The Fallen Poet
NOW that the soul has left its throne
Behind your mortal eyes,
And light, and colour and sound are gone
From the body's palaces :
Still in his wood the blackbird calls,
But there is one too few to hear :
And one too few to watch the trout
Swim through the music of the weir.
And once I dreamt that you were gone,
As dust upon the wave ;
Or, as a dropp in some deep well,
That none could sort or save.
But falling low between the stars,
So soon as I had such a fear,
At dusk and dawn a whisper came :
'The dead are near: the dead are near.
poem by Herbert Asquith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Reflects The Soul
Your eyes are like a mirror
that reflects your soul.
Some eyes are dark as cobalt
and reflect the deed they do.
Others are a shade of gold
reflect a heart that cares.
While others reflect great sadness
from ill treatment somewhere.
Whatever colour are your eyes
it is not the colour of your soul.
Some people with dark eyes
as jet black as the night.
Hold the gentlest touch
when it comes to others of mankind.
The colour of your eyes
is never an indication to your soul.
It is only passed the colour
does that reflect the soul.
17 January 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soul’s relation to body
I love you; who is ‘I’- soul or body?
I won over your heart; you stole my heart.
Heart- do we mean the corporal one?
Soul, the fire, catches the body, the wood.
Soul to soul and body to body, no love sparks.
Soul in body loves soul in body.
Souls or bodies exclusively love not.
Soul and body are not like air and balloon.
Soul and body is like heat and body.
3.01.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Bye Bye Blackbird
Fletcher henderson, dixon
Pack up all my cares and woe, here I go, singing low,
Bye-bye blackbird.
Where somebody waits for me, sugars sweet, so is she,
Bye-bye blackbird.
No one here can love and understand me.
Oh -- what hard-luck stories they all hand me.
Make my bed and light the light
Ill arrive late tonight,
Blackbird, bye-bye.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Colour Of Your Eyes
(mckernan / tanega)
Who am i
To say you didnt love me?
When I cant remember
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
I dont know
How I missed loving you
Still I cant remember
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
Why didnt you see me
Standing there
Standing there with dreams of love?
To fill the empty shades of grey
I can see
Now that youre leaving me
All the shades of autumn
In the colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
The colour of your eyes
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If only my eyes do not pain
If only my eyes do not pain
If only these eyes do not get tired
Eyes they are of a human frailty
I could have written a thousand
More poems in
256 ghz
but I am just a man
a mere mortal
with mortal eyes
I am not Dracula
I am not God
I have eyes that pain
I have fingers that tremble
I have a body that is frail
I have a soul that once in a while
Falter and fall and stumble
So please bear with me
In my tiredness the words slow down
Like dying soldiers in the front
While the war rages on and on and on
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red;
Red is the colour of anger welling up inside me,
Red is believing and then having doubt,
Red is the colour of love and romance,
Red is the colour of the end of my nose on a cold winter day.
The colour of little red riding hoods coat,
Red is mars high up in the sky;
The colour that flushes my cheeks after playing sport and getting embarressed.
The colour of my sore sad eyes after crying.
Red is the colour of my warm blood flooding my veins,
Which shows Human Bondage,
Which shows the life within me,
Red is the colour of ambition burning my soul,
Red is the colour of the devil, which feeds me my power.
poem by karlia Ashlyn
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Silent Sound
Gazing out into the meadows of colorfull flowers
Watching them as they sway to the music of the wind
Letting us know that there is never ending happiness
You just has to find it to make it yours
Thy sound is so peacful, you can almost hear it
It's a sound of joy to lift our hearts
Its a sound that makes me want to sway
Makes me want to stroll down the yellow brick road
As if all my misery was put away
Its howl calls me to join their musical dance
The light was glaring at my eyes as if
it were giving me its hand for a second chance
'Lost Soul join us in out never endinf dance of thy Silent Sound'
Body Movin
Ready, one.
You will do this four times with the left
Four with the right
Then eight times with both
Then repeat.
Body movin, body movin
A-1 sound, sound so soothing
Body movin, body movin
We be getting down and you know were crush groovin.
Now let me get some action from the back section
We need body rocking not perfection
Let your back bone flip but dont slip a disc
Let your spine unwind just take a risk
I wanna do the freak until the break of dawn
Now, tell me party people is that so wrong
The ship is docking, inter-lockin
And up-rockin electro-shocking
Were getting down computer action
Do the robotic satisfaction
All of yall get off the wall
Have a ball and get involved with
Body movin, body movin
With the a-1 sound sound so soothing
Body movin, body movin
We be getting down and you know were crush groovin.
Stand erect, arms down,
Swing left arm big same with the right
Flame on, Im gone
Im so sweet like a nice bon bon
Came out rapping when I was born
Mom said rock it til the break of dawn
Puttin bodies in motion cause I got the notion
Like roy cormier with the coconut lotion
The sound of music makin you insane
You cant explain to people this type of mind frame
Like a bottle of chateau neuf du pap
Im fine like wine when I start to rap
We need body rockin not perfection
Let me get some action from the back section
Body movin, body movin
A-1 sound, sound so soothing
Body movin, body movin
We be getting down and you know were crush groovin
Left arm ready and one,
And again, stand erect
Mike d with the master plan
I said ooh my my and thank you maam
And when I grab the mic you scream ooh God damn
The creme de la creme is who I am
Mca where have you been
Packed like sardines in the tin
So kick off your shoes and put on your swim fins
Cause when it comes to quarries Im known to swim
And adrock light up the place
And if you pull my card you pull the ace
And if you ask me to turn up the bass
And if you play defender I could be your hyper space
Body movin, body movin
With the a-1 sound sound so soothing
Body movin, body movin
We be getting down and you know were crush groovin.
You will do eight hops on the left, eight on the right
Four left four right, two left, two right
Then one each: left, right, left, right
Start and land on the balls of the feet
Left foot, ready, its one, two, three, four, five.
song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Blackbird Metaphor
the Beatles had it
as the struggle for freedom of the blacks
that blackbird singing in the dark
wanting to be free
the Americans
had that blackbird swirling in Vietnam
that chopper that saved lives
that war that caused them humiliation
in the world's opinion
that lie of Nixon
Steven Wallace had eight ways of seeing
that blackbird
Noah sent that blackbird
that did not come back since it was happy
picking on the rotten flesh
of the remains of the dead
the ninth way
of seeing
disobedience
One writes again about the blackbird
that lives singing the songs of neurosis
in his mind
at winter time
The poet commits suicide
His colleagues bury him
with eulogies and ' what ifs'
One sleeps with a blackbird
The other sings with a blackbird
Someone flew away with a blackbird
and did not come back
since then
So many stories
So many poems are written
Now i have to write about this blackbird too
But there shall be no disturbance
No unhappy ending
I swear to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blackbird's Song
The blackbird's song it takes me far away
To northern Land and to a distant day
His kin birds sang all day until sundown
In leafy groves just out of Millstreet Town.
A blackbird piping on a blackwood tree
Awake the nostalgic memories in me
Again I walk the lush green fields in Spring
And hear the wild birds on the hedgerows sing.
Bluebells bloom by the hedge by the bohreen
And cock pheasant often heard though seldom seen
In the knee high rushes clap his wings and crow
By their calls and songs the birds you get to know.
The distance from the home fields may be long
But whenever the migrant hear the blackbird's song
He or she will see the lushness brought by rain
And walk through fields where wild flowers bloom again.
To it the blackbird's song has a nostalgic ring
It takes the migrant to a distant Spring
And though far distant the Homeland near 'twould seem
And the dipper's song is echoing in the stream.
I thought this thing nostalgia I'd outgrown
But the blackbird's song it carries me back home
And I walk the high fields where I walked before
Up to the hill through the wood at Claramore
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Blind Child's Plea
What is the colour of the wind, Daddy?
Said the child so small
What is the colour of the wind?
For i can't see it at all
It is the colour of freedom, my child
Said the man to his son
It is the colour of all
The specks of light in the rainbow
That is the colour of the wind
What else, Daddy? What else?
Begged the child
Explain to me more
For you can see what i can not
The sun
The sea
The Earth
And more
It is the colour of beauty
Of peace and light
It is the colour of love
And of day and of night
It feels so free
Said the child
With arms outstreached
I never would have guessed
The colour of the wind
It is the colour you want it to be
And it doesn't matter if you can't see
For the wind is your friend
And you alone
Know the colours of the wind.
poem by Lucy Westmacott
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Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Light From The Creator
// light from the creator //
Let there be light
In the inner soul
In the eyes, into the blood
Light, light, Light, light, Light, light
Light every where in the body,
Light, light in the vein,
In the brain, in the present
To enlighten the darkness
In the deep darken hearts,
Light comes Light comes
To cross the light years.
Light comes to align with
The whole Universe.
21 august,2012, bb.
poem by Baki Nasrullah
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Funny Commercials, Damn
television screens gave birth to me
I want emancipation
a blood aqueduct above my hands
I need help
but the game is on
eyes on legs and hands and
bad calls
and I am feeling light headed
my fragmented heart made so
by cruel, beautiful lips
what should I do?
wait, honey, it's almost commercial
a cryogenic heart left asunder
soul made of concrete
no summer day embrace for this child
of sitcoms
nothing left to do but sell what is left
of my soul
bring the popcorn
poem by Gabriel Corvus
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The House In The Woods
At the back of the houses there is the wood.
While there is a leaf of summer left, the wood
Makes sounds I can put somewhere in my song,
Has paths I can walk, when I wake, to good
Or evil: to the cage, to the oven, to the House
In the Wood. It is a part of life, or of the story
We make of life. But after the last leaf,
The last light--for each year is leafless,
Each day lightless, at the last--the wood begins
Its serious existence: it has no path,
No house, no story; it resists comparison...
One clear, repeated, lapping gurgle, like a spoon
Or a glass breathing, is the brook,
The wood's fouled midnight water. If I walk into the wood
As far as I can walk, I come to my own door,
The door of the House in the Wood. It opens silently:
On the bed is something covered, something humped
Asleep there, awake there--but what? I do not know.
I look, I lie there, and yet I do not know.
How far out my great echoing clumsy limbs
Stretch, surrounded only by space! For time has struck,
All the clocks are stuck now, for how many lives,
On the same second. Numbed, wooden, motionless,
We are far under the surface of the night.
Nothing comes down so deep but sound: a car, freight cars,
A high soft droning, drawn out like a wire
Forever and ever--is this the sound that Bunyan heard
So that he thought his bowels would burst within him?--
Drift on, on, into nothing. Then someone screams
A scream like an old knife sharpened into nothing.
It is only a nightmare. No one wakes up, nothing happens,
Except there is gooseflesh over my whole body--
And that too, after a little while, is gone.
I lie here like a cut-off limb, the stump the limb has left...
Here at the bottom of the world, what was before the world
And will be after, holds me to its back
Breasts and rocks me: the oven is cold, the cage is empty,
In the House in the Wood, the witch and her child sleep.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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A Oven Liet
Where the flesh goes,
The mind follows.
The body is weak.
Why she left me alone.
How she got sick.
And no one calls the phone.
Never had to cook with her around
Now I found a light in the most unexpected place
The oven.
I sit in the dark tonight
In the kitchen
With only the oven light
While I try to mend.
And I brood like a chicken with her eggs
My seat feels like it's hatching
My bottom is burning
My soul squirming like a worm
Or a snake.
Yellow.
The color of companionship.
Cowardly, fearful, impertinent.
I stare into the oven
Light.
poem by Eon Ezkiel
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The Soul Calls!
white twin, black twin,
concepts and lies.
images on images,
truth revealed dies.
prayers, simple touch,
falling prey to fate.
fires consume fires,
love is born of hate.
light fails, shadows talk,
the stranger stinks like god.
swords being sharpened,
horses being shod.
bombs fall, bodies cry,
the battle for the self.
the dead sing, the lost dream,
the book still on the shelf.
the hammer strikes the anvil,
the wind cuts you to the bone.
put on your boots, pick up your saddle.
the soul calls the body home!
the soul calls the body home...
hellbound streets, love stained sheets,
the lover is betrayed.
sold on the blocks, down by the docks,
hearts for pawn and trade.
poverty strikes, humility burns,
dignity lost in the crowd,
survival edge, walks the ledge,
only honesty allowed!
the hammer strikes the anvil,
the wind cuts you to the bone.
put on your boots, pick up your saddle.
the soul calls the body home!
the soul calls the body home....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Run With The Wolf
In the light of day
You can hear the old ones say
Can you feel the change begin
By the fall of the show
A single soul will go
With foot steps on the white
Theres an unholy light
Theres a hole in the sky
Something evils passing by, whats to come
When the siren calls you go
To run with the wolf
When the world makes a turn
Then eyes of one will learn
That a sound just like the wind
Only makes the change begin
By the end of the rain
The feelings passed again
>from the things that shap and bite
An unholy light
Theres a break in the ground
Like the swirling waters
Angry as they pull you down
When the siren calls you go
To run with the wolf 2... times
Like a beast in the field
You know his fate is still
To run with the wolf
To run with the wolf
Seas that make you know its late now we go
To run, run, run, to run, run, run with the wolf
Run, run, run, run now we go
song performed by by Rainbow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To One Dead
A blackbird singing
On a moss-upholstered stone,
Bluebells swinging,
Shadows wildly blown,
A song in the wood,
A ship on the sea.
The song was for you
and the ship was for me.
A blackbird singing
I hear in my troubled mind,
Bluebells swinging,
I see in a distant wind.
But sorrow and silence,
Are the wood's threnody,
The silence for you
and the sorrow for me.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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