En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Powerless Surprised And Blinded

The cold winter wind cries like a child
when the black ripe spreads with devastation
as if it will find no comfort anywhere
while nature acts without mercy,
cries like a girl that has lost love
when tears glitter bright in drops of dew
as a bird is without a nest, without a companion,
there is even a yearning in the cobalt blue.

When drought devours the last grain,
when lines of dust hang red-brown full of seeds
that only blows away in the rough stormy wind,
then there is no power in all your deeds,
it is even if God is leaving you alone
while you want to cling on to His hand,
it feels if nowhere you can succeed,
there is even a yearning in the cobalt blue,

people become powerless surprised and blinded,
while they see birds comfortless on wires,
they feel as if God does not love them,
they notice despair in their wives;
there is harassment, a type of hatred
that wants to fold around every heart with darkness,
destiny strikes fatally, secretly accurate,
there is even a yearning in the cobalt blue.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When The Summer Sun Covers Us

When the summer sun covers us,
in the unstained cobalt blue,
with its rays shining in glory,
when the summer sun covers us,
let autumn then draw its first lines
when it feels as if summer is without end,
when the summer sun covers us
in the unstained cobalt blue.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Under a Cobalt Machine

Under a cobalt machine
I lie down and count your grace
Under the cobalt machine
I see myself a small microcosm
In your wide and deep universe.

Under a cobalt machine
I see how fragile life is
Much dependent on the rays
Of your mercy and grace.
Let me lie down here
Believing that the cobalt rays
Are your fingers that touch me.

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seasons

I

As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.

The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.

Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings

until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.

II

Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid

until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food

and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble

until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.

III

Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing

but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe

and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open

when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Under A Cobalt Sky

Under a cobalt sky
That's where my lady lies
I never got the chance
To say goodbye

She really didn't mean
That much to me
I loved her once and then
I set her free
To see if she'd come
Running back to me

Under a cobalt sky
That's where my lady died
I never got the chance
To say goodbye

I really didn't mean
That much to her
She flew away
In that cold December
I wish I could have changed
The way things were

Under a cobalt sky
That's where my lady lies
I finally got the chance
To say goodbye

I heard the news
And fell down on my knees
I started to recall
Old memories
I never knew she meant
That much to me

Under a cobalt sky
That's where my lady lies
Under a cobalt sky
With me

(Annapolis, MD, November 8,2011)

poem by Joe Garson
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In the Highveld

(after Toon van den Heever)

I

In the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open
where rock rabbits, steenbok and baboons revel,
you see the wind skipping through the long grass
and you can still believe in God and His angels,

the rain gathers with thunder
where through the open spaces you can see far into the veldt,
you are astounded by the beauty of flowering proteas
and you still can realize your dependence

but when the city’s rumbling becomes too much,
the jacarandas start flowering in the streets,
buildings of steel and concrete start to curtail you,
you dream about wild flowers appearing everywhere

and it’s the places of a child that you miss,
in the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance.

II

In the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance
and the wind rollicks through the grass
the sky is pure blue and you can look for hours at it,
there you can find freedom from the city’s imprisonment.

When the wind rustles through the march you loose all sadness,
you see the African red-knobbed coot gathering her chickens,
you can hear the finches’ caper, branches full together,
you see every great small happening,

how wild flowers of every imaginable colour
grow as if planted in secret
(and I will go back if I only could)
where I can find some serenity, can have peace
where I will know about God’s heritage;
there the sun shines.

III

There the sun shines
where proteas and aloes flower wildly,
bright up to the horizon
coming out of the earth by themselves

with violets growing purple-blue right through the marsh,
with daisies stretching white over the veldt,
with long tailed widow birds flapping their wings
and the earth is covered with long green grass.

To this piece of ground I am trapped
even when my days are drawing to their end,
it goes even to my heart’s deepest yearning,
with every plant, bush and flower

as it’s bought with sweat and blood,
nobody can strip it from me.

IV

Nobody can strip it from me,
I have to go back to where the sun hangs golden
in the sapphire heaven, I have got to strip the city from me
(but if I only could)

the big desire stays and out of the town I must go
away from the ambulance and police sirens that cuts through everything,
trains whistling almost endlessly,
I have got to go to where only the frog choir and crickets sing.

Again I have got to get the smell of sugar bushes,
smell the rain, spring, summer and even autumn
I must get away from a world where tinned pleasure seduces,
where people use other people for their own pleasure.

I want to stand in the green fields of grass,
when the day dies.

V

When the day dies
letting its last rays fall,
with the birds flying to their nests
darkness comes to this part of the universe,

the doves at dusk still call to each other
as if their voices bind them in the darkness,
you can see the moon sailing golden-yellow through the sky,
you are sometimes blinded by the bright rays,

the city lights glitter far away
in all the colours of the rainbow,
here you want to bond your life to a loved one,
catching her moments long in your eye

when people come together here,
the madness of the human existence is exorcised.

VI

The madness of the human existence is exorcised
even in later years past your own youth,
when you are in the world that your heart desires,
you want to invite the new spring to stay with you

shaking out that which bothers and torments to the early summer wind,
feeling the effervescence of new life,
blinded by the sun you want to find healing
while the whole of spring washes through your life

with the light, air, the flowers, birds and sun splashing down
as if your autumn is only in your imagination,
you want to wash yourself clean from old age,
you are searching for exorcism from the darkness

there are still flowers sprouting out everywhere,
when the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees.

VII

When the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees
with branches being full of coloured leaves,
the sun is still heating as in summer
before the first biting winds begin to whine.

I see opened pod upon opened pod
that lays brown scorched without any signs of seeds,
the dull blue sky has clouds in milky white,
trees become a wild watermill

that is halfway skeleton, halfway still carrying leaves,
afternoons are still drawn out
and even when days earlier end in winter
it’s a time without equal,
as if the summer can last forever,
in the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waiting For Our Time

Looking up from where I stand
I see the vapor trail
Of a jet plane in the sky
Here the wheel is in my hand
But theres no wind in my sails
And life is drifting by
Still I hold on and wait
I know its not too late
And my breeze will come
Muse you satisfy my soul
Keep me warm while the
Cold world guards the gate
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Your love has kept my dream alive
A vision of my life
With you here by my side
Every forward step I take
Every moment Im awake
I feel your love inside
So close I feel it in my bones
I know Im not alone as I climb this wall
But I, sometimes I get so high
I just want to live, love
And taste it all
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Here tonight
I lie awake and watch you dream
Under the light of the moon
I wonder just how far weve been
And where well be
When the sun comes up
Will this be our date with destiny
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
Im searching
Im wondering
Im yearning
Waiting for our time to come
And Im waiting

song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue

Im blue blue like a monday morning
Raised up in a way that I can value
All the material things that I could ever really need dont matter
So many ways that I can thank you
But you know that I am here and no one else in this world will matter
Im blue blue like a monday morning
Its true its you thats got me yearning
For a love that will last forever
Wishing that somebody somewhere
Would break through these wrought iron doors and just smile
Because Im blue
I cant get emote to try and tell you
All the love that I have
Am I ever gonna make it happen
So many ways that I can thank you
But you know that Im here and no one else in this
World will matter
Im blue blue like monday morning
Its true its you thats got me yearning
Because Im blue nobody knows that Im blue

song performed by by Simply Red
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When One Soul Was In Both Our Thoughts

When one soul was in both our thoughts,
we were together at the bright blue ocean,
where you joyously did swim,
gave me a passionate kiss, where we did embrace,
while only the same things inspired us both;
the heaven was a kind of cobalt blue,
together we did kneel, we did pray,
together we trusted on the power of God
while we were in love with each other.

[Reference: 'Wys my die plek waar ons saam gestaan het' ('Show me the place where we stood together: ') by C. Louis Leipoldt.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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When Love Cries

Baby you
turned my world into something new
nights are long when you're far away
hunger for you every night and day
whisper softly to the wind
need you back in my arms again
passion calls from deep inside
it only happens when my love cries

You make my heart sing (x3)
when love cries
you make my heart sing (x3)
when love cries...love cries...love cries

And when I am blue
close my eyes and dream of you
silent echoes scream out your name
you're the keeper of my flame
I'll survive on desire
'til I'm closer to your burning fire
ride a star across the sky
I need you here when my love cries

You make my heart sing (x3)
when love cries
you make my heart sing (x3)
when love cries...love cries
you make my hear sing (x6)
when love cries

Ooh baby
to be near you
just to feel you

Baby

song performed by by Donna Summer from The Donna Summer Anthology
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through the window the new moon peeps

(For Daleen)

I

Through the window the new moon peeps,
many stars glitter blue-white
where they sit glowing in the darkness,
like diamonds at which I look,
when the ginger cat stands in the windowsill,
next to me the moon falls on your face
and it looks as if you are dreaming,
as the lights of a car passes
and I am blessed to have you here,
with your intimate heat next to me,
but it's only a dream in which I dare this
as if a thousand nights will be such
and I am free of my worries,
it's as if everything fades in your presence.

II

It's as if everything fades in your presence
as if the past, times and things do not touch me,
when we are together and small things make you happy
as if nobody else does anymore matter
and with the magic that spring brings
there are new green sprouts rising,
in the garden it's as if the grass suddenly jumps,
I see irises already blooming purple in pots,
I see all the beauty that this spring brings
and all of the flowers that I can get
are far too insignificant
as you are very dear to me
but I do continually long for you,
even when the sun hangs magically in the sky.

III

Even when the sun hangs magically in the sky,
my life feels empty without you,
even if the sky is cobalt blue,
even if the rays of the sun catch me caressingly,
I am still like a child scared of darkness,
while I long to hold your hand, to embrace you,
while I want to know you better and want to trust you
in all the days of spring
and I wonder about your thoughts,
where you are now sitting in an office,
or does life also pass you,
while you drink a cup of tea
in a place with many white papers;
do you have any time to think of me?

IV

Do you have any time to think of me,
I wonder, while I am working in the garden
and I do not immediately notice you
while I am mowing the lawn
and I see a dove gliding over the earth
with no clouds in the deep blue sky,
where it stretches out with brightness above me
and irises and roses are flowering where you sit down.
I kiss you and do it another time
where we are alone in the back garden,
I am caught and you sweep me along
right here in the bright daylight,
and the bright sun falls over us
when I give my self to you.

V

When I give my self to you
and share my deepest secrets,
when you walk deep into my heart
and know me thoroughly
then I tell you about my life
and you learn that love comes from God,
and love has a new much deeper meaning
and I am astounded by your beauty time after time.
You are the summer child, the morning sun,
you are mine before the people and God
of light my only real source
and more precious than any human law
but then I suddenly wake up and want to cling to you;
in this late summer I miss you.

VI

In this late summer I miss you,
the separation of moments comes
in every small thing that I notice
and it reflects your image and your name.
I can hear birds whistling in the trees,
even feel the soft wind caressing my skin,
but you are the source of my heat,
the loveliest song that plays right through my heart
and I wonder if a person looses some humanity
when you trust somebody totally,
when you make deeper bonds,
when you cling to someone else in rapture?
Outside lights beacon lonely;
your voice over the phone makes my heart frolic.

VII

Your voice over the phone makes my heart frolic
when it sounds like that of a young girl,
when your image shines like that of an angel
and I am searching for flowers not just a poppy
but something precious that I want to pick for you,
when you bring me joy
and I want to embrace you for moments
while I wonder how that sensation will last
as the miles is some distance
but the yellow sun shines bright through your words
and suddenly my life feels right
as if radiated from a heavenly source,
our conversation stretches long, goes on and on;
through the window the new moon peeps.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts

As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room,
it seems at first all space; but then your eye
- as is intended – straightway drawn
to that fine Persian vase which sits
upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished
with the wax of love and years,
a crack across it somehow speaking
of trials borne and overcome;
the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt.

The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory
when the lid is opened – does not now hold,
as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau;
a girl given with fine clothes to destiny -
now, precious family documents
that tell of rights and duties, high positions
and their responsibilities, once held;
past, present and future, public life and private,
aromatic in the memory.

The vase is cool and vivid, curls of blue and white;
a cobalt blue, the colour of far-seeing beauty –
the surface colour seen in deepest sea;
the colour which the upper air, in flight,
seems to yearn for; as if we look
into the vase and through it and beyond it;
the white’s so white, it speaks of purity;
and here are touches of an emerald green
which sets off both, as if jewelled thoughts
are never far away from golden minds

I am the potter, speak that vase:
I am the eye that draws your eye,
I am the beauty that may touch your heart;
and to your mind, I bring the thought –
I too was born of dust, of clay and precious water,
decorated with a potter’s love;
one day I shall, by that accident which reigns
in life that passes, be broken into pieces
and return to dust…
you and I, our past is dust, our future dust –
but oh, the beauty of the present that’s eternal,
the joyous dancing of the here and now…
cobalt blue like sea and sky, innocent as white,
emerald as green fields fresh diamonded with dew..

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Like My Father Before Me

Like my father before me,
and in the way that my son,
my daughter will do
I have sprouted from this fertile land

have felt the rain falling in big drops
upon the red-brown hot sand,
have smelt new life springing forth
from the wetness of rain,
from the wetness of human seed

I have smelt the sulphur of blue-white thunder,
have experienced the wonder
of seeing new seedlings bursting
right through the ground

and this continent of Africa
where the sun hangs
in a cobalt blue sky,
will as long as I am living
be home to me.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Tame Bird Was In A Cage

THE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, 'O my love, let us fly to the wood.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Come hither, let us both live in the cage.'
Says the free bird, 'Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?'
'Alas,' cries the caged bird, 'I should not know where to sit perched in the sky.'

The free bird cries, 'My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands.'
The cage bird sings, 'Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned.'
The forest bird cries, 'No, ah no! songs can never be taught.'
The cage bird says, 'Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands.'

There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, 'Come closer, my love!'
The free bird cries, 'It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.'

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Prophet Muhammad 2

His birthday is approaching
And I wish
to say
some words about him
on his birthday

Some say
So and so
And I feel I Love Him
More than my heart
As long as I can see
He smiled to me
His love
is more than any
His Mercy
Oh
He is sent Mercy
To me
to my disturbed world
Light
in my eyes
yearn
For thee
For thee
For thee

May I see
You and me
every hard day
Healing my wounds
With your hugs
Like a most kind father
For me
For me

When I am lost
In my tears
I remember
He is sent
For me
And my brave world
And I see
my smile
yearning
for thee
yearning for thee
I regret
I once
May be
forgot thee
forgive me!

poem by Eman Elbadawi
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VI

The tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to wood."
The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the
cage."
Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread
one's wings?"
"Alas," cries the cage bird, "I should not know where to sit
perched in the sky."

The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the
woodlands."
The cage bird says, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of
the learned."
The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught."
The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the
woodlands."

Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing
to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to
know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my
love!"
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of
the cage."
The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead."

poem by Rabindranath Tagore from The Gardener (1913)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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Another Yearning Heart

Never mind if you feel unloved
Never mind
God meant you to be loved
You love will find.
There's a wind that whispers
A mountain that kisses the stars
They know your yearning heart
Is just waiting for love to start!
Surely you are seen, you are heard
You touch minds, you lovebird
There's a misty dawn, a pearly night
They will find you out, love glows bright.
You are never unloved, love finds you out
Crossing all barriers, reaching beyond doubt
God meant you to be loved, it's waiting to start
Pouring out in streams from another yearning heart!

poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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The Year Is Revived In New Blossoms

The year is revived in new blossoms
with a golden sun in the cobalt sky,
in my life only Your principles bloom;
bright flowers are preparing to carry fruit.
Days are hot, full of promises stretching forward
to a time of fruitfulness, of full maturity,
when suddenly nature works secretively,
when love in my life comes to expression;
the loveliness of flower upon flower is astounding.

When the loveliness of flower upon flower astounds,
there are birds everywhere singing of joy,
the year spins around from winter to summer
when Your blessings pierce the darkness,
life becomes more full of love and perfect
without any type of strange hindrance
when You create living things to Your image
when new life sprouts out after the pruning,
the year is revived in new blossoms.

poem by Gert Strydom
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In You I Find The Beginning Of Each New Day

In you I find the beginning of each new day,
like the early wind rustling through the trees,
you come constantly, visiting me with happiness
like the first golden rays of sunshine bringing light

giving a kind of freedom to our love,
that rises as if with wings up into the blue,
while in your absence comes a starless night
without any tranquillity or kind of rest.

Your voice has a sparkle to it that out sing
the many birds, even the rustling sad wind
and I am lost in the depths of your words,
when in loveliness you hit some high notes.

You draw people to you like a mother hen,
with nostalgic, longing voices yearning for your joy
are like a road that I continually travel on,
where I find new kinds of things in your loving.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The morning is cobalt blue (Persian Quatrain)

The morning is cobalt blue
and somewhere in between it is you,
the afternoon is grey with thunderclouds
and we are caught in love, being true or untrue?

poem by Gert Strydom
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When The Blue Bird Sings

oh! the wind cries with it
when the blue bird begins to sing
when the night is so cold
when the moon hides behind
the clouds

oh! the leaves begin to hush
and sympathize
but the blue bird does not stop singing
and then it stops
at dusk
it is no longer there

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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