Me?

Mark R. Slaughter

En.Citatepedia^®.ro