The Secret of Light
I am sitting contented and alone in a little park near the Palazzo Scaligere in Verona, glimpsing the mists of early autumn as they shift and fade among the pines and city battlements on the hills above the river Adige.
The river has recovered from this morning's rainfall. It is now restoring to its shapely body its own secret light, a color of faintly cloudy green and pearl.
Directly in front of my bench, perhaps thirty yards away from me, there is a startling woman. Her hair is black as the inmost secret of light in a perfectly cut diamond, a perilous black, a secret light that must have been studied for many years before the anxious and disciplined craftsman could achieve the necessary balance between courage and skill to stroke the strange stone and take the one chance he would ever have to bring that secret to light.
While I was trying to compose the preceding sentence, the woman rose from her park bench and walked away. I am afraid her secret might never come to light in my lifetime. But my lifetime is not the only one. I will never see her again. I hope she brings some other man's secret face to light, as somebody brought mine. I am startled to discover that I am not afraid. I am free to give a blessing out of my silence into that woman's black hair. I trust her to go on living. I believe in her black hair, her diamond that is still asleep. I would close my eyes to daydream about her. But those silent companions who watch over me from the insides of my eyelids are too brilliant for me to meet face to face.
The very emptiness of the park bench in front of mine is what makes me happy. Somewhere else in Verona at just this moment, a woman is sitting or walking or standing still upright. Surely two careful and accurate hands, total strangers to me, measure the invisible idea of the secret vein in her hair. They are waiting patiently until they know what they alone can ever know: that time when her life will pause in mid-flight for a split second. The hands will touch her black hair very gently. A wind off the river Adige will flutter past her. She will turn around, smile a welcome, and place a flawless and fully formed Italian daybreak into the hands.
I don't have any idea what his face will look like. The light still hidden inside his body is no business of mine. I am happy enough to sit in this park alone now. I turn my own face toward the river Adige. A little wind flutters off the water and brushes past me and returns.
It is all right with me to know that my life is only one life. I feel like the light of the river Adige.
By this time, we are both an open secret.
Verona
poem by James Arlington Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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41 shots
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Ain't no secret my friend
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Promise me if an officer stops you'll always be polite
Never ever run away and promise mama you'll keep your hands in sight
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song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Light Is
Light is the breaking of dawn
Light is the load when you are just born
Light is a place without any fear
Light is when your lover is near
Light is a heart that's open and free
Light is a place where truth you can see
Light is a feeling that's good
Light is when everything's clear, understood
Light is the absence of dark
Light is a summer picnic in a beautiful park
Light is just simply walking on air
Light is what makes the shine in her hair
Light is what warms and what feeds
Light is not having any more needs
Light is a magical feeling inside
Light is the side of the street to reside
Light is always and always will be
Light is what joins us, him, you and me
Light Is.
poem by David Taylor
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Woman In Black
I knew the moment
I walked through that door
I felt so close to a burning sensation
It got so warm
As I moved across the floor
My body aching with anticipation
I saw a dark silhouette, at the table
I tried to talk, but I was unable
She drew me in right under her spell
I was hypnotized by the sudden temptation
Of that woman in black, shes a mystery
Shes everything a woman should be
Woman in black, shes got a hold on me
Shes in control, she wont set me free
She is a woman
Shes not a girl anymore
The kind that stirs up a young mans imagination
Shes dressed to kill
And Im so ready to fall
Into her world full of strange fascination
I see that dark silhouette, at the table
I cant resist, my bodys not able
She draws me in, but she teaches me well
I never need any explanation
From that woman in black, shes a mystery
Shes everything a woman should be
I said, woman in black, got a hold on me
Shes in control, she wont set me free
Ooh, woman in black
Its too late now
I cant turn back
cause Im a fool for that woman
Woman in black
Ooh, ooh, woman in black
Ooh, that woman in black, shes a mystery
Shes everything a woman should be
That woman in black, shes got a hold on me
Shes in control, she wont set me free
Shes my mysterious mistress
But she leaves me so helpless
My woman in black
Shes a dark senorita
My woman in black
No sunday school teacher
My woman in black
Were keeping it a secret
We meet in the night
Were partners in silence
Strangers in daylight
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Secret Life Of Arabia
The secret life of arabia
Secret secrets never seen
Secret secrets ever green
I was running at the speed of life
Through mornings thoughts and fantasies
Then I saw your eyes at the cross fades
Secret secrets never seen
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The secret life of arabia
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Secret life ever green
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You must see the movie the sand in my eyes
I walk through a desert song when the heroine dies
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Never here never seen
Secret life ever green
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am a rose
What color am I? Am I red, pink, white, oh wait I am black...
Black is the color of many dark secret places and or ideas, which we may never want to enter...
So why do I feel like I am a black rose? Do I have secrets hidden so deep that no one can even sense them?
I wish I were a red and or a white rose. Those two colors can mean many of things but what you find the most is that of marriage...
Red is the color of love and white is the color in which we use mostly for a wedding. I want my darkness to turn to light. With my color of a rose may the light bring out a marriage...
I am a rose of many colors which one are you? ? ?
poem by Kristen Palmitier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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American Skin (41 Shots)
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots
41 shots....
and we'll take that ride
'cross this bloody river
to the other side
41 shots... cut through the night
You're kneeling over his body in the vestibule
Praying for his life
Is it a gun, is it a knife
Is it a wallet, this is your life
It ain't no secret
It ain't no secret
No secret my friend
You can get killed just for living
In your American skin
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Lena gets her son ready for school
She says "on these streets, Charles
You've got to understand the rules
If an officer stops you
Promise you'll always be polite,
that you'll never ever run away
Promise Mama you'll keep your hands in sight"
Is it a gun, is it a knife
Is it a wallet, this is your life
It ain't no secret
It ain't no secret
No secret my friend
You can get killed just for living
In your American skin
Is it a gun, is it a knife
Is it in your heart, is it in your eyes
It ain't no secret
41 shots... and we'll take that ride
'Cross this bloody river
To the other side
41 shots... got my boots caked in this mud
We're baptized in these waters and in each other's blood
Is it a gun, is it a knife
Is it a wallet, this is your life
It ain't no secret
It ain't no secret
No secret my friend
You can get killed just for living
In your American skin
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Secret Friends
I haven't met you face to face
But when we talk you put me in a better place
I met you somewhere i never thought i would
To me you have been so good
you are my secret friend
for we know only whats within
I don't know your physical appearence
but i know what color your hair is
I talk to with such ease
You bring my chaotic life some peace
I get antsy when we can't talk
because to my pavement you are my chalk
Your some one i can truly say is a friend
You havent judged me the way they did
so when you read this i hope you
some one cares for you and doesn't want you to go
stay with me my secret friend
lets hold our heads high and keep walking with no end
dedicated to Christopher Turner my secret friend
poem by Jean Pullman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There is a girl
There is a girl
~
There is a girl
I shall not name today
Who holds a place special
In my every hearts affections
I like to think of such thoughts
As my closely guarded secret
That none know who she is
Although I have come to suspect
That many may know the truth
Or perhaps they have a strong idea
Just who this girl really is
I am undone by her in every way
That my heart is all at a loss
I picture her face, her smile
The way the light catches her eyes
How I think the world of her
My hearts little secret desire
Her name I shall not reveal
Perhaps it needs never to be said
That she and many others
Already know how I feel
Perhaps its no more a secret
Than something best left unsaid
There is a girl I shall not name
Who I love anyway
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paisley Park (remix)
1 2, 1 2 3
Woo!
There is a park that is known 4 the face it attracts
Colorful people whose hair on one side is swept back
The smile on their faces, it speaks of profound inner peace
Ask where they're going, they'll tell U "Nowhere"
They've taken a lifetime lease on Paisley Park
CHORUS:
The girl on the seesaw is laughing
4 love is the color this place imparts (Paisley Park)
Admission is easy, just say U believe
Then come 2 this place in your heart
Paisley Park is in your heart
There is a woman who sits all alone by the pier
Her husband was naughty and caused his wife so many tears
He died without knowing forgiveness and now she is sad, so sad
Maybe she'll come 2 the park and forgive him
And life won't be so bad in Paisley Park
CHORUS
See the man cry as the city condemns where he lives
Memories die but taxes he'll still have 2 give
(Who?) Whoever said that elephants were stronger than mules?
Come 2 the Park and play with us
There aren't any rules in Paisley Park
CHORUS {x2}
(Paisley Park is in, yeah, your heart)
Your heart (Your heart)
Paisley Park
Your heart {x3}
(Say it is in your heart)
Paisley Park {x3
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've Found The Secret
I've found the secret.
It's not hidden anymore.
But I must hide it
like it was before.
It needs to be hidden.
For it is forbidden.
I know the secret.
But I'll keep it still.
I must never divulge it.
It must never spill
into the mind of anyone
to let their peace come undone.
I hate the secret
for it ruins my sleep.
But the secret is mine,
mine to keep.
The secret I know
can be yours.
If you find it
it will open all doors.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fly
It's no secret that the stars are falling from the sky
It's no secret that our world is in darkness tonight
They say the sun is sometimes eclipsed by a moon}
Y' know I don't see you when she walks in the room
It's no secret that a friend is someone who lets you help
It's no secret that a liar won't believe anyone else
They say a secret is something you tell another person
So I'm telling you... child
Low Voice:
A man will beg
A man will craw
On the sheer face of love
Like a fly on a wall
It's no secret at all
It's no secret that a conscience can sometimes be a pest
It's no secret ambition bites the nails of success
Every artist is a cannibal
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something Political
beside the woman with short hair
chinese eyes
plain clother
all black is another woman with
long hair
thick glasses
holding a cell phone
and a black leather bag
which she carries with her left hand
they are boarding a plane
to the central city
to talk the president about a
political proposal
the president has a mole on her left cheek
always smiling....
what is the point of all these?
nothing. The plan is kept as a top secret.
do you feel being fooled?
that is normal.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mrs. Sibley
The secret of the stars, -- gravitation.
The secret of the earth, -- layers of rock.
The secret of the soil, -- to receive seed.
The secret of the seed, -- the germ.
The secret of man, -- the sower.
The secret of woman, -- the soil.
My secret: Under a mound that you shall never find.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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A Man and a Statuette
A man reads an old paper sitting on a bench in an isolated park.
A wearisome whisper of a female!
'Brother any interesting news in the paper today and do they still in a search of me? '
'Where are you? ' Man asked.
'I am just in front of you and your friend woman' Statuette replied.
'I am sorry I cannot see you as I am a born blind'.
'Then how do you read the news paper? 'She verified.
(This neglected park of huge trees touch the sky and you never see a flower. The secret whisper and the lament of a rebellion that haunt in constantly. Only the Fruit bats fly here and there in the awful night.)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Light And Lightness Of Our Beings
let the soft light land on my face
let it stay there for a while
as i close my eyes
and lay myself in the lightness
of my being
my hands are soft as
the hair of a rabbit
my lips open
to let my tongue wet
its red sides
i am as light as a feather
lifted up by air
i become light myself
rising from the walls
and the ceiling
i am freedom from
sanity i am the conqueror
of the logical order
there are no numbers
just an open space
there are no days now
and neither do nights exist
i am eternal
and i am inside this
space beyond
any space
i am a ray of light
i am a shooting star
i am a black hole
i am lost and no one
shall ever find me
except you, the one i love.
you make me feel so light.
i am carried away.
hold me and kiss me.
i am all yours.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before Dark
Dusk right before dark is my favorite time of each day
The dim light feels as if I am only in this world halfway
Right then it is time for shadows taking over the light
And colors fade slowly to shades of black and white
Sometimes I see the sun bathing all in an orange glow
And I wish I could touch the heat before it let go
During dusk I want to have you close and not be alone
In the fading light your features turn to marble and stone
Right then I want to bring back life into each inch of your skin
I want to touch you and feel your strong heartbeat within
Gently I want to glide my hands over your neck to your chest
Feeling gatherings of hair against my palm if you are undressed
The light of dusk kindles a low fire and put sparks into your eyes
Right than I love to be close to you and renew our strong ties
That time of day brings a natural melancholy to my heart
And I am most responsive when you are gentle with me to start
I know you rather see me passionate demanding and strong
Therefore I want to say thanks for running with my mood along
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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The Low-Down White
This is the pay-day up at the mines, when the bearded brutes come down;
There's money to burn in the streets to-night, so I've sent my klooch to town,
With a haggard face and a ribband of red entwined in her hair of brown.
And I know at the dawn she'll come reeling home with the bottles, one, two, three --
One for herself, to drown her shame, and two big bottles for me,
To make me forget the thing I am and the man I used to be.
To make me forget the brand of the dog, as I crouch in this hideous place;
To make me forget once I kindled the light of love in a lady's face,
Where even the squalid Siwash now holds me a black disgrace.
Oh, I have guarded my secret well! And who would dream as I speak
In a tribal tongue like a rogue unhung, 'mid the ranch-house filth and reek,
I could roll to bed with a Latin phrase and rise with a verse of Greek?
Yet I was a senior prizeman once, and the pride of a college eight;
Called to the bar -- my friends were true! but they could not keep me straight;
Then came the divorce, and I went abroad and "died" on the River Plate.
But I'm not dead yet; though with half a lung there isn't time to spare,
And I hope that the year will see me out, and, thank God, no one will care --
Save maybe the little slim Siwash girl with the rose of shame in her hair.
She will come with the dawn, and the dawn is near; I can see its evil glow,
Like a corpse-light seen through a frosty pane in a night of want and woe;
And yonder she comes by the bleak bull-pines, swift staggering through the snow.
poem by Robert William Service
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Beginning To See The Light
(reed)
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Some people work very hard,
But still they never get it right.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Wine in the morning
And some breakfast at night.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Here we go again
Playing the fool again.
Here we go again
Acting hard again.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Im beginning to see the light.
I wore my teeth in my hands
So I could mess the hair of the night
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Hey Im beginning to see the light.
I met myself in a dream
And I just wanna tell you - everything was alright
Im beginning to see the light.
Here comes two of you,
Which one will you chose?
One is black, one is blue.
Dont look just what to do.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Some people work very hard
But still they never get it right
Well Im beginning to see the light.
There are problems in these times
But none of them are mine
Baby, Im beginning to see the light.
Here we go again,
I thought that you were my friend.
Here we go again,
I thought that you were my friend.
How does it feel to be loved?
How does it feel to be loved?
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Secret Heart
Thanks to [email protected] for these lyrics.
Secret heart what are you made of?
What are you so afraid of?
Could it be three simple words
Or the fear of being overheard
What's wrong?
Let her in on your secret heart
Secret heart, why so mysterious?
Why so secret, why so serious?
Maybe you're just acting tough
Maybe you're just not bad enough
What's wrong?
Let her in on your secret heart
(Bridge) 2x
This very secret you're trying to conceal
Is the very same one you're dying to reveal
Go tell her how you feel
Secret heart come out and share it
This loneliness, few can bear it
Could it have something to do with
Admitting that you just can't
Go through it alone?
Let her in on your secret heart
Let her in on your secret heart
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Garden Shukkei-en
By way of a vanished bridge we cross this river
as a cloud of lifted snow would ascend a mountain.
She has always been afraid to come here.
It is the river she most
remembers, the living
and the dead both crying for help.
A world that allowed neither tears nor lamentation.
The matsu trees brush her hair as she passes
beneath them, as do the shining strands of barbed wire.
Where this lake is, there was a lake,
where these black pine grow, there grew black pine.
Where there is no teahouse I see a wooden teahouse
and the corpses of those who slept in it.
On the opposite bank of the Ota, a weeping willow
etches its memory of their faces into the water.
Where light touches the face, the character for heart is written.
She strokes a burnt trunk wrapped in straw:
I was weak and my skin hung from my fingertips like cloth
Do you think for a moment we were human beings to them?
She comes to the stone angel holding paper cranes.
Not an angel, but a woman where she once had been,
who walks through the garden Shukkei-en
calling the carp to the surface by clapping her hands.
Do Americans think of us?
So she began as we squatted over the toilets:
If you want, I'll tell you, but nothing I say will be enough.
We tried to dress our burns with vegetable oil.
Her hair is the white froth of rice rising up kettlesides, her mind also.
In the postwar years she thought deeply about how to live.
The common greeting dozo-yiroshku is please take care of me.
All hibakusha still alive were children then.
A cemetery seen from the air is a child's city.
I don't like this particular red flower because
it reminds me of a woman's brain crushed under a roof.
Perhaps my language is too precise, and therefore difficult to understand?
We have not, all these years, felt what you call happiness.
But at times, with good fortune, we experience something close.
As our life resembles life, and this garden the garden.
And in the silence surrounding what happened to us
it is the bell to awaken God that we've heard ringing.
poem by Carolyn Forché
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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