Laughing Mauves
He fled beyond sea-roads, in mists;
where sirens' songs enchant sea men,
in fogs odd sorrows are dismissed,
shorelines' harpsichord organists,
betimes to keep requests withheld,
conceptual forms are nuptial veiled,
residing schemes in mind's earnest,
where scopes spread on white sails.
But when he called the maid's sprite
her wraith like clouds fled to aboves;
shoreline of rocks was fogged in sight,
remote the beacon's sends dim light,
where solitude wore velvet gloves,
and blurred horizons' mist to trust,
sea men (old ghosts) will dance at night,
and laugh in fields of greens and mauves.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Related quotes
Demystified for M' lady Cate
The mist persists, it will insist
it has the right to block the light
with trailing wisps of dirty white.
The mist is wrong and it will learn
to leave when it has served its turn
Because the sun will rise and burn
the remnants of the mist away
There is no way that it can stay
once the bright sun comes out to play.
The mist defeated has to go.
It leaves reluctantly and slow
but where it goes I do not know.
It will return with fall of night
lurk in the darkness hid from sight.
Unless outlined by the moonlight.
The silver light makes it appear
to be the ghosts which cause men fear.
But they will quickly disappear
When banks of cloud obscure the light.
Be re-absorbed into the night.
to their dismay but men’s delight.
The mists persist they wont desist
as long as day and night exist
and if they did they would be missed.
The moisture which the mist supply
the plants trees drink thirstily.
Without the mists some plants would die.
1-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Rained September
Rained September
Wraith she was in roads foremost
ancient dance in modes to totter;
with words floating on sea water,
My calls in dreams invoked, lost.
Kind expression was, in night air,
to undergo in my darknened light,
she came to me, enchanting sight,
it was her aptitude fine 'n' fair.
Aspect of solitude she traced nigh,
a brass confront she cared softly,
to touch my lips with fingers hostly,
to hash her love notes in tide high.
Memory she was or a destined coil,
contemplative strophe, poems' soul,
words that rhymed a face to extol,
a silent bog with wet grassed soil.
And then she left, disruption stray,
wraith she was and fled, a ringlet,
there she became a singing kinglet,
with our poems, sepia tones in clay.
She stayed in, with my ode to float,
amid a start of a rained September,
her silent call of gray to remember,
a reflective board, smiles to denote.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Sonnet 23
XXIII
Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heav'n without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
But O, as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
poem by John Milton
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The Mountain Sprite
In yonder valley there dwelt, alone,
A youth, whose moments had calmly flown,
'Till spells came o'er him, and, day and night,
He was haunted and watch'd by a Mountain Sprite.
As once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er
The golden sands of that Island shore,
A foot-print sparkled before his sight --
'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!
Beside a fountain, one sunny day,
As bending over the stream he lay,
There peep'd down o'er him two eyes of light,
And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.
He turn'd, but, lo, like a startled bird,
That spirit fled! -- and the youth but heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.
One night, still haunted by that bright look,
The boy, bewilder'd, his pencil took.
And, guided only by memory's light,
Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.
"Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried
A voice, low whispering by his side,
"Now turn and see," -- here the youth's delight
Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.
"Of all the Spirits of land and sea,"
Then rapt he murmur'd, "there's none like thee,
And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light
In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!"
poem by Thomas Moore
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Red Wine Spill
Red wine spill
Her voice I waited for, amid the foliage shades,
now with the oncoming of her Spring, she fades;
She appeared once; a tear of my soul to dither,
then she lifted in cumulus, where winds blither;
Zephyr was traveling above, my lone assession,
My penitence she kissed along, and aspersion;
A red wine spill betimes, diluted days of rain,
diluted rain's wine spill, of tear drops to attain;
Winds blither - she appeared once; in my tear,
a laughing gust of the wind, my soul to shear;
And then her wraith shadow, guided my hopes,
To laugh again among the winds, and new scopes;
To laugh with me amidst the winds, she 'll come,
Life will reach an apogee, and heart will thrum;
To laugh with me amidst the raindrops, in clouds,
with a boat to float in winds from sails' shrouds;
_________
shrouds = (nautical) a line (rope or chain) that regulates
the angle at which a sail is set in relation to the wind.
_________
Copyright © - G. V.- 03.29.2012
/ PoemH.30459086
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Silence and Stealth of Days
Silence, and stealth of days! 'tis now
Since thou art gone,
Twelve hundred hours, and not a brow
But clouds hang on.
As he that in some cave's thick damp
Lockt from the light,
Fixeth a solitary lamp,
To brave the night,
And walking from his sun, when past
That glim'ring ray
Cuts through the heavy mists in haste
Back to his day,
So o'r fled minutes I retreat
Unto that hour
Which show'd thee last, but did defeat
Thy light, and power,
I search, and rack my soul to see
Those beams again,
But nothing but the snuff to me
Appeareth plain;
That dark and dead sleeps in its known
And common urn,
But those fled to their Maker's throne
There shine and burn;
O could I track them! but souls must
Track one the other,
And now the spirit, not the dust,
Must be thy brother.
Yet I have one Pearl by whose light
All things I see,
And in the heart of earth and night
Find heaven and thee.
poem by Henry Vaughan
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On This Night
White sheets fall around the car
For it is not too far
The roads are white, and un-changing sheets of ice surround it
The roads are lightly lit
It is not far now something will happen, something will move
You always knew the car would loose
This battle of the night
You start to loose your sight
The roads are hidden from your gaze
The windows in a soft haze
The wheel moves, you turn trying to stop before the gate
It is too late
The brakes won’t save you know, the car skids to the side
This will be your last ride.
The impact sends you towards the windshield you cover your eyes and head
This is the end you know inside
You’ll never see your children’s smiling faces
Your mind is in a maze
You do not know what is happening you do not remember
All you know is it is December
The month of giving, you shall not give you shall not receive but death shall find were you stand
The car comes to a stop wheels spinning above you, the blood on your hands
The light fades all around you flames dance
The light is now no more, you lay still flames around you in the night, the snow falls on
It does not notice, but fills on your sweet face; you hear the voices above roll on
It is too late
For this night holds your fate
For on this night you shall loose your site
(poem dedicated to: Kai and Susan craig who died in a car reck on their way to denver for Kai to get an art reward R.I.P Kai and Susan)
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Am I Still Me?
I am not dead though I should be
There’s very little left of me.
I do not live merely exist
My mind is clouded the mist persists
I can’t remember anything
Although I try there is nothing
I don’t know where I am or why
I wonder sometimes who am I
Then the mists descend again
I don’t know where I am or when.
My body lives my mind has fled.
Dementia which I used to dread.
Has destroyed my ability
To think at all coherently
I am not happy nor am I sad.
I would not know if I was glad.
I should be dead but I am not.
The art of living I forgot.
The mists do lift occasionally
And I remember I am me.
Although my body is quite fit
Without my mind what use is it?
Am still me or just a shell
condemned to a living hell.
Am I still me?
I am not dead though I should be
There’s very little left of me.
I do not live merely exist
My mind is clouded the mist persists
I can’t remember anything
Although I try there is nothing
I don’t know where I am or why
I wonder sometimes who am I
Then the mists descend again
I don’t know where I am or when.
My body lives my mind has fled.
Dementia which I used to dread.
Has destroyed my ability
To think at all coherently
I am not happy nor am I sad.
I would not know if I was glad.
I should be dead but I am not.
The art of living I forgot.
The mists do lift occasionally
And I remember I am me.
Although my body is quite fit
Without my mind what use is it?
Am still me or just a shell
condemned to a living hell.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Irish Nocturne
Now the grey mist comes creeping up
From the waste ocean’s weedy strand
And fills the valley, as a cup
If filled of evil drink in a wizard’s hand;
And the trees fade out of sight,
Like dreary ghosts unhealthily,
Into the damp, pale night,
Till you almost think that a clearer eye could see
Some shape come up of a demon seeking apart
His meat, as Grendel sought in Harte
The thanes that sat by the wintry log—
Grendel or the shadowy mass
Of Balor, or the man with the face of clay,
The grey, grey walker who used to pass
Over the rock-arch nightly to his prey.
But here at the dumb, slow stream where the willows hang,
With never a wind to blow the mists apart,
Bitter and bitter it is for thee. O my heart,
Looking upon this land, where poets sang,
Thus with the dreary shroud
Unwholesome, over it spread,
And knowing the fog and the cloud
In her people’s heart and head
Even as it lies for ever upon her coasts
Making them dim and dreamy lest her sons should ever arise
And remember all their boasts;
For I know that the colourless skies
And the blurred horizons breed
Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed.
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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The Dainty Virtue
She fled me through the meadow,
She fled me o'er the hill.
With such a fling she fled, oh,
She may be flying still.
But doubtless she grew weary
By thicket or by wood.—
A dainty virtue, dearie,
That fled when none pursued.
poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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Merited Fiddle
Upon a beguiling, ocean course,
end for end, we bear up round,
a deathly toll, on path unfound,
reversing a wreak and recourse.
Travel with me far to your stare,
all of our promises up to extend,
all is possible on this time bend,
as we route on a dreamed fare.
Merited fiddle is the winds' virtue;
a night scope, snow icy gloves,
her Pythian oracle, from aboves,
ocean trips of dawn shine true.
A holy maiden, cared to caress,
our images of mind that escaped,
as then her wraith form draped,
a song on winds of deathliness.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Gaiety
The gayest songs of the morning
As the mist hangs over the hills,
For they dance, and they dance, in the Eastern world
While humanity pays its bills.
For the song of the Moonlight Sonata,
And the frost on the snow-white fields,
Oh! they dance, and they dance in the Eastern world,
While the yellow harvest yields.
The gayest songs of the morning
Forever the world goes round,
While the clock ticks by on the mantelpiece.
And the birds in the trees make a sound,
For ever and ever all nature sings,
While the lark up above doth soar on its wings,
And they dance, and they dance in the Eastern world
The gayest songs of they morning.
poem by Peter Buss
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Lorelei
You told me tales of love and glory
Same old sad songs, same old story
The sirens sing no lullaby
And no-one knows but lorelei
By castles out of fairytales
Timbers shivered where once there sailed
The lovesick men who caught her eye
And no-one knew but lorelei
River, river have mercy
Take me down to the sea
For if I perish on these rocks
My love no more Ill see
Ive thought of you in far-off places
Ive puzzled over lipstick traces
So help me god, I will not cry
And then I think of lorelei
I travel far and wander wide
No photograph of you beside me
Ol man rivers not so shy
And he remembers lorelei
River, river have mercy
Take me down to the sea
For if I perish on these rocks
My love no more Ill see
If I should float upon this stream
And see you in my madmans dream
Id sink into your troubled eyes
And none would know cept lorelei
River, river have mercy
Take me down to the sea
For if I perish on these rocks
My love no more Ill see
But if my ship, which sails tomorrow
Should crash against these rocks,
My sorrows I will drown before I die
Its you Ill see, not lorelei
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Parade Drive
It was when I waited for you - in gale;
among the clouds I returned to share,
the vented blue horizons of solar flare,
cause I had a choice to expand or fail.
And it was a choice we both consented,
one caress - your tips - tender on face,
when fates cared our threads to trace,
for you were my solitude ever extended.
as dusk descended gray upon the moors,
I saw you elevating - upstanding maiden,
a form of sacred above my dark burden,
in river Acheron and my pain that cures.
there were dances with forms diffused,
extended to aboves - expended to skies,
were my spirits - cared death to demise
eligibly alive I was amid blooms bemused.
Wraiths of solitude and horizon's lines,
in paths exclusive, amid paeans I arrive,
with cellars of red shed to parade drive,
where life of eighteen, unfolded shines.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Trust....
I trust the night
I trust the stars that shine
I trust the moon
I know its love’s divine
I trust the wind
I trust its winding ways
I trust the sky
I know its separate days
I trust the dawn
I trust its rising light
I trust the sun
I know its blinding sight
I trust the clouds
I trust the crimson waves
I trust the things I love
I know that this trust saves Me.
poem by Shashidhar Kumar
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How To Tell The Story Of The Cloud
you know how is it with the clouds
the more with air
and mists
they always change and they do it
as quickly as a wink
you know what clouds do
the form upon you some stories
the rainy ones sometimes and you shed tears
in the same manner with the air and mists
the air passes and sometimes you do not even feel it
and so you miss the story that it is bringing
the story of a journey
into somewhere
and the mists bring you some notes about what to do
in the darkness of the night
yet you tarry on the grass and on the side of the hill
you miss the essence of our beings
we are ghosts and we do not know where we are hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kiss a Nave
(Kiss a Nave)
I remember our prayers, of dim purview
as in a hazy mist our roads coincided
I see a painted blue window in misty dew
a parallelism to seize a cause one-sided.
Were our roads deceits of broken asphalt
a cold feeling or a debt on every station
you wore a pendant, of a bright emerald
and a carved Siren's smile of negation.
The Auster blows to whirl clouds of dust,
surrounding the place of your pedestal,
my outside dreams from domes glassed,
kin ghosts will blow my walkway coastal.
And as the wind caresses me like fingers,
I smiled to my solitude, a warm welcome;
to stray ghosts on paths memory lingers,
to piers, waves of oracles explode foam.
Lunar, confidential murmur of sea waves,
nepenthe blue; takes my hope to mirth,
sea-foam flies in the wind to kiss a nave,
a sacred space we stood on sandy firth.
Copyright © - G. V.- 01.04.2012 / PH 29347841
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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On The Shoreline
Released as b-side of I cant dance single, 1991.
Well theres a place where two worlds collide
The pile of stone against the pull of the tide
You can stay with your feet on the ground
Or step into the water, leave the dry behind
On the shoreline
Meet me on the shoreline
Where you can only swim if you try
Well, if theres somewhere on the other side
It might be better, it might be as bad
Someday soon youll have to make a move
Cos you cant stay forever, ah just waiting
On the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Meet me on the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Take me over, lead me through
Well can you take me there, to the other side
Where everything is new, uncertain and strange
Dont ever let me go till were there
I dont know what it is Im looking for
And until its found I wont be sure...
Well, there are squares in the game of life
When you can keep on moving or turn aside
Yes, there are times when you have to decide
To put your feet in the water, or stay
On the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Meet me on the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Where you can only swim if you try
Ill be there - oh
On the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Ill be there on the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Where you can only swim if you try
Ill be there
Ill be there - oh
Yes, Ill be there
Ill be there...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a Lady Seen From the Train
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
And shivering sweet to the touch?
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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Night
Now great Hyperion left his golden throne
That on the dancing waves in glory shone,
For whose declining on the western shore
The oriental hills black mantles wore,
And thence apace the gentle twilight fled,
That had from hideous caverns ushered
All-drowsy Night, who in a car of jet,
By steeds of iron-grey, which mainly sweat
Moist drops on all the world, drawn through the sky,
The helps of darkness waited orderly.
First thick clouds rose from all the liquid plains;
Then mists from marishes, and grounds whose veins
Were conduit-pipes to many a crystal spring;
From standing pools and fens were following
Unhealthy fogs; each river, every rill
Sent up their vapours to attend her will
These pitchy curtains drew 'twixt earth and heaven
And as Night's chariot through the air was driven,
Clamour grew dumb, unheard was shepherd's song
And silence girt the woods; no warbling tongue
Talk'd to the Echo; satyrs broke their dance,
And all the upper world lay in a trance.
Only the curled streams soft chidings kept;
And little gales that from the green leaf swept
Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisp'rings stirred.
As loath to waken any singing bird.
poem by William Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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