En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The mast hangs fore

The mast hangs fore, so we bear with the land,
searching a birth; I check at the the binnacle,
and boards her up; Ease the helm, bear up-cond,
Pervasive Euclidean theorems, and the pentacle.

Voices echo from the land, in acerbic acrimony,
Angels' hymns soothing sound to slowly sharpen
biting vibes in the gusts consented disharmony,
respectfully strike the Flag, Hail to mishappen.

Accented voices, still so pleasant, effectual;
Comely draw in foggy forms, eerie on distance,
invulnerable were we, to bewitched end unequal;
threatening darkness favored fog's outdistance;

Airy she fares, inside the gust, devilish wind,
to eliminate my vacancy, so I fear, to be alive,
maybe she will vanish, aphotic dame in dark lint,
in roads adept, without her dusky aura connive!

Askance 's the wind, to attenuate, blows of Omen,
trivially amid the masts, he whistles a trifle,
upon the thwart standing aloft, indebted Yeoman,
of her virtuous glance, bedizened, airy skiffle.

She smiles deplorably in clouds immoral, dreadful,
redemptive just to kiss my lips, nifty, angelic,
aerial of nothingness to enliven but so hurtful,
in darkish scents, me to abnegate in Hades relic.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The mast Hangs Aft

The Mast hangs aft; we lower our Top-sails.
seeking a birth, aptly captain conns the ship
the vessel bears under the course, furls on trail,
we strike the flag, pull it down upon the cup;

The helm is 'hard a weather', we stow the hold,
the mizzen 's abaft, we gaze land in niep tides,
seaward to the land, course offing and bold.
ship rides a thwart, then betwixt wind and tide.

Ebony trees. Darkened vastness, we abreast,
quarter winds in favor, we lay the quoil on shore.
A whisper rides overset, cold spell's obverse,
sudden of darkness fell, time dissembled yore.

In mist we hear a hymn, icy cords of tensed lyre
numb we launch hoe, maids beseeched, beg;
unintelligibly, our minds freeze, at sound eerie;
accordment passive, and offing, fore to clegg.

They stare within, I shudder, a deaden bind,
deprived; my soul gripes, she smiles - her song,
my defense is veering, and I adore her grind,
I feel the sea's slow caress; forever I die along.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Betrothal Pearls

Sudden gusts around me are frozen,
Septentrio is acerbic this odd year,
Assuming I am wind's well chosen,
I sense my destiny to adhere.

Angels from above send this winter,
October in North Ranges is lonely,
your icon in mind is an anointer,
as you descend airy and lovely.

Celestial you descend airy and lovely,
embracing me, ghost in the whirls
of the wind as snow flies solely,
to smile with betrothal pearls.

Septentrio = Northern wind

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Arcanum Bride

Arcanum Bride

She came to me, unspoiled maid an' fair;
remote echo of church bells, on Sunday;
her face was angelical in droplets of air;
she flied into nothingness, there to stay.

She flied amid cumulus to bestow drops;
Acceptable by me were, her gray clouds;
Amid my dusk shadows above tree tops,
Imparted were her Fall's mizzle shrouds;

There I was, arbiter of an arcanum bride,
amid tenths of heaven's scents, in ambit,
a spread of nimbus favored me, but cried,
her glance was a rain dance and splendid!

She stared at me from yonder stills, airy;
Utopian reality to overreach me lifeless;
Trumpets of Angels played in notes merry,
her eerie disposal and bridal affableness;

Thus I accepted her in Acheronian gleam;
thousand tears of raining, arcanum song;
she sang above the cumulus in odd deem,
crowning my wax noctilucent, and lifelong.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Princess of Bright

Princess of Bright

Aerial was that friction match and I,
beguiled by her beaming glare, luminous,
Glorious amid red rose beds, flowery,
Radiant of her young Springs and vows!

Dazzling and glistening the air around
with bees to seethe in redemptive light,
a sprite! Was I the blessed unsound,
a mere mortal! Lurid but unfit, albeit!

And then, like an aeriform, descended
to fill my emptiness, ascetic severeness;
acceptable, wed scented, well respected,
my openhearted vacancy, and nothingness.

Princess of Bright, lucent, deplorable,
aloof! A nonadjacent mistress, in Utopia,
to navigate in veinal dreams lamentable,
to gloss her undimmed glimmer in sepia.

Aphotic my nights became in dismal tear,
as virtuous she was, to forge my dream,
Unfavorable of a Groom I was, to bear,
my Acheronian wick, angelic waxy grim.

There she was! Benighted in brunet yon,
her mane to wave in ethereal fine visions,
Princess of Darkness, made me reckon,
Invisible, then was my trauma incision.

© G. V. - 01.23.2012 /
© 29570343

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Voices Inherit The Wind

The lingering shadows of those
who are gone from our grasp
bring comfort to those
who had to say behind.
Their voices inherit the wind
on cold and lonely nights.
Their voices can be heard
telling us everything is all right
when the shadows of loneliness
fall across our sight.
Our weeping call to come back
is answered in the wind
and the shaking branches
touched by a breeze.
Candles were lit to show us the way
when the clouds of darkness surround
and the voices inheriting the wind compound.
We walk with eyes blinded
into an eternal light
to be consumed within.
No one knows our boundaries
when angels take flight
and we only go when we are ready
to face the eternal night.
Those we left have no fear
we maybe gone, but we are still here.
Our voices inherit the wind on dark blustery nights.
We are those fleeting shadows
you catch from the corner of your eye.
We seek not to alarm you,
just to guide you along,
we are your past nudging you
into the future where you belong.

28 March 2010

poem by David Harris
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Voices In The Dark

Voices in the subway,
Looking for the overnight.
Echo in the darkness,
Lonely cries within a sound.
A voice that has no face,
Is lost in time and inner space.
Chasing dreams that got lost in the dark.
Reaching out, always searching,
Lonely voices in the dark.
[this is surbiton, surbiton. the train at platform two is for wimblelton and
Waterloo only.]
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.
A voice that has no face,
Is lost in time and inner space.
Chasing dreams that got lost in the dark.
Reaching out, always searching,
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voices In The Dark (remix)

Voices in the subway,
Looking for the overnight.
Echo in the darkness,
Lonely cries within a sound.
A voice that has no face,
Is lost in time and inner space.
Chasing dreams that got lost in the dark.
Reaching out, always searching,
Lonely voices in the dark.
[This is Surbiton, Surbiton. The train at Platform Two is for Wimblelton and
Waterloo only.]
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.
A voice that has no face,
Is lost in time and inner space.
Chasing dreams that got lost in the dark.
Reaching out, always searching,
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Darkness

Gene pitney
Darkness, only darkness
Land of shadow
Thats where my heart goes
Now Im alone, Im on my own
Voices, I hear voices
Sounds in the still night everywhere
But youre not there
No, youre not there
Imagination brings you so near
I reach for your lips, but theyre not here
All of my memories are closing in as one
I walk a little faster, than I start to run
Darkness, only darkness
Land of shadow
Thats where my heart goes
Now Im alone, Im on my own
I long to hold you, thrill to your charm
But how can I hold shadows in my arms?
I reach to find you, stumbling through the night
Searching in my sadness, looking for the light
But theres darkness, only darkness
Land of shadow
Thats where my heart goes
Now Im alone, Im on my own

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Stave Of Roving Tim

(ADDRESSED TO CERTAIN FRIENDLY TRAMPS.)

I

The wind is East, the wind is West,
Blows in and out of haven;
The wind that blows is the wind that's best,
And croak, my jolly raven!
If here awhile we jigged and laughed,
The like we will do yonder;
For he's the man who masters a craft,
And light as a lord can wander.
So, foot the measure, Roving Tim,
And croak, my jolly raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.

II

You live in rows of snug abodes,
With gold, maybe, for counting;
And mine's the beck of the rainy roads
Against the sun a-mounting.
I take the day as it behaves,
Nor shiver when 'tis airy;
But comes a breeze, all you are on waves,
Sick chickens o' Mother Carey!
So, now for next, cries Roving Tim,
And croak, my jolly raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.

III

Sweet lass, you screw a lovely leer,
To make a man consider.
If you were up with the auctioneer,
I'd be a handsome bidder.
But wedlock clips the rover's wing;
She tricks him fly to spider;
And when we get to fights in the Ring,
It's trumps when you play outsider.
So, wrench and split, cries Roving Tim,
And croak, my jolly raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.

IV

Along my winding way I know
A shady dell that's winking;
The very corner for Self and Co
To do a world of thinking.
And shall I this? and shall I that?
Till Nature answers, ne'ther!
Strike match and light your pipe in your hat,
Rejoicing in sound shoe-leather!
So lead along, cries Roving Tim,
And croak, my jolly raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.

V

A cunning hand 'll hand you bread,
With freedom for your capers.
I'm not so sure of a cunning head;
It steers to pits or vapours.
But as for Life, we'll bear in sight
The lesson Nature teaches;
Regard it in a sailoring light,
And treat it like thirsty leeches.
So, fly your jib, cries Roving Tim,
And top your boom, old raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.

VI

She'll take, to please her dame and dad,
The shopman nicely shaven.
She'll learn to think o' the marching lad
When perchers show they're craven.
You say the shopman piles a heap,
While I perhaps am fasting;
And bless your wits, it haunts him in sleep,
His tin-kettle chance of lasting!
So hail the road, cries Roving Tim,
And hail the rain, old raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.

VII

He's half a wife, yon pecker bill;
A book and likewise preacher.
With any soul, in a game of skill,
He'll prove your over-reacher.
The reason is, his brains are bent
On doing things right single.
You'd wish for them when pitching your tent
At night in a whirly dingle!
So, off we go, cries Roving Tim,
And on we go, old raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.

VIII

Lord, no, man's lot is not for bliss;
To call it woe is blindness:
It'll here a kick, and it's there a kiss,
And here and there a kindness.
He starts a hare and calls her joy;
He runs her down to sorrow:
The dogs within him bother the boy,
But 'tis a new day to-morrow.
So, I at helm, cries Roving Tim,
And you at bow, old raven!
The wind according to its whim
Is in and out of haven.

poem by George Meredith
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The Cold, Dark Wind

A cold wind blows 'cross the mountainside
Clouds fill the sky
Overcoming with their dark'ning might
Beasts of darkness that shun the light
Only come out when the wind blows 'cross the night sky
Gath'ring the beasts of darkness that shun the light

Mighty, mighty
Storms igniting
Ever-changing with the cold wind
That blows through the trees
An unknown evil has a grip on this world
With a dreadful fate is about to show
That there is good, but more is sin
Left to fly with that cold, dark wind

poem by by unknown author
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The Seed of a Dandelion

My life is like a seed of a dandelion
It flies wherever the wind blows
Looking for the salvation
The land where I can land on

I will follow wherever the wind blows
I will fly if there are tomorrows
I will land to my bed of nest
The place where I go to rest

But if the wind drops me in the river
The river of pains and tears
I will force myself along the current
To find a land in the orient

If the wind will blow me again
The wind will blow me to the end
If I will go and die in this ride
I hope all the pain will subside

If the wind will dropp me in the land
The humus land where I can stand
I will go to sleep in peace
And will wait for morning kisses

_ Dustin S. Catingub

poem by Dustin Catingub
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Void Start

It was the Spring time of a void year,
you approached me, a pleasant light,
opalescent in any nonadjacent tear,
and annulled dreams of a bluish flight.

Amid night hours a chastened clock,
counted our words in sort out play,
and there were lingering eyes to lock,
your stare tearful of my soul to slay..

And then, a rendering of air in foliage,
spirits of forest to descend on earth,
and hymn in wind a forgotten adage,
my poem for you and our loves worth..
..................................
..................................
Evanescent was that light and empty,
my soul followed in sheer darkness;
't was a ghostwrite, and a notion hefty,
't was a shadow upon my emptiness.

Night birds were calling, dark and yon,
with their monotonous, deathly call,
an airy vision, was upright to abscond
as my soul ascended in silvery stroll.

Kindly she bestowed, all I have loved,
an offer to assuage my aphotic depart,
brunette gleam was a darkness above,
amid stars wraith was she, a void start.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Birth

Welcome to this place called earth.
Come alive. It's the day of your birth.
Hear new voices all around,
all the voices that surround
your tiny body. It's a shock.
The time of your birth is seen on a clock.

All new sensations except for one,
except for a heartbeat, you know none.
Vision blurry except for light
Where is the warmth and darkened sight?
Your body's cold. It's a shame.
Someone holds you and says your name.

Nothing's familiar.
Everything's strange.
Someone is singing. This you recall.
Tiny lips sucking swallowing small
drops of sustenance, soothing and calm
while you're holding a finger in your palm.

Welcome to this place once again.
Come alive. Remember when
all was peaceful. Heaven was near,
No trepidation and no fear.
You left it behind. It's not here.
This is the day of your new birth year.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Voices Of The Wind

Wind chimes and tree leaves
Voices of the wind

Bulrushes, birdwings
Rattling roofs of tin

Howling zephyrs, soughing breezes
Atlantic gales, explosive sneezes…

All voices of the wind….

Rattle of windows, Bang of shutters,
Whisper of curtains, puff of summer gusts

Snapping of canvas from towering mastheads
Squeal of windmills as they adjust

Whispered messages from pinions of birds
Flapping of laundered linens

Soft velvety sighs of lover’s words
All voices in languages… of the winds

Childs’ anticipation, breath held deep within
Each inhalation, every exhalation….

Are all voices of the wind

poem by David Whalen
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Where Lies the Land to Which the Ship Would Go?

Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth face,
Link'd arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace;
Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below
The foaming wake far widening as we go.

On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave,
How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave!
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast
Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past.

Where lies the land to which the ship would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
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A Wind From... Elsewhere

The wind blows here... the wind blows there
The wind seems to blow from... everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair...
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! Can you see its graceful fingers... playing in your hair?
Nay! You cannot see the wind... e'en though you know it's there.
It's flitting... it's flirting... it's prancing everywhere
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! It blows unexpectedly... with a gentle breeze... it blows...
The Great Hand of Miracles... brings it... then it goes
To greet the early morning sun... to dance to and fro
From the highest, loftiest mountain heights... to valleys... far below. 'Who is He that sitteth upon the circle of the earth...
Who gathereth the winds in his fists—Who maketh a wind to pass over...
Thou hearest the sound thereof...
But canst not tell whence it cometh... and wither it goeth.' The wind blows here... the wind blows there...
The wind seems to blow... from everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair—
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE!

poem by Elga Haymon White
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Gusts Of Wind

Gusts of wind blowing hard
all across the land
across the shores and deserts,
gusts blowing sand.

Sometimes starting as breezes
then building in intensity,
swirling and creating noises
that whistle a symphony.

Catching the sounds of wind chimes
clanging loud and clear,
ringing in many different tones,
tones that you can hear.

These gusts of wind intrigue me.
I wonder how they start?
Sometimes they come so quickly
and then when they depart

I wonder where they've traveled
and have they all died down?
There's stillness in the air now.
No gusts of wind are around.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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To Mary In Summer

LAY your head here, Mary,
Lay your head here,
While the blown grass, Mary,
With timid voice and wary,
Sings in your ear:—
The grass which round us, Mary,
Shuts like a nest;
By your dear limbs, dear Mary,
Lighter than limbs of Faery,
Daintily press'd.
Back with it all though, Mary,
Back and aside;
The wind comes this way, Mary,
And here the trees are airy
And the skies are wide.
What do your eyes fear, Mary,
So grave and soft?
I love to see them, Mary,
In whimsical vagary
Lifted aloft.
Mary, Mary, Mary,
Laugh in my face:
You know now, my own Mary,
No eyes can laugh so rarely
Or grant such grace.
Your cheek is pale now, Mary,
And red, by turns.
Why should the hand be chary
Of that to give which, Mary,
The heart so yearns?
Give me your hand, ah Mary,
Give me your hand:
In city or in prairie
There is none kinder, Mary,
From land to land.
Your lips to my lips, Mary,
Your lips to mine:
High up in Hebe's dairy
No milk so sweet, my Mary,
On earth no wine.
Lay your head here, Mary,
Lay your head here;
While my heart now, Mary,
The pleasant tune to vary,
Beats in your ear.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Day Began Well

At mid-day when the darkness fell
did you not see those demons from hell?
Did you not hear the bells ring out
and the weeping angels wail and shout?

Before the darkness this was a happy place,
people wore smiles upon their face.
Then came the dark and the churches filled,
goats stood shackled to the windowsills.

An ill wind blew down the town’s main street,
the silence was broken by a deafening bleat.
An inherent sence of evil, dread, and gloom,
brought no peace of mind this afternoon.

From different directions voices could be heard,
preachers shouted their God filled words.
In makeshift churches the repentant cried out,
whilst hymns could be heard amid their shout.

It was as if they knew that the end was nigh,
hopelessness and despair filled every eye.
With sinister foreboding in their thoughts and heart
the darkness demons tore their souls apart.

poem by Orlando Belo
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