En.Citatepedia^®.ro

On the Edge of an Old Well

Dark interpretation of the water: broken forehead in the mouth of the night,

The boy's bluish shadow sighing in black pillows,

The rustling of the maple, steps in the old park,

Chamber concerts which fade on a spiral staircase,

Perhaps a moon which quietly climbs the steps.

The gentle voices of the nuns in the decayed church,

A blue tabernacle which slowly opens,

Stars which fall on your bony hands,

Perhaps a walk through abandoned rooms,

The blue tone of the flute in the hazel bushes - very quietly.

poem by Georg Trakl
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On the Edge of an Old Water

Dark interpretation of the water: stars in the mouth of the night,

Sighing in black pillows the rosy shadow of man,

Redness of autumn, the rustling of the maple in the old park,

Chamber concerts which fade on decayed stairs.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Deliriums

[1 is missing]

2

Dark interpretation of the water: forehead in the mouth of the night,

Sighing in black pillows the rosy shadow of man,

Redness of autumn, the rustle of the maple in the old park,

Chamber concerts which fade on decayed stairs.

3

The black excrement, which runs off the roofs.

A red finger dips into your forehead

Blue snow sinks in the attic,

The deceased mirror of lovers.

poem by Georg Trakl
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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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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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I Watch The Moon From My Maple Tree

As I watch the moon
So quietly
From high above
In my maple tree

I see the stars
That shine all night
They speak to me
Making sure I'm alright

My life is hard
But I'm ok
Watching the show
With nothing to say

As the moon and the stars
Dance the night away
I sit and stare
Like I can't in the day

When I'm up so high
I feel so free
Happy and safe
In my maple tree

The moon is the sun
That shines in the dark
I can see it from bed
Or from way in the park

It helps me a lot
The moon is my guide
And 'I love that old tree'
I queitly sighed

poem by Miranda Van Yperen
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Childhood Memory

The sun shines alone in the afternoon,

And quietly the tone of the honey-bees wavers off.

In the garden the sisters' voices whisper -

There the boy listens in the wooden shed,

Still fevering over book and picture.

Weary the linden-trees wilt immersed in the blue.

A heron hangs motionless drowned in the ether,

By the fence fantastic shadow-shapes play.

The sisters go quietly into the house,

And soon their white clothes glimmer

Vaguely from bright rooms,

And confused the bushes' bluster dies down.

The boy strokes the cat's hair,

Bewitched by the mirror of her eyes.

An organ-sound far away on the hill

Lifts wonderfully into heaven.

poem by Georg Trakl
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The Horror

I saw myself go through abandoned rooms.

- The stars danced crazily on blue ground,

And on the fields the dogs howled loud,

And in the treetops the foehn rummaged wildly.

But suddenly: stillness! Stuffy fever glow

Lets poisonous flowers bloom from my mouth,

From the branches like from a wound

Pale gleaming dew falls, and falls, and falls like blood.

From a mirror's deceitful emptiness

A countenance slowly lifts in the vagueness

Out of horror and darkness: Cain!

Very quietly the velvet curtains rustle,

Through the window the moon looks as if into emptiness,

There I am alone with my murderer.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Helian

In the spirit’s solitary hours
It is lovely to walk in the sun
Along the yellow walls of summer.
Quietly whisper the steps in the grass; yet always sleeps
The son of Pan in the grey marble.

At eventide on the terrace we got drunk on brown wine
The red peach glows under the foliage.
Tender sonata, joyous laughter.

Lovely is this silence of the night.
On the dark plains
We gather with shepherds and the white stars.

When autumn rises
The grove is a sight of sober clarity.
Along the red walls we loiter at ease
And the round eyes follow the flight of birds.
In the evening pale water gathers in the dregs of burial urns.

Heaven celebrates, sitting in bare branches.
In hallowed hands the yeoman carries bread and wine
And fruit ripens in the peace of a sunny chamber.

Oh how stern is the face of the beloved who have taken their passage.
Yet the soul is comforted in righteous meditation.

Overwhelming is the desolated garden‘s secrecy,
As the young novice has wreathed his brow with brown leaves,
His breath inhales icy gold.

The hands touch the antiquity of blueish water
Or in a cold night the sisters’ white cheeks.

In quiet and harmony we walk along a suite of hospitable rooms
Into solitude and the rustling of maple trees,
Where, perhaps, the thrush still sings.

Beautiful is man and emerging from the dark
He marvels as he moves his arms and legs,
And his eyes quietly roll in purple cavities.

At suppertime a stranger loses himself in November’s black destitution;
Under brittle branches he follows a wall covered under leprosy.
Once the holy brother went here,
Engrossed in the tender music of his madness.

Oh how lonely settles the evening-wind.
Dying away a man‘s head droops in the dark of the olive tree.

How shattering is the decline of a family.
This is the hour when the seer’s eyes are filled
With gold as he beholds the stars.

The evening’s descend has muffled the belfry‘s knell in silence;
Among black walls in the public place,
A dead soldier calls for a prayer.

Like a pale angel
The son enters his ancestor’s empty house.

The sisters have traveled far to the pale ancients.
At night, returned from their mournful pilgrimage,
He found them asleep under the columns of the hallway.

Oh hair stained with dung and worms
As his silver feet stepped on it
And on those who died in echoing rooms.

Oh you palms under midnight’s burning rain,
When the servants flogged those tender eyes with nettles,
The hollyhock’s early fruit
Beheld your empty grave in wonder.

Fading moons sail quietly
Over the sheets of the feverish lad,
Into the silence of winter.

At the bank of Kidron a great mind is lost in musing,
Under a tree, the tender cedar,
Stretched out under the father’s blue eyebrows,
Where a shepherd drives his flock to pastures at night.

Or there are screams which escape the sleep;
When an iron angel approaches man in the grove,
The holy man’s flesh melts over burning coals.

Purple wine climbs about the mud-cottage,
Sheaves of faded corn sing;
The buzz of bees; the crane’s flight.
In the evening the souls of the resurrected gather on rocky paths.

Lepers behold their image in dark water;
Or they lift the hemp of their dung soiled attire,
And weep to the soothing wind, as it drifts down from the rosy hill.

Slender maidens grope their way through the narrow lanes of night;
They hope for the gracious shepherd.
Tenderly, songs ring out from the huts on weekend.

Let the song pay homage to the boy,
To his madness to his white eyebrows and to his passage,
To the decaying corpse, who opened his blue eyes.
Oh how sad is this reunion.

The stairs of madness in black apartments –
The matriarch’s shadow emerged under the open door
When Helian’s soul beheld his image in a rosy mirror;
And from his brow bled snow and leprosy.

The walls extinguished the stars
And the white effigies of light.

From the carpet rise skeletons, escaping their graves,
Fallen crosses sit silent on the hill,
The night’s purple wind is sweet with frankincense.

Oh ye broken eyes over black gaping jaws,
When the grandson in the solitude
Of his tender madness muses over a darker ending,
The blue eyelids of the silent god sink upon him.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Sad In Blue (a lyric)

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
The night is all dark out side
Nowhere to run
Sad sad sad in blue

Into the night hold me tight
Love me babe I need some light
What's wrong and what's right
When shadows dwell and abide

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
Is there some star shoot in sight
To wish upon
For sad sad sad you

Into the night take a flight
Feelings, touch, everything out sight
Love me with feelings ok
Come come babe now closer stay

Sad sad sad in blue
For sad sad sad you
The moon is all bluish tonight
Is there some star shoot in sight
To wish upon
For sad sad sad you

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Night Sky

Stars aglow in the night sky
Pass so quietly by,
Is it us or them
Who return again?
We to see
And they to stay,
Or possibly tis
The other way.
And who
Really sees who,
In the night so dark
Filled with the deepest blue?
If the moon
Never again shines,
Could it be a sign
Of the end-times?
Or just a loss of sight
On my part?
The result of losing (with cynicism)
The natural vision of wonder, in the human heart.
For to see magic
In the moon and stars,
Is to truly look
Deep and far...
Not simply in a night sky,
Rather into the soul,
Where all good things
Freely come and go.

Even if the stars no longer shown
In my little night sky for to see,
Ever, I'd keep returning
Looking; I for they... and they for me.

poem by Smoky Hoss
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Footsteps Of Dawn-Part 2

Aurora quietly tip toes in...
Softly in the east her steps arise...
Pacing each shimmering ray...
Slowly ascending-Lemon Orb- in the sky;

In a backdropp of deep azure blue...
Naturally tiptoeing her way e'er on...
Growing slowly into light O' New Day--
Awakening 'tis: The Footsteps of Dawn;

Respelendent light of day 'tis borne anew...
Now fully enveloped in the sky--
Efflugent Aurora has broken the darkness--
Welcoming a new Lemon Yellow Orb upon high;

Part Two
June 5,2010

poem by Theodora Onken
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Justice

Huts of childhood are in autumn,

Decayed hamlet; dark shapes,

Singing mothers in the evening wind;

At windows Angelus and hands fold.

Still birth; on green ground

Mystery and stillness of blue flowers.

Insanity opens the purple mouth:

Dies irae - grave and stillness.

Groping along green thorns;

In the sleep: blood-vomit, hunger and laughter;

Fire in the village, awakening in the green;

Fear and swaying on gurgling boat.

Or in wooden staircase again

The white shadow of the strange woman leans.-

Poor sinner longing away in the blueness

Left his putrefaction behind for lilies and rats.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Untitled: The Blue Night

The blue night has softly risen on our foreheads.

Quietly our putrid hands touch

Sweet bride!

Our countenance became pale, moony pearls

Melted in green pond-ground.

Petrified ones, we contemplate our stars.

O painful! Culprits wander in the garden

The shadows in wild embrace,

So that tree and animal sank about them in immense anger.

Soft harmonies, when we ride

through the still night in crystalline waves

A rosy angel steps from the graves of the lovers.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Moon, We Look to You.

Moon, you have a shade of blue tonight –
Is it something that you saw or heard?
Only yesterday, your tone was proud and bright,
Yellow silver, full, and so assured.

Moon, despite the clarity of sky,
Metaphors of cloud that fluff with grey
Drift across your rounded face to spy;
Feeding back, there's awfully much to say.

Moon, you have a role to play up there –
We below must bear the earthly pain.
Duty bound, we shoulder sorrows fair –
You are free from our grotesque disdain.

Moon, we depend on you to shine
When the sun retires down below.
Add to that your grandest role divine:
Tidal Lord, to keep the seas in tow!

Moon, I hope you take to heart our plea –
Needless is the reason for your blue.
Beaming, you should give the night its glee:
We're despairing – so we look to you.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009

Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue
Moon moon, moon so blue, moon, moon so blue

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Memories

I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.

Claudia Krizay

poem by Claudia Krizay
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Concepts Of Totalitarianism

Quietly swept in unsuspecting steps,
Towards concepts of totalitarianism.
With an autocratic rule set.
Leaving all freedoms deluded and state control.
As mindsets are kept bigoted and racist,
To ensure the onset of divisions...
Patrolled by those uniformed in camouflage.
Quietly swept in unsuspecting steps,
But observed as this feeding is accepted.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Untitled

A carpet, into which the suffering landscape pales

Perhaps the Sea of Galilee, a boat in the gale

Golden things fall out of storm clouds

Insanity, that seizes the gentle human.

The old waters gurgle a blue laughter.

And sometimes a dark pit opens.

The possessed are reflected in cold metals

Drops of blood fall on glowing plates

And a countenance decays in black night.

Flags, which babble in sinister vaults.

Other things remind on the birds' flight

Over the gallows the crows' mystical signs

Coppery snakes sink in spiky grasses

In pillows of incense a smile whore-like and clever.

Good Friday's children stand blindly at fences

In the mirror of dark gutters full of rottenness

The sighing recovery of the dying

And angels who go through white eyes

From lids dimming golden redemption.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Quietly Sad

So quietly sad
Can’t breathe
Just want to talk
To anyone who listens

So quietly sad
Knees into chest
Crocheted beanie
Hair of blue rivers

Time only reveals
Discernible truths
And covers what never was
And the end will be what is

So quietly sad

poem by Marijke McKinney
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Three Dark Shadows

Three dark
Shadows lurking
In the dark park
On a dark night
One leads
The two others
Follow wearing
Black raincoats
On a dark road
I lead
I tell them
My name
My work
My place

The two
Did not follow
Since then
They realized
Perhaps that
With what
I tell them
I am blacker
Than black
On a dark
Raincoat
On a dark
Park
On a dark
Road
&
In my dark
Mind
It would
Be so hard
For them
To follow
Through &
Through.

They quit
They split
&
So I
Walk alone
In the dark
As one lonely
Shadow
Darker than
Dark
&
Now
It is you
Here
Following me?
In fact
We change
And it is
You
In effect
Who is
Leading me
Through
These lines
Flowing
Slowly
Gradually
Getting
Darker than
Dark

You have
Indulged &
Surely
You are
Involved
Deeply
Long enough

You win
& lose…

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Crippled Lion

Slowly I walk through the gently falling rain
Knowing that I will never pass this way again
Never wondering why
Teardrops chafing my eyes
Longing to be where the noted kisses fall
Lingering and still while silently the tell their all
Blue is the color of the sun
And nothing stops till everything is done
Now my whole world opens up in different rhymes and tunes
With the highways making up the verse
And then suddenly I see the light of something called the moon
And though my path is planned it's not rehersed
So I move along to the next thing on the list
Knowing full well that some of them just don't exist
But I am finally alone
And where my foot steps down is where it's home
Now my whole world opens up in different rhymes and tunes
With the highways making up the verse
And then suddenly I see the light of something called the moon
And though my path is planned it's not rehersed
So I move along to the next thing on the list
Knowing full well that some of them just don't exist
But I am finally alone
And where my foot steps down is where it's home

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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