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Night Piece

Gaunt in gloom,
The pale stars their torches,
Enshrouded, wave.
Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
Arches on soaring arches,
Night's sindark nave.

Seraphim,
The lost hosts awaken
To service till
In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
Raised when she has and shaken
Her thurible.

And long and loud,
To night's nave upsoaring,
A starknell tolls
As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,
Voidward from the adoring
Waste of souls.

poem by James Joyce
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A panorama with arches…

Arches, arches, arches
Arches of lips, palates, eyes, eyebrows
Arches of hearts, minds, kisses,
Indignities, obedience’s,
Arches of dreams, skies, stars, waters
Arched bridges that make me easier to reach you
More quickly than one single arc
Arched of words, that goes so smoothly
When they fly in arch style between us
Arches under sustained bridges of our love
And, I get thirsty oftentimes for them…
Vasil Marku 2012

poem by Vasil Marku
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The Dying Of Pere Pierre

". . . with two other priests; the same night he died,
and was buried by the shores of the lake that bears his name."
Chronicle.

"Nay, grieve not that ye can no honour give
To these poor bones that presently must be
But carrion; since I have sought to live
Upon God's earth, as He hath guided me,
I shall not lack! Where would ye have me lie?
High heaven is higher than cathedral nave:
Do men paint chancels fairer than the sky?"
Beside the darkened lake they made his grave,
Below the altar of the hills; and night
Swung incense clouds of mist in creeping lines
That twisted through the tree-trunks, where the light
Groped through the arches of the silent pines:
And he, beside the lonely path he trod,
Lay, tombed in splendour, in the House of God.

poem by John McCrae
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Wallace Stevens

The sea was the house and the world was the nave
You were the sea and you were the nave

The nave was stormy, the sea was calm
While the house was waiting for the world

To come in by the navy of the sea
The sea was a nave, the world was a house

You were the nave in the sea—
The house and the world

The world was the navy in the sea
And the sea was the house

poem by Dejan Stojanovic
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A Cloud In The Sky

There is a cloud in the sky and mixtures of colors floating around, now touch your lips and dream away. This is only a cloud in the sky, just only one cloud in the sky. Won’t you take me to the stars at night and watch them go flaying by, one by one they seem to fade into the night sky, now everything is alright. But when that sun comes out of his early morning bed, I’ll start to think of what I have done in my lifetime. You know that each night just brings the memories back to life, an you seem to be in a daze. And wondering to places where you never been. Now there is a cloud in the sky and it’s calling your name. Please come over here my darling and hold my hand tightly. Because you’re the light that shines on me.

Max Hornbogen
Feb 23,2008

poem by Max D. Hornbogen
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Sonnet XXXIX. To Night. From The Same.

I LOVE thee, mournful, sober-suited Night!
When the faint moon, yet lingering in her wane,
And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light
Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main.
In deep depression sunk, the enfeebled mind
Will to the deaf cold elements complain,
And tell the embosom'd grief, however vain,
To sullen surges and the viewless wind.
Though no repose on thy dark breast I find,
I still enjoy thee--cheerless as thou art;
For in thy quiet gloom the exhausted heart
Is calm, though wretched; hopeless, yet resigned.
While to the winds and waves its sorrows given,
May reach--though lost on earth--the ear of Heaven!

poem by Charlotte Smith
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The Dreamer

WHO seeks the shore where dreams outpour
Their floods in Slumber Seas
Lives all night long within a song
Of murmuring mysteries.

Where stars are lit above the pit
That holds the hollow dark,
Into their dawn he shall sail on
In an enchanted barque.

He shall not fear tho’ in his ear
The thrusting cranks of Time,
Thro’ blaze and gloom, with crash and boom,
Ring in tremendous rhyme,

Beyond the cloud that doth enshroud
Saturn with beauteous bands,
Where at the knees of Hyades
Creation claps her hands.

He shall bow low to God and know
Keen sorrow and delight,
The day’s full pride and eventide,
The inmost thoughts of night.

Into their calm white waves of balm
His soul shall plunge and swim,
Past silver-globed full moons unrobed
That float round Heaven’s rim.

He shall bow low to God and know
God, and be known of Him;
He shall surprise within the skies
The watching Seraphim.

He shall be known about the Throne
When names are named above,
As one redeemed through dreams he dreamed—
As one Beloved of Love.

poem by David MacDonald Ross
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A Voice On The Wind

I

She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

II

Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

III

She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

IV

Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

V

'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'

poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Moonless Night

The air is cold in this moonless night
its so beautiful
this moonless night
the night for an eclipse
three years of waiting for this night is so wonderfull
the beauty of this world
you never want to end this moment
of joy
this moonless night is wonderful
with you here
i will never forgett this night
with the cool waves and the beautiful moonless night sky.....

poem by Aurora Lockwood
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The Presence Chamber

(Switzerland)
BEHOLD a temple builded not by hands.
Columns of mist, all shimmering with sun,
Stream heavenward from the deep-cut vales that run
Between the mountains, and the vault expands,
Splendor of turquoise, groined with opal bands.
Cloud tapestries, of pearl and amber spun,
Veil in that glorious pavilion,
Mosaic-paved with cities, lakes and lands.
But far withdrawn in utter light of light,
Holy of Holies, is the God to whom
Our souls, that make their own enshrouding night,
Lift piteous prayer: 'Deliver us from gloom,'
Yet shrink aftrighted from the answering, white,
Unbearable Divine that would illume.

poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Never

Never confuse Conscience with Regret.
for Reasons' comfort keep them separate
one guards the gardens' entrance, one the exit
one 'tenebrae' cries while one sighs 'lux sit.'
'Number the things you did or left undone-
these are the things that matter' grins Regret,
there is no salvation for you, none,
Redemption is the thing you might forget'.
'Steer clear the ruts that pit the road that on-
ward arches through the gloom till dawn:
respect yourselves and do nobody harm',
smiles Conscience, 'and against Injustice arm.
you may not go to heaven, this is true,
but heaven will be glad to go to you'.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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Saint Cloud

Soft spread the southern sumer night
Her veil of darksome blue;
Ten thousand stars combined to light
The terrace of Saint Cloud.

The evening breezes gently sigh'd,
Like breath of lover true,
Bewailing the deserted pride
And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud.

The drum's deep roll was heard afar,
The bugle wildly blew
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar
That garrison Saint Cloud.

The startled Naiads from the shade
With broken urns withdrew
And silenced was that proud cascade,
The glory of Saint Cloud.

We sate upon its steps of stone,
Nor could its silence rue
When waked, to music of our own,
The echoes of Saint Cloud.

Slow Seine might hear each lovely note
Fall light as summer dew
While through the moonless air they float
Prolong'd from fair Saint Cloud.

And sure a melody more sweet
His waters never knew,
Though music's self was wont to meet
With Princes at Saint Cloud.

Nor then, with more delighted ear,
The circle round her drew,
Than ours, when gather'd round to hear
Our songstress at Saint Cloud.

Few happy hours poor mortals pass-—
Then give those hours their due,
And rank among the foremost class
Our evenings at Saint Cloud.

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Life of a Cloud

Warming thermals whisper as they rise,
To tell us they are soon to bring to view
In cooler air aloft before your eyes:
A gentle wisp to counterpoint the blue.

Powder puffs emerge to grant her grace
That further bloom as would for stately tree, and
Yield a sight that calls for our embrace:
Another cloud anew above the lea.

Cruising forth, she yearns for ageless life.
O how her hopes will soon be dashed in vain,
For up there in the cold she courts her strife,
To fade away as drops of closing rain.

Scant and lacy speak her living span,
And fair among us could be brought to mourn,
But she was there to populate her clan:
From fallen tears, new daughters will be born.

Copyright © Mark R slaughter 2010

A cloudy sky

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sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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To Jane: The Keen Stars Were Twinkling

I.
The keen stars were twinkling,
And the fair moon was rising among them,
Dear Jane.
The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them
Again.

II.
As the moon's soft splendour
O'er the faint cold starlight of Heaven
Is thrown,
So your voice most tender
To the strings without soul had then given
Its own.

III.
The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later
To-night;
No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter
Delight.

IV.
Though the sound overpowers,
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
A tone
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling
Are one.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Joy of Incompleteness

If all our life were one broad glare
Of sunlight, clear, unclouded;
If all our path were smooth and fair,
By no soft gloom enshrouded;
If all life's flowers were fully blown
Without the sweet unfolding,
And happiness were rudely thrown
On hands too weak for holding--
Should we not miss the twilight hours,
The gentle haze and sadness?
Should we not long for storms and showers
To break the constant gladness?

If none were sick and none were sad,
What service could we render?
I think if we were always glad,
We scarcely could be tender.
Did our beloved never need
Our patient ministration,
Earth would grow cold and miss indeed
Its sweetest consolation;
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
And every wish were granted,
Patience would die, and hope depart--
Life would be disenchanted.

And yet in heaven is no more night,
In heaven is no more sorrow!
Such unimagined new delight
Fresh grace from pain will borrow.
As the poor seed that underground
Seeks its true life above it,
Not knowing what will there be found
When sunbeams kiss and love it,
So we in darkness upward grow,
And look and long for heaven,
But cannot picture it below
Till more of light be given.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Song Of The Croaker

An old frog lived in a dismal swamp,
In a dismal kind of way;
And all that he did, whatever befell,
Was to croak the livelong day.
Croak, croak, croak,
When darkness filled the air,
And croak, croak, croak,
When the skies were bright and fair.

'Good Master Frog, a battle is fought,
And the foeman's power is broke.'
But he only turned a greener hue,
And answered with a croak.
Croak, croak, croak,
When the clouds are dark and dun,
And croak, croak, croak,
In the blaze of the noontide sun.

'Good Master Frog, the forces of right
Are driving the hosts of wrong.'
But he gave his head an ominous shake,
And croaked out, 'Nous verrons!'
Croak, croak, croak,
Till the heart is full of gloom,
And croak, croak, croak,
Till the world seems but a tomb.

To poison the cup of life,
By always dreading the worst.
Is to make of the earth a dungeon damp,
And the happiest life accursed.
Croak, croak, croak,
When the noontide sun rides high,
And croak, croak, croak,
Lest the night come by and by.

Farewell to the dismal frog;
Let him croak as loud as he may,
He cannot blot the sun from heaven,
Nor hinder the march of day,
Though he croak, croak, croak,
Till the heart is full of gloom,
And croak, croak, croak,
Till the world seems but a tomb.

poem by Horatio Alger Jr
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 15

The music of the morning is red and warm;
Snow lies against the walls;
And on the sloping roof in the yellow sunlight
Pigeons huddle against the wind.
The music of evening is attenuated and thin —
The moon seen through a wave by a mermaid;
The crying of a violin.
Far down there, far down where the river turns to the west,
The delicate lights begin to twinkle
On the dusky arches of the bridge:
In the green sky a long cloud,
A smouldering wave of smoky crimson,
Breaks in the freezing wind: and above it, unabashed,
Remote, untouched, fierly palpitant,
Sings the first star.

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Sonnet XX: Gracious Moonlight

Even as the moon grows queenlier in mid-space
When the sky darkens, and her cloud-rapt car
Thrills with intenser radiance from afar,—
So lambent, lady, beams thy sovereign grace
When the drear soul desires thee. Of that face
What shall be said,—which, like a governing star,
Gathers and garners from all things that are
Their silent penetrative loveliness?
O'er water-daisies and wild waifs of Spring,
There where the iris rears its gold-crowned sheaf
With flowering rush and sceptred arrow-leaf,
So have I marked Queen Dian, in bright ring
Of cloud above and wave below, take wing
And chase night's gloom, as thou the spirit's grief.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The darkness of my soul

My soul is dark.
Darker than the night sky on a moonless night.
Darker than my room on a moonless night.
If I shall die on this moonless night.
My soul shall rise nor fall within the darkness of the night.
Without any light in the sky of this moonless night.

poem by Charles Howard
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The Grave Of Shelley

LIKE burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
In the still chamber of yon pyramid
Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.

Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.

poem by Oscar Wilde
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Hope

SEE through yon cloud that rolls in wrath,
One little star benignant peep,
To light along their trackless path
The wanderers of the stormy deep.

And thus, oh Hope! thy lovely form
In sorrow's gloomy night shall be
The sun that looks through cloud and storm
Upon a dark and moonless sea.

When heaven is all serene and fair,
Full many a brighter gem we meet;
'Tis when the tempest hovers there,
Thy beam is most divinely sweet.

The rainbow, when the sun declines,
Like faithless friend will disappear;
Thy light, dear star! more brightly shines
When all is wail and weeping here.

And though Aurora's stealing beam
May wake a morning of delight,
'Tis only thy consoling beam
Will smile amid affliction's night.

poem by Joseph Rodman Drake
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