Untitled: O the Dwelling
O the dwelling in the stillness of the dusking garden,
When the eyes of the sister round and dark opened in the brother,
The purple of their broken mouths
Melted in the coolness of the evening.
Heart-breaking hour.
September ripened the golden pear. Sweetness of incense
And the dahlia burns at the old fence
Say! where were we, when we passed by on small black boat
In the evening,
The crane passed over. The freezing arms
Held black embraced, and inside blood ran.
And around our temples moist blue. Poor little child.
Deeply a dark race ponders out of knowing eyes.
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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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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Homecoming
When the evening breathes golden rest
Forest and dark meadow before which
Man is a looker,
A shepherd, dwelling in the flocks' dusking stillness,
The patience of the red beeches;
So clearly since it has become autumn. By the hill
The lonely one listens to the flight of birds,
To dark meaning and the shadows of the dead
Have gathered more seriously around him;
Cool mignonette scent fulfills him with shudders,
The huts of the villagers the elder,
Where in former times the child dwelled.
Memory, buried hope
Is preserved by these brown rafters,
Over which dahlias hang
So that the hands strive after them,
In the brown garden the shimmering step
Forbidden loving, dark year,
That from blue eyelids the tears
Of the stranger fell irresistibly.
From brown treetops dew drips,
When that one, a blue deer, awakes on the hill,
Listening to the loud calls of the fishermen
By the evening pond
To the amorphous cry of the bats;
But in golden stillness
The drunken heart dwells
Full of its noble death.
poem by Georg Trakl
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The Quest
I am looking for Love. Has he passed this way,
With eyes as blue as the skies of May,
And a face as fair as the summer dawn?--
You answer back, but I wander on,--
For you say: 'Oh, yes; but his eyes were gray,
And his face as dim as a rainy day.'
Good friends, I query, I search for Love;
His eyes are as blue as the skies above,
And his smile as bright as the midst of May
When the truce-bird pipes: Has he passed this way?
And one says: 'Ay; but his face, alack!
Frowned as he passed, and his eyes were black.'
O who will tell me of Love? I cry!
His eyes are as blue as the mid-May sky,
And his face as bright as the morning sun;
And you answer and mock me, every one,
That his eyes were dark, and his face was wan,
And he passed you frowning and wandered on.
But stout of heart will I onward fare,
Knowing _my_ Love is beyond--somewhere,--
The Love I seek, with the eyes of blue,
And the bright, sweet smile unknown of you;
And on from the hour his trail is found
I shall sing sonnets the whole year round.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Black Mirror
Black Vs White
White Vs black
the mirror is against me
Or am i against the mirror?
we ARE the black Vs white
we are the dawn, battling the night
we are the stars in the evening sky
and we are the blood spilled in the hollow, dark night
we are brother and sister
Relatives yet foes
we will destroy each other
for you can't have one without the other
you look at me
i know your story
we will each scream in pain
and scream for glory
and watching the blood spill down your skin
i clutch your hand as the light dims
in killing you
i have killed myself
we are each others own personal black mirror
and as we fall down to the grave
i look at you as you try to pray
we may both die
but i have won
for the dark always covers the sun.
and as you cry while i clutch your hand
i whisper in your ear, so only you may hear
Dear brother, brother of mine
you are my black mirror
and now it is time.
poem by Kiele Kane
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The Heart
The wild heart grew white in the forest;
Dark anxiety
Of death, as when the gold
Died in the grey cloud.
An evening in November.
A crowd of needy women stood at the bare gate
Of the slaughterhouse;
Rotten meat and guts fell
Into every basket;
Horrible food.
The blue dove of the evening
Brought no forgiveness.
The dark cry of trumpets
Tr a v e l l e d i n t h e golden branches
Of the soaked elms,
A frayed flag
Smoking with blood,
To w h i c h a m a n l i s t e n s
In wild despair.
All your days of nobility, buried
In that red evening!
Out of the dark entrance hall
The golden shape
Of the young girl steps
Surrounded by the pale moon,
The prince’s court of autumn,
Black fir trees broken
In the night’s storm,
The steep fortress.
O heart
Glittering above in the snowy cold
poem by Georg Trakl
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Asylum
My tears are blue,
My eyes, Purple, green and black-
Yours, I do not know the color of-
I may have met you before in some dark alley-
Your eyes are shut as you sleep- You, I do not know.
All eyes are upon me now- Orange, blue and yellow-
The sky is green and clouds are maudlin-
Blood falls from eyes of sorcerers,
Tears, blue as deep sea water- falling from my eyes,
My eyes are purple, green and black.
Trapped inside a place unknown-
Unknown to my spirit's heaven-
Locked inside this devil's paradise- I cannot fathom reality.
I weep blue tears, combining with the blood
Pouring from the ceiling so dank and dark-
Turning purple and magenta, in hue-
Your lips are red- red as rage,
My hair is dark and dark as is Satan's advocate's
Please somebody rescue me!
My tears are blue, my eyes,
Purple, green and black- the color of yours
Still remains a mystery- When shall you awaken?
Only in good time, my friend, only in good time-
The face of the clock on the wall is orange - Its hands lost in space-
I am lost and beside myself- while you sleep-
We are locked inside of an asylum- I heard-
You are sleeping, still as the locked door before us-
I wonder, are you dreaming or are your dreams turning to nightmares-?
My ears are ringing, I am blue- they just told me through the keyhole that
I am locked inside the world of my delusions?
Through your eyes I could read your thoughts but
Your eyes are closed as you sleep- and my eyes, are closed to the world.
Colors and more colors before me, my tears are blue,
I am blue-please release me from my pain.
I know I have been told in time I will be but the clock upon the wall
Has no feelings-just decorating this chamber of hell with
Its bright orange face as my blue tears fall
Onto the urine stained floors of this confinement-
My soul dissolves into nothingness, while blood drips from the ceiling-and
I wonder- do they make keys that unlock minds from the cells of their delusions?
Somebody just painted my world black and I am doomed to be trapped here
Forever…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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In A Windowpane
I looked into a windowpane
Last evening in a city far away
I was feelin sad and blue
I wondered then if I should really stay
Wanting someone to be with me in the light of this uncertain time
Waiting by the window for the man inside
To please make up his mind
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
I walked along the roadway to a fountain
Where lovers come to meet
A hobo walked up to me, I could tell
He didnt have enough to eat
He said, good sir you look so kind
And though the years have stripped me to the bone
It seems I am the better man
For in this place Ive never walked alone
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Where will you be, my friendly, when your
Telephone aint givin out no calls
And when the seasons come to haunt you
Will you still find springtime in the fall
And when youre on your island
Will you wave at every ship that passes by
And will you feed a hungry man
I thank you, sir,
Now Ill just say goodbye
Dont you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In That Dark Silent Hour
In that dark silent hour
When the wind wants power,
And in the black height
The sky wants light,
Stirless and black
In utter lack,
And not a sound
Escapes from that untroubled round:--
To wake then
In the dark, and ache then
Until the dark is gone--
Lonely, yet not alone;
Hearing another's breath
All the quiet beneath,
Knowing one sleeps near
That day held dear
And dreams held dear; but now
In this sharp moment--how
Share the moment's sweetness,
Forgo its completeness,
Nor be alone
Now the dark is grown
Spiritual and deep
More than in dreams and sleep?
O, it is pain, 'tis need
That so will plead
For a little loneliness.
If it be pain to miss
Loved touch, look and lip,
Companionship
Yet is verier pain
Then, then
In that dark silent hour
When the wind wants power,
And you, near or far, sleep,
And your released thoughts toward me creep
While I, imprisoned, awake,
Ache--ache
To be for one
Long, little moment with myself alone.
poem by John Freeman
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The Evening Stillness
A lonely evening on a lakeside
I stole a chunk of stillness.
Carried it through a clinking city
Stored it in the heart’s corner
Where no noise could touch it!
The stillness has grown a goliath -
Endures night’s coolness and day’s warmth
Camouflages the thunder inside….
No more the evening stillness on a lakeside!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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The Mood of Depression
You dark mouth inside me,
You are strong , shape
Composed of autumn cloud,
And golden evening stillness;
In the shadows thrown
By the broken pine trees
A mountain stream turns dark in the green light;
A little town
That piously dies away into brown pictures.
Now the black horses rear
In the foggy pasture.
I think of soldiers!
Down the hill, where the dying sun lumbers,
The laughing blood plunges,
Speechless
Under the oak trees! Oh the hopeless depression
Of an army; a blazing steel helmet
Fell with a clatter from purpled foreheads.
The autumn night comes down so coolly.
With her white habit glittering like the stars
Over the broken human bodies
The convent nurse is silent
poem by Georg Trakl
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The Day She Was Born
I remember so vividly the day you were born
That day seemed like it would never end
I prayed you would come to the world safe
and I prayed my mother would come with you
I prayed and I prayed
The first time I held you in my arms
I felt the power of a sister bond
your face glowed with a divine light
the prints on your palms were delicately printed
there were soft stroked of curly black hair decorating your tiny head
When you opened your dark brown eyes
I then realized who I was holding in my arms
My sister, own sister
my little sister
On that day I vowed
to protect you with all my life
to provide you with life
and to be with you all throughout my life..
poem by Sinigdha Biswas
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The song that Mary sang
In the stillness of the dawn,
in the stillness of the dusk,
then, my heart is most alive,
there, my soul is most at peace.
In the freshness of the morning,
in the coolness of the eve,
the Lord God walks in every garden;
be still, so to know Him there.
All day long I tend my garden;
there, this evening, God may walk;
I may see Him; I may not - but
yet I meet Him in my work.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Infringement of the Rules
Any infringement of the rules
Or minor sin puts her head in
A spin, puts her soul just over
The edge, lingering there in mid
Air waiting for some dark demon
To snatch. Sister Angela rubs sins
From the black beads, utters long
Prayers from the tongue. She firmly
Wrestles with her demons in the bed,
In the cloisters, out there in the dark
Corners of the world, inside her head.
Her father used to say, your demons
Know you better than you do yourself;
They know your pitfalls, your small
Faults, your tiny imperfections that
Cling to your soul like dark bruises on
Fruit. Then he’d beat her black and blue
And leave her in her room to brood and
Suck in the emptiness of thick dark space.
She kisses the black beads as once she
Kissed that Boyle boy behind the bike
Sheds there, not from lust or love, but
For an unholy dare. The knees ache;
The back is stiff, the incense fills her nose
And head. Pray for us now, she mutters,
Her black serge habit tight about her form,
Pushing out her breath, and at the hour of
Our death. Her father lingers in his cancer
Bed; her mother rots in her grave where her
Father drove her with his drunken words
And fisted hands on frail skin. Sister Angela
Washes with her fierce scrubs any small
Infringements of the rules or minor sin,
Hearing her father’s words harsh within.
poem by Terry Collett
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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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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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In The Dark, Painted Pink
eyes blazing in the dark
do not be slumbered
by sleek black hair
and soft touching
of breath from
ripened lips of red
eyes blazing in the dark
do not fall into sleep's abyss
as gentle touch
fingers promises on brow
with polished nails
pointed painted pink
eyes blazing in the dark
do not drift in dreams
of allures sweet scent
such intoxicates
and dims the wit
of weary men
eyes blazing in the dark
look into souls
and reflect
what is within;
eyes blazing in the dark
poem by David Taylor
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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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Remnant
O spiritual reunion
In old autumn.
Yellow roses
Defoliated by the garden fence,
A great pain melted
To a dark tear,
O sister!
So still the golden day ends.
poem by Georg Trakl
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When Angels Kiss...
The dark clouds turned into a brighter white,
And the moon it shone with a brighter light.
The flowers of life stand tall once again,
From this world is vanquished all of lifes pain...
An angel stared at me with eyes of love,
Looking down upon me from high above.
I'm mesmerised by those emerald eyes,
I look deep inside to where love lies...
My love approached, eyes down to the ground,
My heart it pumped with a roaring sound.
My smiling heart said what no one could say,
I breathed in every essence of this beautiful day...
And when my Angel uttered, 'I love you, '
Dark black skies turned into sapphire blue.
The bleak grey clouds turned into white,
And the moon it shone a brighter light...
Winters snow it melted and flowed,
The night passed and the sun it glowed.
All of this the world just could not miss,
For it happens only when angels kiss...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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