Dreams surely are difficult, confusing, and not everything in them is brought to pass for mankind. For fleeting dreams have two gates: one is fashioned of horn and one of ivory. Those which pass through the one of sawn ivory are deceptive, bringing tidings which come to nought, but those which issue from the one of polished horn bring true results when a mortal sees them.
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Ivory
You were born with a face that would let you get your way
Yeah you had everything you wanted child, that is until the day
you know you're much too fine and free, Ivory
You've been dressed in a vest, every minute of your day
You walk into a room, stand in a lit shade
Is your timer too high for me, Ivory
Ivory
How does it feel to be so high
Ivory
How long how long will it take for you to cry
Ivory
I'm in need
Ivory
Ivory
I'll touch your soul, might even touch your brain
I know you can't see me
I know your blind
Come back come back and see
Ivory
So good to me
Ivory
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hernani
Cistercians might crack their sides
With laughter, and exemption get,
At sight of heroes clasping brides,
And hearing--O the horn! the horn!
The horn of their obstructive debt!
But quit the stage, that note applies
For sermons cosmopolitan,
Hernani. Have we filched our prize,
Forgetting . . .? O the horn! the horn!
The horn of the Old Gentleman!
poem by George Meredith
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The Ballad Of The Foxhunter
'Lay me in a cushioned chair;
Carry me, ye four,
With cushions here and cushions there,
To see the world once more.
'To stable and to kennel go;
Bring what is there to bring;
Lead my Lollard to and fro,
Or gently in a ring.
'Put the chair upon the grass:
Bring Rody and his hounds,
That I may contented pass
From these earthly bounds.'
His eyelids droop, his head falls low,
His old eyes cloud with dreams;
The sun upon all things that grow
Falls in sleepy streams.
Brown Lollard treads upon the lawn,
And to the armchair goes,
And now the old man's dreams are gone,
He smooths the long brown nose.
And now moves many a pleasant tongue
Upon his wasted hands,
For leading aged hounds and young
The huntsman near him stands.
'Huntsmam Rody, blow the horn,
Make the hills reply.'
The huntsman loosens on the morn
A gay wandering cry.
Fire is in the old man's eyes,
His fingers move and sway,
And when the wandering music dies
They hear him feebly say,
'Huntsman Rody, blow the horn,
Make the hills reply.'
'I cannot blow upon my horn,
I can but weep and sigh.'
Servants round his cushioned place
Are with new sorrow wrung;
Hounds are gazing on his face,
Aged hounds and young.
One blind hound only lies apart
On the sun-smitten grass;
He holds deep commune with his heart:
The moments pass and pass:
The blind hound with a mournful din
Lifts slow his wintry head;
The servants bear the body in;
The hounds wail for the dead.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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When You Wish Upon A Star
dreams come true (dreams come true)
dreams come true (oh oh, oh yeah)
dreams come true (na, na na, na na)
they do (they do)
when you (when you)...
When you wish upon a star, (a star,) makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires will come to you (it will come to you)
If your heart is in your dreams, (your dreams) no request is too extreme
When you wish upon a star as dreamers do (ooh ooh).
(Oh, Fate is...is kind...)Fate is kind, she brings (she brings) to those who love
The sweet fulfillment of their secret longing
(oh oh oh. like...) Like a boat out of the blue, Fate steps in and sees you thru
When you wish upon a star, your dream comes true
When you wish upon a star, your dream comes true
dreams come, dreams come, dreams come true
dreams come, dreams come, dreams come true
(and they don't stop) dreams come, dreams come, dreams come true
(make a wish and) dreams come, (your dreams...) dreams come, (your dreams come...) dreams come true
song performed by by N Sync
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our dreams are a second life. I have never been able to penetrate without a shudder those ivory or horned gates which separate us from the invisible world.
quote by Gerard De Nerval
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lena Horn
Lena Horn
Lena Horn dead at 92, I think of this as I stumble up a stony track,
I used to dream of meeting and marrying her, didn’t know she was
much older than me. No, more, I lusted after her kept a picture of
her face above my bed. till my new wife came and replaced it
with Virgin Mary. It was her sexy voice you see, it brought dreams
of impossible love to the surface. I had her records till the woman,
who took her picture down from my bedroom wall, took them with
her when she left. Bet she can get a lot of money for them now.
Lena Horn, Edit Piaf, Marilyn Monroe, my great mistresses of yore,
how can I possible love, an Amy Winehouse, of this restless world,
or a Courtney love?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Perplexing Question
Where do all our dreams go
when its time for us to pass on?
Do they come along with us,
or do they carry on?
Does someone else inherit them
and stumble in the darkness
trying to make them come true?
Do they mingle with theirs
with each vying for the right
to be the first to come true?
Where do all our dreams go
when its time for us to pass on?
27 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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Elephant's Graveyard III
Sanctified by elephants since time began-
elephants who accept their end uncomplainingly
with relief and nary a snivel
having long ago made it a point to live their lives well
and confident of this just repose.
'Oh, my God, ' you think, 'all the ivory.'
Ivory laying about, half-sunk, everywhere
strewn, grass-entangled, trip-you-up ivory,
because that's what's left of an elephant, after a bit-
after a century or so, that's quite all that's left,
a tusk of ivory bearing in this respect
a sharp resemblance to a man's poetic toil
or the opera-ticket stub found in his breast pocket
by his grand-child, rummaging in the attic
a century after the time when the music stopped
and stopped forever, never to again resume;
toppled stalagmites of ivory, some taller than a man,
cracked by the sun, washed by the rain, buffed by the moon.
Surely, someone would buy all that ivory for market
dice to make, dominoes, piano keys, dentures;
But how to get it home-would Swiss-Air take it?
stowed in sheaths...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Confident Dissident for J.T.Early
t
I stand and gaze with wonderment.
The Gates of Gold and ivory
are slowly opening for me.
A rebel and a dissident.
What did I do that I deserve
admission to Valhallas halls?
What waits for me within those walls?
I only did my best to serve
my fellow men as best I could
I bore no sword only my pen.
Tried to defend my fellow men
from tyrants as a writer should.
Defied the men who censured me.
The men who sought to rule force.
Because I upheld freedoms cause
I risked my life and liberty.
They harried me by night and day
but still would not toe the line
I did my best to undermine
the lies they broadcast, in my way.
Although they could imprison me
and ban my words from being read
This action could not stop the spread
of my ideals of liberty.
Accused of treason by the state.
They made a martyr out of me.
They were so blind they could not see.
The slowly moving hand of fate.
Which would destroy eventually.
The stranglehold they sought to keep
The people would rise from their sleep
prepared to fight for liberty.
And so in time it proved to be
Their unjust rule was overturned.
A lesson that all tyrants learned.
Although it was too late for me.
Subjected to their cruelty
I had been starved and brutalised
Which left me partly paralysed.
Although I was at last set free.
I will not live long enough to see
my dreams of liberty come true
All that I have to leave to you,
My words my only legacy.
The gates of gold and ivory
are open wide and I pass through.
It’s some thing which I have to do.
For once I act obediently.
I need not fear the consequence
I cast my rebel role aside
For here I have nothing to hide
Rewarded for my eloquence.
15-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Poet To His Beloved
I BRING you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Hunter’s Song
RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.—So, ho!
I ’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow.
Hark, hark!—Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn?
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter’s horn.
Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound,
And over the high lands, and over the low,
O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go!
Away!—as a hawk flies full at its prey,
So flieth the hunter, away,—away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and—the day is done!
Hark, hark!—What sound on the wind is borne?
’T is the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn.
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter’s horn.
Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What ’s the gulley deep or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
O, what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse’s back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark!—Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter’s horn!
The horn,—the horn!
O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!
poem by Barry Cornwall
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On Dreams
I don't know what I'll do if my dreams don't come true
I suppose it doesn't happen very often anyway
After all it's a reward reserved for only the hardest of workers
That of which I surely cannot be
Yes, I don't know what I'll do if my dreams don't come true
I suppose I'll get married and start a family
I'll tell my kids to reach for the stars
And never stop dreaming
Then I'll have a beer and sigh
And watch TV until I fall asleep
I should be thankful for what I have
But to be honest
I just don't know what I'll do if my dreams don't come true
I really shouldn't let such thought cross my mind
Dreams can be dangerous
Dreams can turn into nightmares
I've seen what happens to the stars in Hollywood
I should consider myself lucky
Then again
When it comes down to it
I don't know what I'll do if my dreams don't come true
But what dreams do I have?
Where do I begin?
I can't be a painter
I'll end up like Van Gogh
I can't be a poet
I'll end up like Kerouac
I can't be a journalist
I'll end up like Thompson
I can't be a writer
I'll end up like Hemingway
That's right
My dreams will surely be my undoing
What a blessing it will be to look back on a lifetime of sin
My face warm with nostalgia
Flipping through old photographs
As I wonder to myself how my life was saved
But
I can't stop the thought from searing my mind
I simply don't know what I'll do if my dreams don't come true
poem by C.S. Smith
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Ivory Palaces
The sender,
Of honourable men and women;
Affections,
For the ivory palaces are now here to stay;
And like the glad tidings of your love around,
For the desire of your heart is around you.
Blender, sender, vender, tender, fender, bender, gender!
Of honourable men and women;
For the ivory palaces are now here to stay.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Dreamland
See the light of those who find
As time pass you by, youre still left behind
Time has come for you to see
That life is a game youd rather play or flee
The ivory gates cast shadows, might betray
Surrender this night, or choose my way
Come with me, ill take you there
To the land of make belive
Let us fly beyond our dreams, fall into reverie
On the wings of destiny, I will claim our liberty
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
Dreamland will reveal
All you see is black or white
You have to spell out whats wrong or right
Spoken words may have let you down
Its time to stand up and rise with the sun
You entered the gates and theres nothing left to fear
But dont let the matter stand, youre near
Come with me, ill take you there
To the land of make belive
Let us fly beyond our dreams, fall into reverie
On the wings of destiny, I will claim our liberty
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
Dreamland will reveal
Let me know if you wanna go, theres a place for you and me
Let me take you to the temple of your heart, let me know
You entered the gates and theres nothing left to fear
But dont let the matter stand, youre near
Come with me, ill take you there
To the land of make belive
Let us fly beyond our dreams, fall into reverie
On the wings of destiny, I will claim our liberty
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
Dreamland will reveal
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enlightenment
Through outer gates of carven teak
then inner gates of ivory
The pilgrim ventures who would seek
an answer to the mystery.
The seeker must be clad in white.
Pure in heart and innocent,
his only wish the serve the light.
He must be truly confident.
Ready and willing to accept.
The answer to his question may
not be the one he might expect.
Obscure and nether yea nor nay.
It is his task to interpret
the meaning of the words he hears.
Etched deeply so he can’t forget.
To understand them may take years.
The culmination of his quest,
when finally he understands.
A man can only do his best
the outcome lies in his own hands.
The riddle of the ages solved
no longer hidden by the Gods
To win a man must be resolved
to battle on against the odds.
Pursue his goal determinedly.
Through outer gates of carven teak
and inner gates of ivory.
The answer to each man unique.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Reason To Try
(john lind & phil gladston)
Recorded by eric carmen
Arista as1-9746 / 1988
We went runnin
Out where the stars are born
We came crashin down in flames
I could be right
You could be wrong
We could be anything at all
But tonight at least Im sure
I know this rain will pass
We need a reason to try again
I know this pain wont last
We can find those dreams again
I know
We went screamin
Into the dead of night
We were kicking down the door
Now we can go back
We can go on
We can do anything we want
Anything we want and more
I know this rain will pass
We need a reason to try again
I know this pain wont last
We can find those dreams again
I know
We need a reason to smile again
I know
We need a reason to try again
I could be right
You could be wrong
We could be anything at all
But tonight at least Im sure
I know this rain will pass
We need a reason to try again
I know this pain wont last
We can find those dreams again
I know
We need a reason to smile again
I know
We need a reason to try
I know
I know this rain will pass
We need a reason to try again
I know this pain wont last
We can find those dreams again
I know this rain will pass
We need a reason to try again
I know this pain wont last
We can find those dreams again
song performed by by Eric Carmen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The horn that came out last will pass the ear that came out first.
Birthday Remembrances
So true it is that time stands still for none;
Run it swiftly or life's race won't be won;
Idleness leads to dreams of days gone by;
The hands of time rapidly continue to fly;
Days seem to pass as fast as dawn arises;
Night falls just as quickly as the sun rises;
Dusk disappears as midnight doth aspire;
Judgment gives way to dreams of desire;
Calendar all: give everything its own date;
Putting priorities first, all things straight;
Remembrance of the day you were born;
Whence you came; where you were torn;
From GOD's Heavenly Angelic throne;
Cast from dust; sheathed in earthen home;
An ivory palace; abundance of agape love;
Silver cord binding; to a sanctuary above;
Many an angel stands guard at our gate;
As sure as birth, death comes on to wait;
Yet not death, but eternal life; the present;
For trusting the Word; into His presence!
poem by Joseph Blitch
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A Carved Ivory
Walking naked and barefooted,
Moab will wail for Moab;
Naked and barefooted,
Gladness is taken away along with joy.
A Carved Ivory,
Fair as the moon with my mind on you;
To the heights of the mountains,
Bright as the sun with my mind on you;
To the bed of spices,
Love is like the fragrance of Lebanon!
To a Carved Ivory,
Our legs at war;
To a Carved Ivory,
Our toes for battle;
To a Carved Ivory,
Our bones so scattered;
Love is sweeter than wine.
prayers like incense,
Gladness is taken away along with joy;
Life is like a harp with ten strings where,
Wisdom is better than strength.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Every Friday
Every Friday I look like a shit,
Every Friday I look like a shit,
Every Friday I look like a shit,
I loooooooook like a shit.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
But every Monday I am like a horn,
But every Monday I am like a horn,
I aaaaaaaaam like a hoooooooooorn.
I work in the office of intercom,
I work in the office of intercom,
I work in the office of intercom,
Of iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinter cooooooom.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
And every Tuesday I am like a horn,
On Wednesday and Tuesday I am a horn,
I aaaaaaaaaaaam like a hoooooooooooorn.
On every Friday I look like a shit,
My salary is more now a little bit.
But every Monday I am like a horn,
It looks as on Sunday I was born.
On Friday morning I am so glad
That by the evening I’ll look like a fad
Or may be like a dirty pig
Trying the ground to dig, dig, dig.
But…every Monday I am like a horn,
On certain Sunday I was born,
And every Friday I am like a shit.
My life is better........, a little bit.
More or less
It was my sincere confess.
Lol, lol, lol and loooooooool.
On every Friday there is no control.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
March 16th,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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