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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Nocturnal Lament
The night has risen over the rumpled forehead
With beautiful stars
By the hill, where you lay petrified by pain,
A wild animal in the garden rankled your heart.
A fiery angel,
You lie with broken breast on stony field,
Or in the forest a nocturnal bird's
Unending lament
Always repeating in thorny night branches.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Night Secrets
Night Secrets…
No more my aching heart
As you sleep silent in my breast
Awakening in the night
I await your sweet caress
My aching, barren arms in vain
So many times I've wept
At night upon my pillow
While in my bed I slept
Night secrets in the darkness
Like dark, murky shadows
That linger in the night
The rain softly whispers
Through the wind and trees
Carrying my secrets
To the moon shining bright
Secrets kept deep within my heart
They whisper in the night
No one else may listen
There's no one else in sight
They echo through the evening
Those things I cannot share
My secrets whispering in the darkness
Like a breeze fluttering through air
Until then…
I'll wait my love
For your soft, caressing touch
With the stars softly glowing
Through the window in my room
I lie quietly in my bed
With the shadows of the night
Whispers flow in the breeze
Sending them gently to the moon
Until then…
I'll wait til you come again
When I can softly whisper in your ear
Those secrets that I carry
Sharing secrets...
With the one I love so dear
Until then I'll wait...
For my heart belongs to only you
poem by ANNE P LadeeAnne MURRAY
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Summer Lovers
Clasp the blue sky and sea so free
These sweet angels smile for all
She is immortal myth and soft dreams
Romance is the garden before the fall
Forests blossom with deep green pride
The rain has made the rivers swell
Moonlight shines on her face and eyes
Love is water from the deepest well
Isn't passion made for the heart?
Spring becomes summers bloom
Love cannot begin without a start
Hear the robin and cardinals tune
Deep streams of mystic water flow
Sacred ground, promises are made
Dappled sunlight, lily pads grow
Timeless poems never wilt or fade
Touched by immortal roses of red
Kisses like honey from a tree of love
Silky stars serenade a heavenly bed
Song birds bring a song from above
Lovers are wild flowers on a magic night
Waves glisten with moonlight glow
Morning dances with joy and delight
Summer lovers reach each others soul
What would life be without summer lovers?
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Touches Of Her Hand
The touches of her hands are like the fall
Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down
The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;
The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp
Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown
The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp.
Soft as the falling of the dusk at night,
The touches of her hands, and the delight--
The touches of her hands!
The touches of her hands are like the dew
That falls so softly down no one e'er knew
The touch thereof save lovers like to one
Astray in lights where ranged Endymion.
O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;
Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs;
Or--in between the midnight and the dawn,
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone--
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Dear Hands
The touches of her hands are like the fall
Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down
The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;
The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp
Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown
The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp.
Soft as the falling of the dusk at night,
The touches of her hands, and the delight--
The touches of her hands!
The touches of her hands are like the dew
That falls so softly down no one e'er knew
The touch thereof save lovers like to one
Astray in lights where ranged Endymion.
O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;
Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs,
Or--in between the midnight and the dawn,
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone--
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Chains Invisible
THE lilies in my garden grow,
Wide meadows ring my garden round,
In that green copse wild violets blow,
And pale, frail cuckoo flowers are found.
For all you see and all you hear,
The city might be miles away,
And yet you feel the city near
Through all the quiet of the day.
Sweet smells the earth--wet with sweet rain--
Sweet lilac waves in moonlight pale,
And from the wood beyond the lane
I hear the hidden nightingale.
Though field and wood about me lie,
Hushed soft in dew and deep delight,
Yet can I hear the city's sigh
Through all the silence of the night.
For me the skylark builds and sings,
For me the vine her garland weaves;
The swallow folds her glossy wings
To build beneath my cottage eaves.
But I can feel the giant near,
Can hear his slaves by daylight weep,
And when at last the night is here,
I hear him moaning in his sleep.
Oh! for a little space of ground,
Though not a flower should make it gay,
Where miles of meadows wrapped me round,
And leagues and leagues of silence lay.
Oh! for a wind-lashed, treeless down,
A black night and a rising sea,
And never a thought of London town,
To steal the world's delight from me.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Your Light Is On
Statues of Nebuchadnezzar like salt wounds
Empires mean nothing to the lonely
We are free in the flow of love
Green pearls whisper in Verlaine dreams
Celine blue pillars along the Nile
Praetorian elegance riff with aplomb
We touch linen stars of wisdom
Bucolic streams without envy
Will you be as intense as birth?
Never leaving memories of birth
Embrace me before the tragic
Embrace me like a drowning moon
Edge of night with craving fire
Jewels of your eyes upon me
Hope imbued in burning desire
Bring me the new wine
Family new as gypsy boundaries
Anger subsides
Storms of sweet crinoline
The mind needs love
Madness has no future
Your light is on
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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A rapturous morning
Ripping the darkness of the night,
The bride of morning removes her veil,
She arrives on the planquin of fragrant breeze,
The whole atmosphere turns intoxicating,
The flowers rejoice in the garden,
The cuckoo hails the spirit of the day,
Drops of dew are lying on the leaves
Like pearls on the floor of deep.
The rays of the gracious lamp
Touch the rippling waves of the sea,
I can feel ripple in my emotions too,
Ah! Nobody is around to share my agony
But the immortal Nature.
I forget all miseries and cherish
Her beautiful countenance.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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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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We whisper goodnight…
As the clock of love ticks
Mine heart slowly grows
Our love melted in we sticks
As in thine heart mine love flows
Gently like the somber waves
Of the sorrowful sea blue
The sound we follow paves
Art love to beauty true
Melted together like the heat of the sun
We shine on the waves gleam
Flowing together with the voice of one
In earth's shadows we beam
Our light of sweet heaven delight
In the light of stars in tender night
We whisper goodnight…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Frankie
Dark weekends in the sun, out on chelsea row
Descending the stairs, frankie my love
Check your make-up in the mirror
Come on, baby, lets go
Well dance round this dirty town
till the night is all done
Then all the finer things sleep alone tonight
Then all the minor kings lose their thrones tonight
Dont worry about me baby, Ill be alright
Theres machines and theres fire
On the outside of town
Young boys for hire
Waiting to blow us all down
There are strange flashes in the sky up above
Ill spend the night at the movies
With my secret love
At dusk the stars all appear on the screen
Just like they do each night in my dreams
But tonights no dream, frankie
I can feel myself move
Living and dying
Like I was born to do
Walk softly tonight little angel
I wanna be alone with you
Talk softly to me tonight angel
Make all my dream-world come true
I remember standing in the freezing rain
Reading them want ads out on chelsea row
Winging down the street in search of new games
Hustling through the night packs where the actors go
Frankie they are crazy, lets run and hide
In the darkness therell be hidden worlds that shine
When all of the glory in this desperate land
Will rise like raindrops in the palm of our hands
Rise like the rain
Let your sadness rise
Walk softly tonight little angel
Into the shadows where the lovers go
Talk softly tonight angel
Whisper your secrets so soft and low
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pale
Pale blue clouds, in a pale blue sky,
Pale sea birds, fly every which way.
O'er the pale blue sea, they softly fly,
Throughout the pale blue day.
Pale brown grass, withering alone,
Amid the sand dunes dying.
Pale as a sun bleached animal bone,
As you hear the sea breeze sighing.
Pale grey mist upon the sea,
Slowly creeping to the shore.
Pale giant tarpons jumping free,
As the pale Atlantic, gently roars.
12/3/11 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Definition of Poetry
It's a whistle blown ripe in a trice,
It's the cracking of ice in a gale,
It's a night that turns green leaves to ice,
It's a duel of two nightingales.
It is sweet-peas run gloriously wild,
It's the world's twinking tears in the pod,
It is Figaro like hot hail hurled
From the flutes on the wet flower bed.
It is all that the night hopes to find
On the bottom of deep bathing pools,
It's the star carried to the fish-pond
In your hands, wet and trembling and cool.
This close air is as flat as the boards
In the pond. The sky's flat on its face.
It would be fun if these stars guffawed-
But the universe is a dull place.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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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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To Johnanna
Often I hear your steps
Ring through the alley.
In the small brown garden
The blueness of your shadow.
In the dawning bower
I sat in silence with the wine.
A dropp of blood
Sank from your temple
Into the singing glass
Hour of unending gloom.
From stars a snowy wind
Blows through the foliage.
Any death, the night
The pale man suffers.
Your purple mouth
Dwells a wound in me.
As if I came from the green
Fir hills and legends
Of our homeland,
Which we long forgot -
Who are we? Blue lament
Of a mossy forest spring,
Where the violets
Secretly scent in spring.
A peaceful village in summer
Once sheltered the childhood
Of our race,
Dying off now at the evening-
Hill the white grandchildren
We dream the terror
Of our nightly blood
Shadows in stony city.
poem by Georg Trakl
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We Are To Play The Game Of Death
WE are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I.
The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea.
We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I.
We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind.
My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast.
Long have I served her tenderly.
I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes.
I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor.
She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.
She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.
To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.
My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out.
Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast.
The push of death has swung her into life.
We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Memories
I see wild waves that break, and breaking-run;
And the wild sea-birds wheeling round the ships;
But at the dawn, the coming of the sun,
I see your red, red lips.
I see the cold moon now with fresh delight;
And the stars arise anew, and yet arise;
But in the night, the blackness of the night
I see your sad, sad eyes.
I hear the engines throbbing as we ride;
And the men’s songs. I hear great throats
Rejoice.
But in the silence, when all the songs have died,
I hear your soft, soft voice.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Ghosts Of The Full Moon
Every moonbeam radiates joy
Sycamore trees in shadows of the sea
Savannah grass in green waves
Mystic winds blow the ancient souls
Let the fingers of night caress
Let the feelings sigh like a shaman
See the buffalo graze under the stars
Naked stars that pry memories
Stars of the future birth
Angel night where awe sails on time
We are temples
We are spiritual
We are part of the ghost world
Pearls of emerald waves
Seagulls fly like sailors souls
Onyx moon of silver ancestry
Valley of Kidron and golden tombs
Dreams walk the hallowed corridors
Touch the sacred wells deep in the sky
Irish fields green with souls
Ghosts of the Great Barrier Reef
Eyes like wandering lions
Buried inside the Great Wall of China
Castles along the Seines
Ships rise in the galaxies
Have you felt the shivers of the moors?
The ancient ones of the full moon
Villages appear in hallways of sleep
Words from the winds of love
Flaming swords with two edges
Gates where living waters flow
Caravans of stars
Desert visions
Black Sea silk
Her ecstasy is in a room of mirrors
Michael Angelo’s bust emanates
Rembrandt in the silent museum
Raphael grounded in sanity
Yellow lamp of ancient quills
Whale oil sires the ancient graves
Icy waves of the mariners vault
Stairways in a New Orleans house
Night as quiet as fear
Have your felt the river of night?
Have you seen green eyes stare?
Lovers feel a stranger in their bed
Do you believe in vampires? I do
Van Gogh was haunted
Soon you will hover
Soon we will be the night
Islands of Jules Verne
Opium dens of Calcutta
Tibetan monks chant
Impudent vengeance never sleeps
Sword of Spartacus revels in anger
Magnolia slaves of the plantations lair
Red eyes, keep a night light on
Avenues of Hades belladonna
Byron dressed in black velvet
Jim Morrison at a séance
Edgar Allen Poe knew the night
Indigo trees in the wind
Mango ghosts
The Nile where cobra’s laugh
Brazilian rosewood dreams
Spanish ghosts of Mediterranean blood
Tireless Volga a sage of time
Ethereal eyes like a slaughter
Tribes are wandering the silt fields
Mountains ghosts
Celtic rivers of the vivid mind
Can you feel their candles?
The wings of night flutter
Shadows merge breathing constellations
The wind blows the curtain lace
They gather in costumes under moonlight
Ghosts of the full moon
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Green Green Grass Of Home
The old home town looks the same as I step off the train
Meeting every train in my mind's eye till the man in mail came
Hair like gold, lips like cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
Green, green grass of home, green green grass of home.
Only dream I know of is to be found hair like gold, lips like a cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me, on the steps of my sweet dream
It's good I dreamt the green, green grass of home
I wait and look around me at the broken walls that surround me
And out here I was on the ground.
There's a garden in the path of progress unharmed through winter's day break
Then I'll touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me from the chains of the old dark hollow
The green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me on the steps, my sweet dream
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 07: Two Lovers: Overtones
Two lovers, here at the corner, by the steeple,
Two lovers blow together like music blowing:
And the crowd dissolves about them like a sea.
Recurring waves of sound break vaguely about them,
They drift from wall to wall, from tree to tree.
'Well, am I late?' Upward they look and laugh,
They look at the great clock's golden hands,
They laugh and talk, not knowing what they say:
Only, their words like music seem to play;
And seeming to walk, they tread strange sarabands.
'I brought you this . . . ' the soft words float like stars
Down the smooth heaven of her memory.
She stands again by a garden wall,
The peach tree is in bloom, pink blossoms fall,
Water sings from an opened tap, the bees
Glisten and murmur among the trees.
Someone calls from the house. She does not answer.
Backward she leans her head,
And dreamily smiles at the peach-tree leaves, wherethrough
She sees an infinite May sky spread
A vault profoundly blue.
The voice from the house fades far away,
The glistening leaves more vaguely ripple and sway . .
The tap is closed, the water ceases to hiss . . .
Silence . . . blue sky . . . and then, 'I brought you this . . . '
She turns again, and smiles . . . He does not know
She smiles from long ago . . .
She turns to him and smiles . . . Sunlight above him
Roars like a vast invisible sea,
Gold is beaten before him, shrill bells of silver;
He is released of weight, his body is free,
He lifts his arms to swim,
Dark years like sinister tides coil under him . . .
The lazy sea-waves crumble along the beach
With a whirring sound like wind in bells,
He lies outstretched on the yellow wind-worn sands
Reaching his lazy hands
Among the golden grains and sea-white shells . . .
'One white rose . . . or is it pink, to-day?'
They pause and smile, not caring what they say,
If only they may talk.
The crowd flows past them like dividing waters.
Dreaming they stand, dreaming they walk.
'Pink,—to-day!'—Face turns to dream-bright face,
Green leaves rise round them, sunshine settles upon them,
Water, in drops of silver, falls from the rose.
She smiles at a face that smiles through leaves from the mirror.
She breathes the fragrance; her dark eyes close . . .
Time is dissolved, it blows like a little dust:
Time, like a flurry of rain,
Patters and passes, starring the window-pane.
Once, long ago, one night,
She saw the lightning, with long blue quiver of light,
Ripping the darkness . . . and as she turned in terror
A soft face leaned above her, leaned softly down,
Softly around her a breath of roses was blown,
She sank in waves of quiet, she seemed to float
In a sea of silence . . . and soft steps grew remote . .
'Well, let us walk in the park . . . The sun is warm,
We'll sit on a bench and talk . . .' They turn and glide,
The crowd of faces wavers and breaks and flows.
'Look how the oak-tops turn to gold in the sunlight!
Look how the tower is changed and glows!'
Two lovers move in the crowd like a link of music,
We press upon them, we hold them, and let them pass;
A chord of music strikes us and straight we tremble;
We tremble like wind-blown grass.
What was this dream we had, a dream of music,
Music that rose from the opening earth like magic
And shook its beauty upon us and died away?
The long cold streets extend once more before us.
The red sun drops, the walls grow grey.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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