Of Wick And Light
let my wick afloat
bright and lighted
in the sea of oil...
let the lamp vibrate
in all dark corners
within and without...
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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My Dark
Why do I always seek the dark?
The nice wholesome dark
Never judging; never caring
Self helping dark
The dark corners of my life
These corners are my life
Where ever I go I seek
These dark corners; my corners
They make me feel secure
Feel wanted; surrounded
At peace
Like the rest of the world is gone
Why must I use the dark?
Where do these issues come from?
Where does this sorrow come from?
Why can’t I have answers?
I need these dark corners
They are so reassuring
Their echoes speak to me; they don’t mock me
They are my dark safe corners
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The lamp burns bright when wick and oil are clean.
Sonnet: Life’s Candle Flame
Our life is like a candle-wick aflame,
Whose glowing brightness drives darkness away,
And keeps on burning though a fierce Wind came,
To sputter, spew forth smoke, all night ‘til day.
A blowing Gale can make us burn too fast;
The wind can put the flame off premature;
Both wick and wax must synchronously last;
Our teacher best is dear Mother Nature.
How long each candle lasts? No one can tell;
How bright the flame can be? Depends on us;
Yet, some waste wick and wax to burn like hell!
God expects us to burn steady sans fuss.
A candle ought to light the world that’s dark;
Yet, burn with steadiness without a spark!
5-18-2002 by Dr John Celes
poem by John Celes
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The Lamp burns sure—within
233
The Lamp burns sure—within—
Tho' Serfs—supply the Oil—
It matters not the busy Wick—
At her phosphoric toil!
The Slave—forgets—to fill—
The Lamp—burns golden—on—
Unconscious that the oil is out—
As that the Slave—is gone.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Mother's Dream
As I slept one night I saw this dream
Which further increased my vexation
I dreamt I was going somewhere on the way
Dark it was and impossible to find the way
Trembling all over with fear I was
Difficult to take even a step with fear was
With some courage as I forward moved
I saw some boys as lined in nice array
Dressed in emerald-like raiment they were
Carrying lighted lamps in their hands they were
They were going quietly behind each other
No one knew where they were to go
Involved in this thought was I
When in this troupe my son saw I
He was walking at the back, and was not walking fast
The lamp he had in his hand was not lighted
Recognizing him I said 'O My dear!
Where have you come leaving me there?
Restless due to separation I am
Weeping every day for ever I am
You did not care even a little for me
What loyalty you showed, you left me'!
As the child saw the distress in me
He replied thus, turning around to me
'The separation from me makes you cry
Not least little good does this to me'
He remained quiet for a while after talking
Showing me the lamp then he started talking
'Do you understand what happened to this?
Your tears have extinguished this'!
poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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Good night! which put the candle out?
Good night! which put the candle out?
A jealous zephyr, not a doubt.
Ah! friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The angels labored diligent;
Extinguished, now, for you!
It might have been the lighthouse spark
Some sailor, rowing in the dark,
Had importuned to see!
It might have been the waning lamp
That lit the drummer from the camp
To purer reveille!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Brite And Dark
Lamp light
Will be making
Little darkness
Shado...
Lamp was
Bright...
Bright is lamp
Life...
Shado darkness
Also the lamp
Life...! ! !
Example is
Sutable to
Human life also;
Understand...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Laughing
Laocoon and her two sons
Pressured storm, tried to move
No other more, emotion bound
Martyred, misconstrued
Lighted in a room, lanky room
Lighted, lighted, laughing in tune
Lighted, lighted, laughing
Laocoon and her two sons
Run the gamut, sated view
Know them more, emotion bound
Martyred, misconstrued
Lighted in a room, lanky room
Lighted, lighted, laughing in tune
Lighted, lighted, laughing
In a room, lock the door, latch the room
Lighted, lighted, laughing
Laocoon and her two sons
Ran the gamut, settled new,
Find a place fit to laugh,
Lock the doors, latch the room
Lighted in a room, lanky room
Lighted, lighted, laughing in tune
Lighted, lighted, laughing in tune
Lighted, lighted, laughing in tunes
Lighted, lighted, laughing in tunes
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I threw my arms about those shoulders
M.B.
I threw my arms about those shoulders, glancing
at what emerged behind that back,
and saw a chair pushed slightly forward,
merging now with the lighted wall.
The lamp glared too bright to show
the shabby furniture to some advantage,
and that is why sofa of brown leather
shone a sort of yellow in a corner.
The table looked bare, the parquet glossy,
the stove quite dark, and in a dusty frame
a landscape did not stir. Only the sideboard
seemed to me to have some animation.
But a moth flitted round the room,
causing my arrested glance to shift;
and if at any time a ghost had lived here,
he now was gone, abandoning this house.
poem by Joseph Brodsky
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The Future is a Light
The future is a light
A moon
But there is a storm
And black clouds obstruct my view
The future is a light
A lamp
But the shade is dark
And the bulb is cracked
The future is a light
A candle
But the wind heaves
And the wick is short
The future is a light
A star
But it has shined too long
And must die soon
The future is a light
A reason
But it has disappeared
And so shall I
poem by Anonymous Person
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Rhapsody on a Windy Night
Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars."
The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."
The last twist of the knife.
poem by T.S. Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Meditations Upon A Candle
Man's like a candle in a candlestick,
Made up of tallow and a little wick;
And as the candle when it is not lighted,
So is he who is in his sins benighted.
Nor can a man his soul with grace inspire,
More than can candles set themselves on fire.
Candles receive their light from what they are not;
Men grace from Him for whom at first they care not.
We manage candles when they take the fire;
God men, when he with grace doth them inspire.
And biggest candles give the better light,
As grace on biggest sinners shines most bright.
The candle shines to make another see,
A saint unto his neighbour light should be.
The blinking candle we do much despise,
Saints dim of light are high in no man's eyes.
Again, though it may seem to some a riddle,
We use to light our candles at the middle.
True light doth at the candle's end appear,
And grace the heart first reaches by the ear.
But 'tis the wick the fire doth kindle on,
As 'tis the heart that grace first works upon.
Thus both do fasten upon what's the main,
And so their life and vigour do maintain.
The tallow makes the wick yield to the fire,
And sinful flesh doth make the soul desire
That grace may kindle on it, in it burn;
So evil makes the soul from evil turn.
But candles in the wind are apt to flare,
And Christians, in a tempest, to despair.
The flame also with smoke attended is,
And in our holy lives there's much amiss.
Sometimes a thief will candle-light annoy,
And lusts do seek our graces to destroy.
What brackish is will make a candle sputter;
'Twixt sin and grace there's oft' a heavy clutter.
Sometimes the light burns dim, 'cause of the snuff,
Sometimes it is blown quite out with a puff;
But watchfulness preventeth both these evils,
Keeps candles light, and grace in spite of devils.
Nor let not snuffs nor puffs make us to doubt,
Our candles may be lighted, though puffed out.
The candle in the night doth all excel,
Nor sun, nor moon, nor stars, then shine so well.
So is the Christian in our hemisphere,
Whose light shows others how their course to steer.
When candles are put out, all's in confusion;
Where Christians are not, devils make intrusion.
Then happy are they who such candles have,
All others dwell in darkness and the grave.
But candles that do blink within the socket,
And saints, whose eyes are always in their pocket,
Are much alike; such candles make us fumble,
And at such saints good men and bad do stumble.
Good candles don't offend, except sore eyes,
Nor hurt, unless it be the silly flies.
Thus none like burning candles in the night,
Nor ought to holy living for delight.
But let us draw towards the candle's end:
The fire, you see, doth wick and tallow spend,
As grace man's life until his glass is run,
And so the candle and the man is done.
The man now lays him down upon his bed,
The wick yields up its fire, and so is dead.
The candle now extinct is, but the man
By grace mounts up to glory, there to stand.
poem by John Bunyan
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I cast my own shadow upon my path, because I have a lamp that has not been lighted.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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lamp you lighted
morphs me into light of bliss
salutations to thee...
quote by by Indira Babbellapati
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The evening sky to me is like a window, and a lighted lamp, and a waiting behind it.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Mad Man
there is this mad man on
the street carrying a lighted lamp
at midday
he screams that this world
is about to end
and people do not listen
he sometimes laughs at the top of his voice
when all of them are all gone
in the middle of the night
he sings the song of chaos
he gives the warning
but then the world is asleep and
numb,
the following morning you ask me about the mad man
how come that he screams, and lights a lamp during the day,
singing the songs of chaos
foretelling the doom of the world
i have no answer of course
but there is one thing i am sure of
it is about us not having understood him
a bit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Incantation
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
A flung white glove
In a dark fight;
A white dove
On a wild black night.
A white door
In a dark lane;
A bright core
To bitter black pain.
A white hand
Waved from dark walls;
In a burnt black land
Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark
Where black ashes are;
In the smothering dark
One white star.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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On A Wooden Sailboat
now we shall try riding on a wooden sailboat
to cross this river
it will just be the two of us
with me paddling
and you simply sitting there
the river is still
as my paddle creates the ripples
the sky is reddish
this afternoon and soon it will be dark
you will light our way
as i paddle towards the other end
where they are all waiting
we do not talk much now
we love this silence that wraps us
this silence in another place
this newness
that blooms again
i look at you with anticipation
tonight the room shall only be lighted
with an oil lamp
we shall hear the crickets
and the frogs near the pond
and some birds with strange sounds
some love calls
the mating season has just begun
we have no time to watch
what the other creatures of this far place are doing
we have ourselves now
i will blow the lamp's flickers out
goodnight
we are starting all over again
dreaming
as you take me in your arms
i will remember some quivers
of long time ago
as though i do not know what to do
this is magical
love still exists so well in this darkness faraway from everyone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ho.....
lamp
dark...
no...
with out
power cut...
how..!
lamp was out...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Prince Caspian
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian,
With nothing to return to but the demons in their caves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian afloat upon the waves
Oh, to be prince caspian,
And the children in the fields all sowing seed and chaffing wheat
Oh, to be prince caspian with stumps instead of feet
Oh to be prince caspian
Oh to be prince caspian
Oh to be prince caspian
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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