Summer Dawn
In the green ether suddenly a star flickers
And in the hospital they smell the morning.
The thrush trills crazily hidden in the bush
And cloister bells go dreamlike and far.
A statue towers in the square, lonely and slender
And in the courtyard red flowerbeds dawn.
The air around wooden balconies shakes with sultriness
And flies quietly reel around the stench.
The silver curtain there before the window hides
Entwined limbs, lips, tender breasts.
A hard hammering echoes from the tower scaffold
And the moon decays white in the firmament.
A ghostly dream-chord hovers away
And monks plunge from the church gates
And stride lost in the infinite.
In the sky a bright summit lifts.
poem by Georg Trakl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Source
The sleep that flits on baby's eyes-does anybody know from where
it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where,
in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with
glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it
comes to kiss baby's eyes.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps-does
anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young
pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn
cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew
washed morning-the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he
sleeps.
The sweet, soft freshness hat blooms on baby's limbs-does
anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was
a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent
mystery of love-the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on
baby's limbs.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The House Of Dust: Part 01: 02: One, from his high bright window in a tower
One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.
One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.
Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,—we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.
The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tower
One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.
One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.
Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,-we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.
The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Chiaroscuro
Bright leaves, tongues of flame
holding slender twigs; those thin pillars
resisting seductive breath of breeze,
binding the tender leaves to more substantial limbs
within the deep core of the whispering tree.
Even the setting sun
cannot penetrate so deeply as this,
where darker leaves
stand in rapt attention
as the night-clad trunk,
solid and unmoving,
dumbly regards neither
retiring sun nor rising silver moon,
but worships only
the empty
blue ether.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Clowns' Houses
BENEATH the flat and paper sky
The sun, a demon's eye,
Glowed through the air, that mask of glass;
All wand'ring sounds that pass
Seemed out of tune, as if the light
Were fiddle-strings pulled tight.
The market-square with spire and bell
Clanged out the hour in Hell;
The busy chatter of the heat
Shrilled like a parakeet;
And shuddering at the noonday light
The dust lay dead and white
As powder on a mummy's face,
Or fawned with simian grace
Round booths with many a hard bright toy
And wooden brittle joy:
The cap and bells of Time the Clown
That, jangling, whistled down
Young cherubs hidden in the guise
Of every bird that flies;
And star-bright masks for youth to wear,
Lest any dream that fare
--Bright pilgrim--past our ken, should see
Hints of Reality.
Upon the sharp-set grass, shrill-green,
Tall trees like rattles lean,
And jangle sharp and dissily;
But when night falls they sign
Till Pierrot moon steals slyly in,
His face more white than sin,
Black-masked, and with cool touch lays bare
Each cherry, plum, and pear.
Then underneath the veiled eyes
Of houses, darkness lies--
Tall houses; like a hopeless prayer
They cleave the sly dumb air.
Blind are those houses, paper-thin
Old shadows hid therein,
With sly and crazy movements creep
Like marionettes, and weep.
Tall windows show Infinity;
And, hard reality,
The candles weep and pry and dance
Like lives mocked at by Chance.
The rooms are vast as Sleep within;
When once I ventured in,
Chill Silence, like a surging sea,
Slowly enveloped me.
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Moonlit Walk
I walk along the wet beach,
watching the waves twist and die
the moon shines brightly in the star- studded sky
I walk upon the wet sand, my footprints trail behind
I make a mark wherever I step while the moon shines
I walk upon the silver sand, I stride through the diamond waves,
I get hold of the twinkling stars,
but forget to look back on my way
suddenly a cloud hides the moon
and I loose all my stars.
I look back on to the silver sand to find none of my marks
poem by Sadaf Khan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Train Journey
Glassed with cold sleep and dazzled by the moon,
out of the confused hammering dark of the train
I looked and saw under the moon's cold sheet
your delicate dry breasts, country that built my heart;
and the small trees on their uncoloured slope
like poetry moved, articulate and sharp
and purposeful under the great dry flight of air,
under the crosswise currents of wind and star.
Clench down your strength, box-tree and ironbark.
Break with your violent root the virgin rock.
Draw from the flying dark its breath of dew
till the unliving come to life in you.
Be over the blind rock a skin of sense,
under the barren height a slender dance...
I woke and saw the dark small trees that burn
suddenly into flowers more lovely that the white moon.
poem by Judith Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The New Moon
What have you got in your knapsack fair,
White moon, bright moon, pearling the air,
Spinning your bobbins and fabrics free,
Fleet moon, sweet moon, in to the sea?
Turquoise and beryl and rings of gold,
Clear moon, dear moon, ne’er to be sold?
Roses and lilies, romance and love,
Still moon, chill moon, swinging above?
Slender your feet as a white birds throat,
High moon, shy moon, drifting your boat
Into the murk of the world awhile,
Slim moon, dim moon, adding a smile.
Tender your eyes as a maiden’s kiss,
Fine moon, wine moon, no one knows this,
Under the spell of your witchery,
Dream moon, cream moon, first he kissed me.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Moonlight Sestina
While reading Li Po, I fall
Asleep, and dream of the moon
My body lies on white
Cool sheets, flooded in a pool
Of moonlight. Lost in a dream
I lie in light, floating.
Like a full moon floating
On waves, I feel the fall
And rise, the tide of these dream
Currents. Closer, the moon
Approaches to my pool
Of flesh, shining me white.
From the glare of waxing white,
Gauze curtains – breeze floating -
Shield this rippling pool,
Become a waterfall,
And break the mirror moon-
Light through wet prisms, I dream.
Is this Shechinah? my dream
Self asks. At once the cold white
Chills me to ice. The moon
Swells until it's a floating
City, waiting to fall -
Atlantis – in the pool.
I yearn to be that pool
Skin, transparent as dream.
Instead I fear the moon fall:
I cannot part the white
Sea of thighs, Still floating
Whole, I cry to the moon:
“I am not ready, Moon”
Silence shimmers my pool,
But brightness fades, Floating
Away. Then from the dream
I emerge, weeping white
Tears that shine like star-fall.
Li Po's moon plunge sank dream
Deep. Whirlpool of lunar white
Drowns us; floating, we fall.
poem by Lillian Susan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Portrait
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn
Are her eyes of gray;
Like the clouds in their moving white
Is her breast's soft stir;
And white as the moon and bright
Is the soul of her.
Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green,
Like the voice of a bird
That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen,
So her voice is heard.
And the secret her eyes withhold
In my soul abides,
For white as the moon and cold
Is the heart she hides.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ah, Moon—and Star!
240
Ah, Moon—and Star!
You are very far—
But were no one
Farther than you—
Do you think I'd stop
For a Firmament—
Or a Cubit—or so?
I could borrow a Bonnet
Of the Lark—
And a Chamois' Silver Boot—
And a stirrup of an Antelope—
And be with you—Tonight!
But, Moon, and Star,
Though you're very far—
There is one—farther than you—
He—is more than a firmament—from Me—
So I can never go!
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The hidden breasts
A woman hides her breasts with clothes;
She hides them from being seen
To betray their presence by shape
More pronounced than the naked.
Anything that is hidden means
It’s location isn’t traceable.
Breasts aren’t hidden with clothes;
Breasts are decked out with clothes.
24.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Modern Love XXXII (Okie the zen golden retreiver)
Evening star gives eternal kisses of fireflies
to the dark face of the moon
the joyful moon cracks an ocher grin
and falls in love with a reflection
on the green river
the red tails of dancing fireflies
escape from the moon's mouth
into the adoration
Racoons take off their masks
preparing for bed
the river politely refuses
to carry the lunar mirror
leaves it at the waterfall's door
who returns it to the evening star
during the moon's void
a mocking bird awakens the meditating trees
the rocks hidden under the falls miss the sun
the sun's lover lives an hour of light years away
the lunar grin, reflection, evening star
seek hiding places from the dawn
the sudden stillness gives birth
to thousand of mohican souls
who dance in concentric circles
while running down whitmore falls
the evening star ashamed of history
fades into the blue
the moon finds great happiness
in disappearing
the unseen ocean opens arms
and awaits the moon's image
arias of water sing
eternal mantras
where mind's heart dances
joyous silence of a single note
a breath whispering by
between the longing of the ocean
and the moon's love of infinite reflections
and the adoring evening star
an open window creates a wall
of antigue white and mauve moths
as a golden retreiver leaps from a black rock
chasing a teasing blue heron who flies
up over black trees into the bend of the river
creating dawn, as the golden bellyflops laughing
poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
She.
She was tall and proud and graceful,
long laughing red hair framed her face.
Her sea green eyes, calm and serene,
looked at the world with a level gaze.
Generous lips in a half smile
above a firmly rounded jaw.
Small ears nestled close to her head
in each a golden crescent moon.
Even white teeth showed when she smiled.
Clad in a plain green linen dress,
the swelling curves of her firm breasts
were balanced by her rounded hips.
She showed no fear nor yet surprise,
but looked at me with interest.
She spoke, her voice was soft and sweet
In a language I did not know.
I only know my heart was gone,
plucked from me by her mystery.
She smiled and took my hand
and took me whither I should go.
She led me to a small cabin
alone and hidden in the trees.
There without words or need of words,
we came together lovingly.
We loved and slept and slept and loved,
until the evening twilight fell.
In happiness with limbs entwined
we settled in the soft darkness.
I was woken by bright sunlight
In a bramble patch, stiff and sore.
My strange love was nowhere to be seen,
but in my hand a crescent moon.
For thirty years I have returned
faithfully each summer.
In forlorn hope she would appear.
She kept my heart. I kept my faith.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Once
That day her eyes were deep as night.
She had the motion of the rose,
The bird that veers across the light,
The waterfall that leaps and throws
Its irised spindrift to the sun.
She seemed a wind of music passing on.
Alone I saw her that one day
Stand in the window of my life.
Her sudden hand melted away
Under my lips, and without strife
I held her in my arms awhile
And drew into my lips her living smile,
Now many a day ago and year!
Since when I dream and lie awake
In summer nights to feel her near,
And from the heavy darkness break
Glitters, till all my spirit swims
And her hand hovers on my shaking limbs.
If once again before I die
I drank the laughter of her mouth
And quenched my fever utterly,
I say, and should it cost my youth,
'T were well! for I no more should wait
Hammering midnight on the doors of fate.
poem by Trumbull Stickney from Dramatic Verses (1902)
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Modern Love XXXIV (sun and moon in love)
enamored moon rides a saddle of tears
wearing a belt of silver pistols
on a black star drenched stallion
tender sun wears four bodices of dawn
stretches arms of strawberry orange
above a horizon of sleeping lionesses
moon has only one color, love
moon has adored sun for eternity
letting crickets sing his lament
of dew kisses on flowers
sun rides a gondola of virginal fears
on a periwinkle ocean, peeking beneath
Icebergs pretending to be clouds
fate tempts the moon to invite sun
for a walk by green river, out beyond burr,
thistle, with fireflies orange light
on the hawthorn and reeds
maiden sun, blushing crimson red, accepts
smiling half-moon, half-mystery, extends a starless hand
tender sun holds hands of light with the waxing moon
at the far end of the universe
where there are no street lamps
where trees of silver grow bigger
and mountains of wolves
howl in hunger
sun’s petticoats rustle like wet silk
to moon’s ear, like shoots of hyacinth
the dark nipples on sun’s breasts awake
creating mother of pearl points on lace
under her dawn of auburn hair
under her blush of gold
lost in love moon makes a hollow
In the clay on the wet riverbank
placing a blanket of shimmering stars
on night’s tears
moon takes off his silver necktie
sun unbuttons her morning gown
revealing ankles of fine nard
making the eyes of the moon burn
moon removes his belt of pistols
sun her four bodices of silk
showing a sleeping seagull
on thighs spawning salmons
half swimming towards Greenland’s ices
half swimming towards Africa’s heat
startled moon desires to gallop
without bridle or stirrup,
on suns desire for endless twilights
on a most wonderful road
moon promises not to repeat
sun whispers
splattered with kisses, pepples,
wet as the color of love, empty,
silver moon took magenta sun by green river.
while swords of wild irises
stabbed at morning air.
Sun behaved like a blood gypsy.
giving moon a daughter of corn fields
in a basket of straw-hued satin
promising not to fall in love
when moon took sun to green river.
poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Bright Star
One bright star in the vast unknown
A blazing ember in the night sky shone
Reminding me that I'm not alone...............
One bright star;
One bright star in the evening sky
Holds its own where the angels fly
Anchors the bond between you and I............
One bright star;
One bright star that I wish upon
The first to rise when the sun is gone
Lights my way 'til the early dawn.............
One bright star;
One bright star In the midnight blue
Holds the dreams that I dream of you
Take my hand and I'll lead you to
One bright star.
10/18/2009
Walter Von Der Vogel Weid
Vogelweid the Minnesinger,
When he left this world of ours,
Laid his body in the cloister,
Under Wurtzburg's minster towers.
And he gave the monks his treasures,
Gave them all with this behest:
They should feed the birds at noontide
Daily on his place of rest;
Saying, "From these wandering minstrels
I have learned the art of song;
Let me now repay the lessons
They have taught so well and long."
Thus the bard of love departed;
And, fulfilling his desire,
On his tomb the birds were feasted
By the children of the choir.
Day by day, o'er tower and turret,
In foul weather and in fair,
Day by day, in vaster numbers,
Flocked the poets of the air.
On the tree whose heavy branches
Overshadowed all the place,
On the pavement, on the tombstone,
On the poet's sculptured face,
On the cross-bars of each window,
On the lintel of each door,
They renewed the War of Wartburg,
Which the bard had fought before.
There they sang their merry carols,
Sang their lauds on every side;
And the name their voices uttered
Was the name of Vogelweid.
Till at length the portly abbot
Murmured, "Why this waste of food?
Be it changed to loaves henceforward
For our tasting brotherhood."
Then in vain o'er tower and turret,
From the walls and woodland nests,
When the minster bells rang noontide,
Gathered the unwelcome guests.
Then in vain, with cries discordant,
Clamorous round the Gothic spire,
Screamed the feathered Minnesingers
For the children of the choir.
Time has long effaced the inscriptions
On the cloister's funeral stones,
And tradition only tells us
Where repose the poet's bones.
But around the vast cathedral,
By sweet echoes multiplied,
Still the birds repeat the legend,
And the name of Vogelweid.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!