En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Siren Song

It seems that a wind is pushing us together
towards a snaky road that effuses in Chaos
and one ribbon of mystery dark, and tender,
of magical tales I heard before, a glee endow.

So, maybe was something your voice said
whispering in my ear as dusk descended
and it was my promise to invite you as a wed,
in my solitude I wore your glance attended.

Cause you are distant; Far in a pasture ghostly,
spirits of darkness in scriptures apocryphal,
as Aglaope's astounding face, bends softly,
to guile me in carnivorous feast, Leucosia lethal.

A song of longing by Himerope, in Molpe music,
buckling my heart, as Parthenope my maiden is,
and Ligeia shrills fear, Teles perfect acoustics,
Raidne improves our bond, and Peisino persists.

Thelxepeia, Thelxeteira, Thelxiope sooth me,
my soul hurts; a beatitude deathly assemblege
Aglaophonos angelic song, a mind's eloquence
they beckon, faces of Eden, wet eyes glaze..

They bind me in eternal paths to come closer,
a blandiloquent reason in caliginous nightly calls,
to bestow, my aching soul, a solitude border
to surpass, and reach for an unknown cockle.

So, I loved you all, your comely invitation to dark
I loved; comeuppance beauties will devour flesh
and drink, drink Crimson spilled, their eerie hark,
I enfold, as it transfuses to a malevolence I bless.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Enfolds me aptly

A wind runs on my face - a billow of rain.
and I to blunt the cold - a glassy cockle
it is a comely face in my mist, and pain,
and to conflate 'em with glance, in focal..

So it was you, absently, to speak, in mind
was it my drift, a dalliance, but dead,
to go under a snowy quilt, dull and blind,
maybe to stop my messaging, that bled.

I felt, my ebullience was a Naiad's bliss,
expanded in ethereal, nightly backdrops,
her tales brought to me a kind Abyss,
full of caresses, dulcet treats an' nyctalops.

To disinherit this entropy of bluish grip
around my wrist; also diffused in waves,
she ruled my foolish notions ever since,
with an urge to embrace again - in grave.

A spilled flow of Crimson log, my loss,
oblating to empty dreams, I exit lines,
of horizontal destinies in darkened chaos,
her windy tears of solitude, in brines.

So, I open my glassy sails in bridal space
so happy is my heart and beating madly,
a cold wind is blowing, icy on my face,
an open Chaos under me enfolds me aptly.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Fog-Horns, Even Bow-Bells

Nautilus on a cargo vessel, to avail,
devoid of an older route, and drift
his beats of abreacted pulse, to trail,
his home-land on cloudy forms, to lift.

Long locked in dreams, assemblage,
soul sails forward, spilled life's wine,
in Nordic Northern seas, God Brage,
unworldly lyrics to compose, in brine.

I reckon he befits an Angel, alone,
he plays a harmonica in broken notes,
a song for loners or friends, gone,
mistral petals him along, as boat floats.

I reckon he remembers her, a Naiad,
the sun crowns his head, far setting,
a dalliance, a harbor song, her bard,
depicting of his solitude's odd wedding.

In dark she comes, from away shore,
along windy fog-horns eerie call, in air,
she gliding sails, comely to invite afore,
Nautilus and drifting souls in despair.

She comes as bow-bells ring, and sings:
'Enfold me in your lone heart, and I,
shall lift your soul, with halcyon wings,
to fly in incipient stills, to imbue of nigh.'

She sings along, as drifts of mist repeat:
'Enfold me in your lone heart, and I,
shall lift your soul, with halcyon wings,
to fly in incipient stills, to imbue of nigh.'

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Accademia Dei Solinghi

KANTATE IHR VOELKER HOERT

IT is her alone
Now singing
Her lonely song
As though
She is on a very
High tower
On a very
High mountaintop.

WHAT I admire
most is her skill
Of singing
Solitude as though
It is a common
Piece
That any maiden
Of the town
Can sing

and
Sing it well.

A perfect voice
Of solitude
Singing

Alleluia
Alleluia

The God
On High
Shall come
And the
Bride must
Be ready
for the
God-groom

She sings so
Skillfully
And the mountains
And valleys and
All the people
Of the town
Listen and
They cannot
Tell what time
Is it because

All they do
Is listen to
Her as she
sings
Skillfully the
song of solitude

I too was sleepless
I learned the art
Of simply be
Myself
of simply
Be
in solitude

Unknown
to all
She sings

Because she
Is sleepy
and

She did not
Believe
in the

Power of solitude

In fact
what she
Really
believed
In and
what made
Her sing is
The power
of
Her song
It was
her
Projection
Of solitude

Which they
Really mistook

as

solitude

Her song
May be about
Solitude

She was not.
she was not really

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Floating Brim

An eerie song spelled by the auster,
but no one, must listen to the gusts
we receive on our cargo's pilot cutter
as we sheer off, to a nightly cussed.

The wind sings this divergent song,
with a conceived vision to whisper,
upon the pilot cutter, sailing along
Atlantic, as we stare at the big dipper.

On long route, attention sharpens,
with our steersman's whistling song,
heard in a liquor bar in Antwerpen
but he was not so lucky or strong.

A quarrel and a flashing blade, drawn
just for a solitude's question spend,
on Ocean wondering his soul 's upon,
in the winds, a harmonica will blend.

A ghostly port to stop, at Cape Coast,
a shinning and all was a dim past,
an end aghast, a thorny crowned post
to visit my sleep, for I remained last.

Our cargo slowly cuts on a bluish drape,
our diesels hum a besetting rhythm
in mists, as we envision a dark gate
that opens to engulf our floating brim.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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If I Were Old

If I were old, a broken man and blind,
and one should lead me to Mid-Eildon's crest,
and leave me there a little time to rest
sharing the hilltop with the Border wind,
the whispering heather, and the curlew's cry,
I know the blind dark could not be so deep,
so cruel and clinging, but that I
should see the sunlit curve of Cheviot's steep
rise blue and friendly on the distant sky!

There is no darkness - God! there cannot be -
so heavy as to curtain from my sight
the beauty of those Border slopes that lie
far south before me, and a love-found light
would shine upon the slow Tweed loitering by
with gift of song and silver to the sea!-
No dark can ever hide this dear loved land from me

poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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A Song For The Journey

A SONG FOR THE JOURNEY
Sometimes you may sing in your heart
or have song running through your head
but there’s always singing’s in your soul
and it’s on this song’s journey you’ll be led.
Towards a distant point, as yet unclear
your singing soul will lead you on
to find that place of understanding
with all your preconceptions gone.
Yet we sometimes meet more questions
Hard, hash decisions we must make
So the Soul song leads you onwards
along the pathway you must take.
The road can be both rough and smooth
its horizon hidden from your view
But the power within the singing
gives you strength to see it through.
With every step upon the road
the soul song keeps its tune and beat
and from its verses courage comes
to face the challenges you meet.
For some the song is understood
they come to recognise the voice
and in the facets of their lives
they use the song to make their choice
Some feel of the sound of singing
but don’t care, or know, where from
The song it doesn’t differentiate
into each soul it still sings on.
If we can listen to the message
and the true meaning in the song
Our footfall becomes much gentler
down the paths we walk along.
It’s the soundtrack of the life we lead
of the choices in life we make
The pragmatic or compassionate
a search for beauty, greed, or hate
Somewhere wthin the soul song
are great sacrifice and pain
and a promise ever present
of eternal peace and life again.
In the silence and the stillness
between all the bustle and the strife
listen carefully and you’ll recognise
the first and last love song of your life.

poem by Bill Mitton
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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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And This Rain

You were so simple, on your old balcony,
adorned by white roses, yet down looking,
west's flame encircled in lyrics' euphony,
sea Nymphs' surround was a benign setting.

Your words will glow in my distant trip's links
maybe your reason to escape was false,
and an affection was left in the winds
among your crossed ethereal hands and pulse.

Our time was still, with eyes to gleam, conceived,
and was our company, phase to reckon,
maybe atonement was, a cause bereaved,
and our glances in mists remote beckon.

Caress of sun steppe flower on my face,
will alter a dull course to steady 'ffuse,
our bilged steadfast is in brines to encase,
a summer song of longing to bemuse.

My effort to repent, in winds ascribes
besets our trips on sea to faded strings,
a touch of solitude, and ghostly brides,
caress of Sunday want to face all winds.
............

Perchance you're bending soft on my scriptures,
maybe you left on trip in empty train,
while I recall in dark your kind features,
- we missed our dreamy summer and this rain.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Airy you were

Airy you were in my dream, I felt you;
you had a bluish ribbon to twine,
my souls' ocean drops in cold truth,
the stars above ironically to shine;

.......................

I beckon; winds wave in worlds lost;
my glance to fair trails in home field,
a chorus of lost Angels foremost,
singing a monody of my soul's grief.

So there she talks; from far beyond,
the heights of glassy domes, of stars,
wishing - coins thrown in a pond,
a fantasy dreamer I am, behind bars.

Oceanic vastness, memories voiced,
- teary depths prohibited, I sail to only
caliginous, danger links of moist
foam on lips as my Siren smiles lonely

from darker faraway to care softly,
so as to touch my lips, singing a note,
a poem for my lone death to ghostly,
of irreversible Hades links that float.

.......................

Our steadfast sails to horizons gray,
the years we passed will there shine,
your low voice in the wind will betray
my soul's Siren song to end my twine..

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Factus Illac Lacrimosus

Caliginous, of long mane, maid beckons
as white sea birds dive in airy orbits,
and hazy horizons breathe, on eons,
resplendent she is! my soul transmits.

Thus, all advents of my previous lives
seek out for poetic streams, conflate,
white bluish colors, and dreams to guise,
benign oracle, to honor you and oblate.

The sea, I said, my soul, dimly effuses
to love you in ethereal transmittance,
I disinherit my years in Hades pastures,
accord of Elysian notes, a Deus stance.

The sea-gulls fly above, an obsequious
ocean behavior, so you, a memory fragile,
made solitude my companionship frivolous,
the flights fictitiously, my dreams beguile.

I recall our summer time, eons before,
gallivant feast to surmise dreams lost...
- A cry of yours, a dark mantle you wore,
factus illac lacrimosus, of my way foremost.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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My Song

This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child, like
the fond arms of love.
This song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of
blessing.
When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in
your ear, when you are in the crowd it will fence you about with
aloofness.
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams, it will
transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead when dark night is
over your road.
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes, and will carry
your sight into the heart of things.
And when my voice is silent in death, my song will speak in
your living heart.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Kissed your smiles

Mizzle paths become our mind's travel,
tail winds favor the sails abaft
besides our dreams kind to unravel,
a story that was built to last;

Old tales dropp off - forgotten die,
dimensions to escape open,
the solitude calls to imply
the lit wax candles end up molten;

The cold north wind whistles a tune,
strange in our eyes will shed a tear,
and shy our sadness - song distuned,
encounter odd will be t' adhere.

Same tic tac sounds from our window,
upon a glass stream down rain's aisles,
our eyes search for that old meadow,
where our sent rain had kissed your smiles.

That solitude became the scheme,
kind to surround a cause bewailed,
our song trailed on that same rain stream,
on that same glass, away it sailed!

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Sirens

Redemptive Sirens song and whisper
comely to stars' noctilucent mystery,
a sainted unspoiled nod to ascribe,
a mystery rightly to hold and imbibe.

Airy forms, on beatitude's pastures,
they walked; to paths where mortals,
once only go as the winds assuage
the dreamy fate of the Sirens' wage.

Still, with a becoming of dark stare,
sing above waves with a stygian care
to evaluate men unattackably virile,
unlovely wicked, with ill favored vile.

Beauteous, and even better looking
exquisite dames, are wickedly stalking
nautilus lives with songs entranced,
ardent and deadly, in dreams glanced.

Beamy and brilliant beckon forbidding,
talk to men souls, defenses abrading,
insatiable thirst of crimson, avarice,
in Hades flower beds, Dante's Beatrice.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Come To Me 07

Come to me dark angel, I need thee tonight
Unleash upon me, those merciless hunters eyes.
Come to me dark angel, I crave thee with in
Those hands that tear my heart, and infuse my skin

I beckon thee dark angel, how I taste your lips
That mouth that sears my totality, with a hypnotic tongue and teethy nips
Oh my angel, it is not your light that I seek,
But your darkness your savagery, that drives my aching body

Know me dark angel, as my soul calls to thee
Strangely your depth and demons comfort mine,
As you plunge me into dark desire,
I beckon thee dark angel, I am liquid fire burning for your claim

See me dark angel, as I see thee
Humane though not quite human, pour your fantasies into me
I care not what the dawn brings
I need thee dream angel, tonight be real and only for me

poem by Kira Bloom
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May This Song Reach Your Heart

A strong young woman sings,
Her voice so divine.
'May this song reach your heart.'

She showed the epitome
Of soul, body, and mind.
'May this song reach your heart.'

She sang to the heavens
With uplifting spirit.
'May this song reach your heart.'

Her song was made
So the world could hear it.
'May this song reach your heart.'

The song she sang
Was that of fine art.
'May this song,
Reach your heart.'

poem by Devon McElveen
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Doubting

A Brother wandered forth with me,
Beside a barren beach:
He harped on things beyond the sea,
And out of reach.
He hinted once of unknown skies,
And then I would not hark,
But turned away from steadfast eyes,
Into the dark.

And said — “an ancient faith is dead
And wonder fills my mind:
I marvel how the blind have led
So long the blind.

“Behold this truth we only know
That night is on the land!
And we a weary way must go
To find God’s hand.”

I wept — “Our fathers told us, Lord,
That Thou wert kind and just,
But lo! our wailings fly abroad
For broken trust.

“How many evil ones are here
Who mocking go about,
Because we are too faint with fear
To wrestle Doubt!

“Thy riddles are beyond the ken
Of creatures of the sod:
Remember that we are but men,
And Thou art God!

“O, doting world, methinks your stay
Is weaker than a reed!
Our Father turns His face away;
‘Tis dark indeed.”

The evening woods lay huddled there,
All wrapped in silence strange:
A sudden wind — and lo! the air
Was filled with change.

“Your words are wild,” my brother said,
“For God’s voice fills the breeze;
Go — hide yourself, as Adam did,
Amongst the trees.

“I pluck the shoes from off my feet,
But dare to look around;
Behold,” he said, “my Lord I greet,
On holy ground!”

And God spake through the wind to me —
“Shake off that gloom of Fear,
You fainting soul who could not see
That I was near.

“Why vex me crying day and night? —
You call on me to hark!
But when I bless your world with light,
Who makes it dark?

“Is there a ravelled riddle left
That you would have undone?
What other doubts are there to sift?”
I answered — “None.”

“My son, look up, if you would see
The Promise on your way,
And turn a trustful face to me.”
I whispered — “Yea.”

poem by Henry Kendall
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O Pulchritudo

O Saint whose thousand shrines our feet have trod
And our eyes loved thy lamp's eternal beam,
Dim earthly radiance of the Unknown God,
Hope of the darkness, light of them that dream,
Far off, far off and faint, O glimmer on
Till we thy pilgrims from the road are gone.

O Word whose meaning every sense hath sought,
Voice of the teeming field and grassy mound,
Deep-whispering fountain of the wells of thought,
Will of the wind and soul of all sweet sound,
Far off, far off and faint, O murmur on
Till we thy pilgrims from the road are gone.

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Hymn 70

Christ inviting, and the church answering the invitation.

SS 2:14-17.

[Hark! the Redeemer from on high
Sweetly invites his fav'rites nigh;
From caves of darkness and of doubt,
He gently speaks, and calls us out.

"My dove, who hidest in the rock,
Thine heart almost with sorrow broke,
Lift up thy face, forget thy fear,
And let thy voice delight mine ear.

"Thy voice to me sounds ever sweet;
My graces in thy count'nance meet;
Though the vain world thy face despise,
'Tis bright and comely in mine eyes."

Dear Lord, our thankful heart receives
The hope thine invitation gives;
To thee our joyful lips shall raise
The voice of prayer and of praise.]

[I am my Love's, and he is mine;
Our hearts, our hopes, our passions join;
Nor let a motion, nor a word,
Nor thought, arise to grieve my Lord.

My soul to pastures fair he leads,
Amongst the lilies where he feeds
Amongst the saints, whose robes are white,
Washed in his blood, is his delight.

Till the day break, and shadows flee,
Till the sweet dawning light I see,
Thine eyes to me-ward often turn,
Nor let my soul in darkness mourn.

Be like a hart on mountains green,
Leap o'er the hills of fear and sin;
Nor guilt nor unbelief divide
My Love, my Savior, from my side.]

poem by Isaac Watts
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In Solitude

A glass of red wine spent
Recalling life's events
Crowded in my skin
In Solitude

Relishing a melody of lament
Drifting through my window
Gliding in uninvited
In solitude

Last night I cried out loud
For the sake of hearing a sound
Though I did not hear me
In solitude

Gawking at my naked fear
Of living a life unseen
Yearning to belong
In solitude

I woke up in the evening
Read a book out loud
My voice wavering
In Solitude

As the heroine yearned
In an isolated crowd
To be loved
In solitude

I walked around naked
In my new home
My skin in flames
In solitude

Every molecule of air
Brushing against me
Scorched in vain
In solitude

It was raining that morn
When I came to life
My throat stinging
In solitude

I see no soul
I hear no breathing
I smell no skin
In solitude

I mourn not waking up
Next to my beloved
To warm my frozen hind
In solitude

Yet, I feel no cold
And life goes on
As I bury myself
In solitude

poem by Deva De Silva
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Wanted Soul

A broken glass allows light
cuts my solitude in half
ways search to find a bight
and asks for your away laugh.

Humble light, and evanescent
was my destiny to count upon
a failure? Maenads demented
enfold me in a travel I conn.

Wanted man by ghostly blithe
I loved her! there she imbues
counts my petals and a scythe
sepia shades monotonous hues.

Wanted man, of ghostly dawns
with you not there! I string
gallivant song that mourns
designs lost, poems to sting.

forms dim that dance and lilt
lanterns that half hide dark
river of sorrow deposits silt
tears to sting, as souls lark

Wanted soul, to travel across
a slender ghost, and lissome
Was it a gift, a golden cross
and your benign smile dystome.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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