Lincolnshire Bomber Station
Across the road the homesick Romans made
The ground-mist thickens to a milky shroud;
Through flat, damp fields call sheep, mourning their dead
In cracked and timeless voices, unutterably sad,
Suffering for all the world, in Lincolnshire.
And I wonder how the Romans liked it here;
Flat fields, no sun, the muddy misty dawn,
And always, above all, the mad rain dripping down,
Rusting sword and helmet, wetting the feet
And soaking to the bone, down to the very heart . . .
poem by Henry Treece
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Related quotes
Tenuous and Precarious
Tenuous and Precarious
Were my guardians,
Precarious and Tenuous,
Two Romans.
My father was Hazardous,
Hazardous
Dear old man,
Three Romans.
There was my brother Spurious,
Spurious Posthumous,
Spurious was Spurious,
Was four Romans.
My husband was Perfidious,
He was Perfidious
Five Romans.
Surreptitious, our son,
Was Surreptitious,
He was six Romans.
Our cat Tedious
Still lives,
Count not Tedious
Yet.
My name is Finis,
Finis, Finis,
I am Finis,
Six, five, four, three, two,
One Roman,
Finis.
poem by Stevie Smith
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Romans Twelve
I read and re-read Romans twelve.
Until it casted a spell.
And I saw myself,
And others like me.
Instantly I realized...
I was not as free,
As I chose to be.
In these times I'm finding,
Romans twelve has helped me dispel
What I believe I had to do...
To protect a truth I myself abused!
And to release what I thought I knew too well.
This is what I discovered as I read Romans twelve.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Rainbow Fields
Rainbow fields
Forever still
Undulating to eternity
Rain driven on a silent mist
Sunray vision
Like love who can resist
As the sun reigns high
Forever hopeful
Rainbow fields
Soft footsteps here
Over the brow of the hill so near
As I reach out
To catch a dream
Like a butterfly
Forever it seems
Bringing peace to humanity
A gift of the spirit
As the sun eclipsed like a shroud
Rainbow fields
Enchanted forever risen
Majestic couler
Stark sunlit prism
Where are you now
Where are you now.
poem by Chris McIntosh
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Another Language
The whole world is flat
& I am round.
Even women avert their eyes,
& men, embarrassed
by the messy way
that life turns into life,
look away,
forgetting they themselves
were once this roundness
underneath the heart,
this helpless fish
swimming in eternity.
The sound of O,
not the sound of I
embarrasses the world.
My friends, who voluntarily have made
their bodies flat,
their writings flat as grief,
look at me in disbelief.
What is this large unseemly thing-
a pregnant poet?
an enormous walking O?
Oh take all the letters of the alphabet but that!
We speak the Esperanto of the flat!
Condemned to sign
language & silence, pregnant poems
for men to snicker at,
for women to denounce,
I live alone.
My world is round
& bounded by the mountain of my fear;
while all the great geographers agree
the world is flat
& roundness cannot be.
poem by Erica Jong
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Old World New World
Natives wearing turquoise and silver
Dirty dogs barking in the distance
People of a thousand tongues
Im learning the primitive rights
Im doing as the romans do
Mt. kalais to mt. everest
Then down to the river ganges
To follow your mighty past
Were learning the primitive rights
Were doing as the romans do
Old world
New world
I know nothing
But Ill keep listening
Cities tumble into the ocean
Cities getting built in the sky
Now were talking digital
Were learning the primitive rights
Were doing as the romans do
Millions playing at monopoly
Rolling the dice of their life
Im dancing and shaking hands
Were learning the primitive rights
Were doing as the romans do
I know nothing
Grow old look wise
Never knowing til I die
But Ill keep listening
Ill keep listening
Pan
Shambala
Judism
Hindu
Christianity
Masdic
Budism
Atman of vedies
Sun ra
Astrology
Voodoo
The great dream time
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Adam And Eve
God created the first man, Adam,
out of the dust of the ground
He breathed into his nostrils the breath of life,
but for Adam there was no helpmate found
So God put Adam into a deep sleep
and made a woman out of a rib of the man
In The Garden of Eden everything was perfect
until they ate the fruit which God had banned
God told Adam and Eve they could eat
from every tree of the garden except one
Then came along the serpent and tempted Eve
and the first sin to enter the world was done
Ever since that day that sin entered the world
everyone has sinned and needs a savior
That is the reason God sent his son to die for us
and only through faith in Christ is salvation's door
Romans 5: 12 Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world and death by sin, and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned.
Romans 5: 8 But God commendeth his love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
John 10: 9 I am the door, by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out and find pasture.
www.cavaliersonly.com
poem by Cindy Wyatt
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When Life Is Gone
When life is gone
No one remains in this place
Till the end of time
When life is gone
The world will be a desolate wasteland
Where only the dead remain
To soil the green fields of love and light
Forever green
When life disappears
The dead remain
The fields run red with blood
Of wars gone past and wars to be
The fields are green all is gone
All is dead
The fields are gone
The world is gone
poem by kelly Martini
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Dead To My Poem
DEAD TO MY POEM
Dead to my poem-
Dead to the poems of others-
Dead to poetry
In any way at all-
Into another way of feeling:
Dry- nervous- anxious- fearful.
Prose is my soul
Empty small literal flat prose.
Flat prose
Lines too flat to even need paraphrase
No poem no poetry
Prose.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Flat
Back at the flat
I talk to my non-existent cat
Silence covers me like a Panama hat.
And the wonderful day we had at the zoo
Sunshine and ice cream; you snapped a Gnu.
Now echoes in the silence
That lonliness brings
Back at the flat where my life still clings,
Back at the flat i slowly fade in pain
Who will i hold so close again?
As cutting memories drive me insane
Trapped, i look out and it begins to rain.
Back at the flat i try to plan ahead
Feel one true kiss before i'm dead
Hold a hand that squeezes back tight
Drink wine and sing in someones moonlight.
Watching her in the kitchen, eyes glowing brand new
Now everything is a memory
Painted deep blue.
Back at the flat i dream a hug will come
A spark from her touch to heat this body numb.
Where is one night of stars to romance
She'll blow me a kiss as the world still rants.
My unknown love is waiting for me
All i need is her smile
And i'm flying free
Back at the flat my daydream ends
I cast my fate to the wind
And pray it ascends.
poem by Kevin East
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Lincolnshire Day
Lincolnshire Day (2012)
Today is Lincolnshire Day held every year on the 1st October,
The anniversary of the start of The Lincolnshire Rising in 1536,
But after all these years we are still under the yoke of Westminster,
But we still hope for independence.
Lincolnshire is England's largest united county,
Be it the Fens or the Wolds Lincolnshire is a beautiful place,
Covered with glorious countryside,
Full of quaint villages and market towns.
From Louth, the capital of the Wolds,
To Spalding, the capital of the Fens,
And Lincolnshire's capital, Lincoln itself,
There is nowhere better than Lincolnshire.
By Christopher Tye
poem by Christopher Tye
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For Mac
A dead starfish on a beach
He has five branches
Representing the five senses
Representing the jokes we did not tell each other
Call the earth flat
Call other people human
But let this creature lie
Flat upon our senses
Like a love
Prefigured in the sea
That died.
And went to water
All the oceans
Of emotion. All the oceans of emotion
are full of such ffish
Why
Is this dead one of such importance?
poem by Jack Spicer
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Field Of Joy
let's wander slowly through the fields
slowly slowly through the fields
i touch the leaves that touch the sky
just you and i through fields of joy
all trouble slowly fades away
slowly slowly fades away
i hold your hand inside my hand
across the land through fields of joy
the sound of music that we hear
the blend of colors throug the air
all cities, mountains disappear from view
all truth and beauty near to me and you
with you through the fields
with you through the fields
with you through the fields
the fields of joy
let's wander slowly through the fields
slowly slowly through the fields
i know our love will never die
just you and i
through fields of joy
through fields of joy
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mist On A Monday Morning
I wake and yawn at the crack of dawn
With dewdrops on my feet
As I rise up to greet the morning
Nothing much to eat
Every breath I take seems to make my body ache
My only friend is mist on a monday morning
Pick up my sack and walk for miles
Never thinking why
To the brewers yard where I can sit
And watch my life go by
Drink and drink all day till my memory melts away
I need a friend like mist on a monday morning
Wheres my wife, has she gone
I hear misty morning call
One foot resting in the grave
Destined not to see her anymore
Theres a den in the grass by the autopath
Of corrugated steel
I may be sleeping there tonight
And depending how I feel
Damp and dirty place
Printing sorrow on my face
With nothing but the mist on a monday morning
Chorus
From... I feel the sin
Like wheels upon my feet
Intoxicated by the night
I stumbled in the street
Every breath I take seems to make my body ache
And drift into the mist on a monday morning
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blackwater In Flood
The Boggeragh hills white in January snow
In ancient Duhallow where the Blackwater flow
Through that old flat countryside by Derrinagree
On it's way through North Cork on it's way to the sea.
The Blackwater in flood it has a mighty roar
As it rumbles along to the Atlantic shore
It floods across the land like a great inland tide
And in water covers the fields of it's banks either side.
The Blackwater in flood is amazing to see
Awe inspiring that's how it did seem to me
As it rages through Dromtarriffe in flood waters of brown
Through the flat countryside on towards old Mallow Town.
The Blackwater in flood it inspires awe and fear
When it bursts it's banks tis not safe to go near
Swollen by heavy rains and the melting of snow
To human or beast mercy it does not show.
Memories of cold January of frost, snow, Wind and rain
And of the Blackwater in flood with me does remain
It submerges the fields like a great inland tide
As it rages it's way through the old countryside.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Hat Too Flat
We come in on the morning scan
All the way from far arcturus
Bringing with us peace and good will
From the margins of space and time
Our women are slung down low to the ground
Theyre very good youve probably had one
Our men are brave, studly and wise,
A pleasure to behold
Right away we walk the walk
More or less we talk the talk
But every time we make our play
Their eyes get wide they run away
cause the hat stays too flat
My hat is way too flat
My english she is much better now
But my hat remains too flat
The man smells a rat
And thats the end of that
My english it is more better now
But my hat is still too flat
Fair arcturus fashion forecast:
Skirts will be shorter
Legs stay long
Virtual raincoats are coming back
Hats as always continued flat
Back at home the machines work hard
We folk like to take it easy
Honing our awareness of
The finer things of life
Here when I go down to my job
I work hard for what seems like a long time
I look at my watch: fifteen minutes
It felt like half a day!
Soon enough we break for lunch
Me and the boys now Im one of the bunch
But no one wants to sit with me
So tell me what can the matter be?
The hat stays too flat
My hat is way too flat
My english she is much better now
But the hat is just too flat
A little thing like that
They dont get past the hat
My english it is more better now
But my hat remains too flat
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Cry Over Spilled Sunsets
Happiness!
That is what he does to me
He paints me grey skies
Misty fog
Rainy fields
Beautiful uncertainty
Pierced
By dashes of red and orange happiness
Quick bursts
Of blushed reassurance
He interupted laughter
Smiles shared between us
Just to tell me
To catch the sunset
Spilled Sunsets
Dripping pink and bleeding orange
Red skies
Soaking into blue-grey canvases
He said if I turned my head I would miss it
If I blinked it would melt
But I did
And now it's gone
Oh well.
poem by Aria Siren
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The Roman Cemetery
Abused have been the Romans
by certain scholars of more recent times
for not creating metaphysics
like other glorious nations,
but only aqueducts, roads, colosseums, forums,
the eternal city, castra, border, earthwork.
Abused have been the Romans
for building only houses, with atria
receiving daylight from above,
and with the warning on their doorsills: cave canem.
If fate would have you come to Rome some day
and deep into the countryside, my friend, along the Via Apia
you were to wander,
you would then understand, oh, how unjust the balance is
in which people and peoples weigh
each other’s hearts and virtues. For you would see a Way
unrolling on and on into the landscape,
stone after stone, all fitting,
a Way lined left and right
with urns, sarcophaguses, mausoleums
preserving ashes, relics sheltering.
Thus did the Romans see the Way, defying every limit,
into the mighty realm of life through death advancing,
laid out in rows
on either side. And those who in the shade of cypresses
in sarcophaguses are sleeping, hear the sound
of shields and lances, hear the cohorts marching,
the wheels of chariots, the horses’ neighing. In due course
all this no longer does exist
but the more ancient dead still listen to the Way
that sounds on earth.
Thus did the Romans visualize a cemetery:
a way lined with two rows of silences.
And that is Roman metaphysics: a Way.
A way advancing through the dead, not through the quick.
poem by Lucian Blaga, translated by Dan Duţescu
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Crossroads
The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion, and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.
The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.
The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.
poem by Joyce Sutphen
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The Mushera Fog
It steals down the mountain the Mushera fog
Across the mountain road and cloaks Togher Bog
On damp and wet days in Winter and the latter Fall
The traffic goes up and down road at a crawl
From the high road a steep dropp down the mountain side
And to drive fast there in the fog is a wish for suicide
But what a beautiful drive on a pleasant Spring day
When the hawthorns are in their white flowers of the May
A beautiful view of the countryside for miles around
As you drive up and down the high road on the higher ground
But from mid Fall to early Spring on damp weather of low cloud
The high Mushera road is cloaked in a gray shroud
As the low clouds of rain down the mountain side blow
For to cloak Togher Bog and the valley below.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Undergoing Vigorous Renovation
It is easy to win someone,
With the telling of lies.
Many refuse to call them that.
Preferring 'Embellished Exaggerations'...
As if a renovation has been made,
To mask flat out lies!
The act begins to win one's confidence,
In a dismantling of truth.
Innocent enough not to be noticed.
As deceivers take their passengers,
Through the weeds of deception.
Many have been encouraged,
To nourish this as a 'gift'.
It is easy to win someone,
With the telling of lies.
Many refuse to call them that.
Preferring 'Embellished Exaggerations'...
As if a renovation has been made,
To mask flat out lies!
And flat out lies told by those masking truths...
Are always undergoing vigorous renovation.
To be changed with the re-telling.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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