The Barriers
Between the muscle and the hammer-head,
The liquor and the veinous leaf it feeds;
Between the vision and the throne of God,
The promise and the stillborn shrouded words;
Between the hope that flies, the fear that dives,
The beak of hawk, the pretty breast of wren;
Between the husk that dries, the seed that thrives,
The line that flames, and that which leaves the pen,
Stand blood, its channel and the broken cross,
The bed unslept-in and the worn-down shoe,
The fruit of pity and the breast of Christ,
And all the bones kissed clean beneath the sea.
And would you say it even if you could,
Smash cage and let the weary words fly free?
Might that not let the tiger from the wood,
And madness ride across the morning sky?
poem by Henry Treece
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Related quotes
Not Marble Nor The Gilded Monuments
THE praisers of women in their proud and beautiful poems
Naming the grave mouth and the hair and the eyes
Boasted those they loved should be forever remembered
These were lies
The words sound but the face in the Istrian sun is forgotten
The poet speaks but to her dead ears no more
The sleek throat is gone -and the breast that was troubled to listen
Shadow from door
Therefore I will not praise your knees nor your fine walking
Telling you men shall remember your name as long
As lips move or breath is spent or the iron of English
Rings from a tongue
I shall say you were young and your arms straight and you!
mouth scarlet
I shall say you will die and none will remember you
Your arms change and none remember the swish of your garments
Nor the click of your shoe
Not with my hand's strength not with difficult labor
Springing the obstinate words to the bones of your breast
And the stubborn line to your young stride and the breath to your breathing
And the beat to your haste
Shall I prevail on the hearts of unborn men to remember
(What is a dead girl but a shadowy ghost
Or a dead man's voice but a distant and vain affirmation
Like dream words most)
Therefore I will not speak of the undying glory of women
I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair
And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders
And a leaf on your hair
I will not speak of the famous beauty of dead women
I will say the shape of a leaf lay once on your hair
Till the world ends and the eyes are out and the mouths broken
Look! It is there!
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Words... (Tiny Bodies)
words have tiny bodies,
some young, some aged beyond thought.
words carry swords and plant tears,
words form tiny lamps in darkness.
words express the unexpressable,
ride bicycles on children's journeys.
words taunt silence with definition....
and some of the best are never spoken.
words heal wounds, and fill bowls,
weave webs while we sleep.
words often turn and betray us,
and often die for our sins.
words create universes,
and shed their clothes on well lit stages.
words translate both the wolf and the whale,
and bear the flag of mountains.
words bear children, but leave no tracks.
words hammer rusty nails.
words never ever wear shoes,
and dance with every other step.
words stroke the breast and touch the lips,
without apology or fear.
words give stars their destiny,
and name every grain of sand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beautiful Madness
Beautiful madness is mine.
When promises bathed in red wine
Are born again
As the fruit of our vine.
Words that in water were written
As fate hissed
We kissed
And were bitten.
Now motionless
I sit in a chair
Potionless
Craving magic to share.
While my love moves through
The christmas fair
With beautiful madness I stare.
Was it all just a pocket of dreams?
Insanity and silent screams.
As words of love
Are now resigned
To greeting cards in dusty drawer
My boken heart you will find
Lies in shards upon her floor.
Now as I hang on my cross
Blood is starting to seep.
Like a sniper
That viper of death
Is planning to put me asleep.
That love born in a sunrise
Has died in her cold eyes.
But beautiful madness
Has booked me a ride
As I board a grey train
To a slow suicide.
poem by Kevin East
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Noonday Rest
THE willows whisper very, very low
Unto the listening breeze;
Sometimes they lose a leaf which, flickering slow,
Faints on the sunburnt leas.
Beneath the whispering boughs and simmering skies,
On the hot ground at rest,
Still as a stone, a ragged woman lies,
Her baby at the breast.
Nibbling around her browse monotonous sheep,
Flies buzz about her head;
Her heavy eyes are shuttered by a sleep
As of the slumbering dead.
The happy birds that live to love and sing,
Flitting from bough to bough,
Peer softly at this ghastly human thing
With grizzled hair and brow.
O'er what strange ways may not these feet have trod
That match the cracking clay?
Man had no pity on her--no, nor God--
A nameless castaway!
But Mother Earth now hugs her to her breast,
Defiled or undefiled;
And willows rock the weary soul to rest,
As she, even she, her child.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Cross Of Thorns
Dont come closer, cos it aint safe here,
Just turn around now and walk away.
Ive gotta tell you, there are no rules here,
Sometimes I wonder, what goes on there,
Behind those-eyes.
Chorus:
When a promise is broken, and no one trusts you,
Young ones crying with their heads in their hands,
When you talk about saving, the souls of the faithful,
You cant help thinking, youve got blood on your
Hands.
From a cross of thorns.
Tongues of fire always talking, wasted words that
Ring in my ears.
Were still waiting, losing patience, will all the
Lies of, 400 houndred years.
Ive got to tell you, there are no rules here,
Sometimes I wonder, what goes on there,
Behind those-eyes.
Chorus
We gave you yesterday, and now you want to-day,
Oh, from the hands of death we take our daily bread,
Now all we do is choke, and the words that you once
Spoke, fade away.
Look at what youve done, oh, its a cross of thorns.
Take away, this cross of thorns, look at what youve
Done.
Its a cross of thorns, cross of thorns.
When a promise is broken, and no one trusts you,
Youve got blood on your hands, from a cross of
Thorns.
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tether
Whatever it was, is wasn't manumission
To spill the blood, to pull the weed
You can bury the past, but it's a mausoleum
With the ghost of a fist that won't let us be
Can we bring it together,
Can we call from the mountain to the valley below?
Can we make it better,
Do we tether the hawk, do we tether the dove?
I kicked up the dirt, and I said to my neighbor
"We keep making it worse, we keep getting it wrong"
He tucked in his shirt, he stood a little bit straighter,
He said "We need a few less words dear, we need a few more guns."
But will it bring us together,
Can we call from the mountain to the valley below?
Can we make it better,
Do we tether the hawk, do we tether the dove?
Enduring love
Why so much and so strong, beyond this short existence?
So don't be still
You say there's a long line behind you
And it's hardly worth the mentioning
But I will
Cause we may flicker and fade,
But we never will be through with this
I see this world battered but not broken
There's a fallow heart, it's waiting on a sowing hand
You can grow what you want, But one day it's gonna rise up
So plant what you need to make a better stand
And we'll bring it together
Andwe'll call from the mountain to the valley below.
And we'll make it better
Let go of the hawk, we let go of the dove.
I sing to you, all you true believers
With the strength to see this and not be still.
I'm telling you now, find the hope that feeds you,
Don't let 'em bleed you of your will.
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aaron
Holiness on the head,
Light and perfection on the breast,
Harmonious bells below, raising the dead
To led them unto life and rest.
Thus are true Aarons dressed.
Profaneness in my head,
Defects and darkness in my breast,
A noise of passions ringing me for dead
Unto a place where is no rest.
Poor priest thus am I dressed.
Only another head
I have, another heart and breast,
another music, making live not dead,
without whom I could have no rest:
In him I am well dressed.
Christ is my only head,
My alone only heart and breast,
My only music, striking me even dead;
That to the old man I may rest,
And be in him new dressed.
So holy in my head,
Perfect and light in my dear breast,
My doctrine tuned by Christ, (who is not dead,
But lives in me while I do rest)
Come people; Aaron's dressed.
poem by George Herbert
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The effect of words
Her words stung like a wasp
Their effect had me in a sad grasp
I never knew words hurt so much
Those words postulated a form of retouch
You see;
Words make you
Words break you
Words can set you free
Words can let you be
You see;
Words tend to hurt
When dished out carelessly without effort
The right choice of words can give hope
The wrong choice of words can take away hope
And make someone tie themselves with a rope
Words can make you love
Words can make you hate
Words can encourage
Or set you on a stormy rage
Words need to be sensitive
Words can be expensive
When constructively comprehensive
If you dismiss words saying they don't hurt
You are wrong my dear, so wrong
Then why do we have courts?
Saturated with overpriced lawyers
Confusing us with grammer
Abusing us with grammer
Reducing any chances of freedom if you stammer
As you stand before that vicious unpredictable hammer
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Pretty Words
Ive seen the way he cast his spell
Hes gonna hurt you I can tell
Just to prove that he can be your lover
Hes gonna turn on that charm
Tonight hell wrap you in his arms
Tomrrow he will leave you for another
Pretty is as pretty does
Thats how it is and always was
Pretty words are all hes givin you
And when he whispers int he dark
Watch out hes gonna break your heart
cause pretty words wont make your dreams come true
Theyre just pretty words
Just pretty words
In the morning you will find
That you were just the next in line
Theres nothing I can do thats gonna stop you
Before you go just let me say
Id never treat your love that way
Ill be here long after hes forgot you
Pretty is as pretty does
Thats how it is and always was
Pretty words are all hes givin you
And when he whispers int he dark
Watch out hes gonna break your heart
cause pretty words wont make your dreams come true
Theyre just pretty words
Just pretty words
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Island Hawk
Hushed are the whimpering winds on the hill,
Dumb is the shrinking plain,
And the songs that enchanted the woods are still
As I shoot to the skies again!
Does the blood grow black on my fierce bent beak,
Does the down still cling to my claw?
Who brightened these eyes for the prey they seek?
Life, I follow thy law!
For I am the hawk, the hawk, the hawk!
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
As I glide and glide with my peering head,
Or swerve at a puff of smoke,
Who watcheth my wings on the wind outspread,
Here – gone – with an instant stroke?
Who toucheth the glory of life I feel
As I buffet this great glad gale,
Spire and spire to the cloud-world, wheel,
Loosen my wings and sail?
For I am the hawk, the island hawk,
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
My mate in the nest on the high bright tree
Blazing with dawn and dew,
She knoweth the gleam of the world and the glee
As I drop like a bolt from the blue.
She knoweth the fire of the level flight
As I skim, close, close to the ground,
With the long grass lashing my breast and the bright
Dew-drops flashing around.
She watcheth the hawk, the hawk, the hawk
(Oh, the red-blotched eggs in the nest!)
Watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way.
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
She builded her nest on the high bright wold,
She was taught in a world afar
The lore that is only an April old
Yet old as the evening star.
Life of a far off ancient day
In an hour unhooded her eyes.
In the time of the budding of one green spray
She was wise as the stars are wise.
An eyas in eyry, a yellow-eyed hawk,
On the old elm's burgeoning breast,
She watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way.
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
She hath ridden on white Arabian steeds
Thro' the ringing English dells,
For the joy of a great queen, hunting in state,
To the music of golden bells.
A queen's fair fingers have drawn the hood
And tossed her aloft in the blue,
A white hand eager for needless blood.
I hunt for the needs of two.
A haggard in yarak, a hawk, a hawk!
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
Who fashioned her wide and splendid eyes
That have stared in the eyes of kings?
With a silken twist she was looped to their wrist:
She has clawed at their jewelled rings!
Who flung her first thro' the crimson dawn
To pluck him a prey from the skies,
When the love-light shone upon lake and lawn
In the valleys of Paradise?
Who fashioned the hawk, the hawk, the hawk,
Bent beak and pitiless breast?
Who watcheth him sway in the wild wind's way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
Is there ever a song in all the world
Shall say how the quest began
With the beak and the wings that have made us kings
And cruel – almost – as man?
The wild wind whimpers across the heath
Where the sad little tufts of blue
And the red-stained grey little feathers of death
Flutter! Who fashioned us? Who?
Who fashioned the scimitar wings of the hawk,
Bent beak and arrowy breast?
Who watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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What Price Golgotha?
seer eyes burn with
prophetic words read
vision words sweep
forth in sleep soul fed
dream spaces echo
divine fountain head
heart surges witnesses
flowing images bled
blood of all spilled human
suffering fills vast lake red
blood cries out from ground
to God spoken testament said
murder of Christ at Golgotha each
shed droplet screams at deathbed
judge this sacrifice this moment
against each soul resurrect all dead
judgement judgement screams
all blood spilt where murder lead
all sin all crime all evil is judged
against all guilty soul’s in dread
those born again in Christ have sin
washed clean with Christ are wed
their name is written in sacred book
of life angelic marked upon forehead
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Adonis
1.
Each of us like you
has died once,
has passed through drift of wood-leaves,
cracked and bent
and tortured and unbent
in the winter-frost,
the burnt into gold points,
lighted afresh,
crisp amber, scales of gold-leaf,
gold turned and re-welded
in the sun;
each of us like you
has died once,
each of us has crossed an old wood-path
and found the winter-leaves
so golden in the sun-fire
that even the live wood-flowers
were dark.
2.
Not the gold on the temple-front
where you stand
is as gold as this,
not the gold that fastens your sandals,
nor thee gold reft
through your chiselled locks,
is as gold as this last year's leaf,
not all the gold hammered and wrought
and beaten
on your lover's face.
brow and bare breast
is as golden as this:
each of us like you
has died once,
each of us like you
stands apart, like you
fit to be worshipped.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Sticks And Stones
Sticks and stones, might break my bones
And words, shall never harm me,
I was told that story, when I was a Boy
Along with the birds and bees, I believe
So I lived my life, through that advice
That was given to me in my youth,
That sticks and stones would break my bones
And words could do no harm was true.
So I stayed away from sticks and stones
And tried never calling anyone names
But the sticks still arrived, in my life
And also the words of hate and pain.
But then I had healed from broken bones
And bruises and all the nasty cuts,
It made me stronger, then I thought longer
About the words of hate and such.
Because the words of hate, I couldn't escape
As I noticed them around everyday
Destroying ones soul, until life they'd let go
Or asking GOD for vengeance as they'd pray.
Sticks and stones had broke my bones
And words of hate had really harmed me,
As I look around, I can still hear the sound
Of hate, and belittlement, and bigotry.
There are still broken bones and nasty cuts,
As I see as I enter every day with a walk,
But doctors heal then, as they are new again
But the words of hatred never balks.
In my life I have made many choices,
And I hope with one I don't stand alone
Never to ever use any word of hate
As I don't mind getting hit with sticks or stones.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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As The Red Wine Into The Cup Is Poured
Christ the Lamb upon the alter stone.
Christ the sacrifice to atone.
Christ's blood, the wines a token.
Christ the bread that was broken.
As the grape was crushed to make the wine
so Christ was crushed for sins of mine.
As the red wine into the cup was poured
so Christ for me His blood outpoured.
As the bread was broken that we share
so Christ was broken upon the cross there.
'Father forgive, ' I hear Him cry
so I could live He was willing to die.
Elegy On The Death Of A Church Mouse
‘Colonel Gaddafi is dead; long live Gaddafi’,
- whose words those are?
don’t shoot, don’t shoot,
enough blood is spilled!
Gaddafi,
a leaf from the tree is dead;
leaf sprouts, leaf eats, leaf sleeps in the sky,
leaf waves the world in the cheer of palm,
makes no sand out of storm,
no beating themselves by the horse drain,
no hanging noose by the cock’s strain.
Leaf feeds the tree with green
when upon it’s tender face, the horrid-sun shine,
leaf, bearer of flower, bearer of seed,
never the taster of the sap from earth
till drops dead in the paleness of red,
‘don't shoot, don't shoot,
upon the sand is blood,
for the Colonel is dead’,
said, the tree,
and said, ‘Long live Gaddafi!
poem by Saranyan Bee
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Thoughts Of Him
Yes my friend, there's only one, He is Almighty God's Eternal Son.
Yes indeed He's coming again, so are you really ready my friend?
You can be filled with His Power, in this dark and crucial hour.
What ever you are contemplating, He comes to those who are waiting.
With a heart filled with love, you can be fit for The Kingdom above.
The only way to truly start is to accept The Lord into your heart.
If your decision is truly sincerely, you will have nothing to fear.
From the cross He has one plea, believe in Me and I'll set you free.
The Cross is something to cherish, for without we all would perish.
For Christ Jesus died upon a tree, for sinful people like you and me.
His words to us are very clear, the reason why we're left down here.
I was bought with an awesome cost, to seek out those who are lost.
Jesus filled me with compassion to win, those around me lost in sin.
He teaches me Truth so I may impart words of life to a needy heart.
Christ leads me to an open heart, so His Words of Life I can impart.
He gave me such a deep desire, to snatch lost souls from the fire.
He shed His blood on The Cross, so we would not suffer Eternal loss.
With His blood He cleanses sin, and the entire world belongs to Him.
All who choose to simply mock, will be crushed by The Eternal Rock.
And they will suffer Eternal Loss, for they were bought at The Cross.
(Copyright © 03/2003)
The Tryst
I raised the veil, I loosed the bands,
I took the dead thing from its place.
Like a warm stream in frozen lands
My lips went wandering on her face,
My hands burnt in her hands.
She could not stay me, being dead;
Her body here was mine to hold.
What if her lips had lost their red?
To me they always tasted cold
With the cold words she said.
Did my breath run along her hair,
And free the pulse, and fire the brain,
My wild blood wake her wild blood there?
Here eyelids lifted wide again
In a blue, sudden stare.
Beneath my fierce, profane caress
The whole white length of body moved;
The drowsy bosom seemed to press
As if against a breast beloved,
Then fail for weariness.
No, not that anguish! Christ forbid
That I should raise such dead! I rose,
Stifled the mouth with lilies, hid
Those eyes, And drew the long hair close,
And shut the coffin lid.
My cold brow on the cold wood laid,
Quiet and close to-night we lie.
No cruel words her lips have said.
I shall not take nor she deny.
The dead is with the dead.
poem by Muriel Stuart
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Today... 'The Covert from the Tempest
Behold a king shall in righteousness reign
and rivers of water cover this dry plain.
Like the shadow of a rock in a weary land
we see the great Covert from the Tempest stand.
Hidden in the Covert from the Tempest sore
there in His body on the cross my sins He bore.
For Christ has borne the Tempest of a Just God.
The great penalty of the laws awful rod.
Now safely sheltered beneath the cross am I.
The mighty Angel of Death will pass me by.
For my Covert from the Tempestuous rages
is beneath the Cross where I'm safe from its ravages.
Justice and Mercy kissed on Calvary's tree.
The law of God is now satisfied for me.
Wonderful peace, perfectly serene and still
can be found at the cross on Calvary's hill.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Trust Of The Wicked, And The Righteous Compared
As parched in the barren sands
Beneath a burning sky,
The worthless bramble with'ring stands,
And only grows to die.
Such is the sinner's aweful case,
Who makes the world his trust;
And dares his confidence to place
In vanity and dust.
A secret curse destroys his root,
And dries his moisture up;
He lives awhile, but bears no fruit,
Then dies without a hope.
But happy he whose hopes depend
Upon the Lord alone;
The soul that trusts in such a friend,
Can ne'er be overthrown.
Though gourds should wither, cisterns break,
And creature-comforts die;
No change his solid hope can shake,
Or stop his sure supply.
So thrives and blooms the tree whose roots
By constant streams are fed;
Arrayed in green, and rich in fruits,
It rears its branching head.
It thrives, though rain should be denied,
And drought around prevail;
'Tis planted by a river's side
Whose waters cannot fail.
poem by John Newton
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Robin
Robin perched on twisted branch;
Sun reflected branches,
Sparkling morning light
Take in the moment;
As it flies by.
Robin twittering on a twisted post;
Cool breeze blowing leaves,
Cross this winters floor.
Spend a moment,
As it flies by.
Robin perched on spade handle;
Fluffs up his breast,
Against the winters morn.
Take moment, trap it
As it flies by.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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