To My Friend - Ode II
THOU go'st! I murmur--
Go! let me murmur.
Oh, worthy man,
Fly from this land!
Deadly marshes,
Steaming mists of October
Here interweave their currents,
Blending for ever.
Noisome insects
Here are engender'd;
Fatal darkness
Veils their malice.
The fiery-tongued serpent,
Hard by the sedgy bank,
Stretches his pamper'd body,
Caress'd by the sun's bright beams.
Tempt no gentle night-rambles
Under the moon's cold twilight!
Loathsome toads hold their meetings
Yonder at every crossway.
Injuring not,
Fear will they cause thee.
Oh, worthy man,
Fly from this land!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Whither? (From The German Of Müller)
I heard a brooklet gushing
From its rocky fountain near,
Down into the valley rushing,
So fresh and wondrous clear.
I know not what came o'er me,
Nor who the counsel gave;
But I must hasten downward,
All with my pilgrim-stave;
Downward, and ever farther,
And ever the brook beside;
And ever fresher murmured,
And ever clearer, the tide.
Is this the way I was going?
Whither, O brooklet, say I
Thou hast, with thy soft murmur,
Murmured my senses away.
What do I say of a murmur?
That can no murmur be;
'Tis the water-nymphs, that are singing
Their roundelays under me.
Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur,
And wander merrily near;
The wheels of a mill are going
In every brooklet clear.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Long Lost Love
She wakens;
It has been a decade's sleep.
She hearkens;
It's I to her depths, not cheap.
A lovely brown curl is twisted
By her crooked finger;
If I had only listened,
I could have heard the murmur of her shapely heart;
The murmur of her lips apart;
But in enticement I grow stupid,
And, lanced by some succubus cupid,
Only did tell her I loved her profoundly.
And she shakes that off like a fly, roundly.
And flees off into the night.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Sonnet to Ocean
Shall I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love,
That once, in rage, with the wild winds at strife,
Thou darest menace my unit of a life,
Sending my clay below, my soul above,
Whilst roar'd thy waves, like lions when they rove
By night, and bound upon their prey by stealth!
Yet didst thou n'er restore my fainting health?—
Didst thou ne'er murmur gently like the dove?
Nay, dost thou not against my own dear shore
Full break, last link between my land and me?—
My absent friends talk in thy very roar,
In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see,
And, if I must not see my England more,
Next to her soil, my grave be found in thee!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Requiem
For thee the birds shall never sing again,
Nor fresh green leaves come out upon the tree,
The brook shall no more murmur the refrain
For thee.
Thou liest underneath the windswept lea,
Thou dreamest not of pleasure or of pain,
Thou dreadest no to-morrow that shall be.
Deep rest is thine, unbroken by the rain,
Ay, or the thunder. Brother, canst thou see
The tears that night and morning fall in vain
For thee?
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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To The Moon
BUSH and vale thou fill'st again
With thy misty ray,
And my spirit's heavy chain
Castest far away.
Thou dost o'er my fields extend
Thy sweet soothing eye,
Watching like a gentle friend,
O'er my destiny.
Vanish'd days of bliss and woe
Haunt me with their tone,
Joy and grief in turns I know,
As I stray alone.
Stream beloved, flow on! flow on!
Ne'er can I be gay!
Thus have sport and kisses gone,
Truth thus pass'd away.
Once I seem'd the lord to be
Of that prize so fair!
Now, to our deep sorrow, we
Can forget it ne'er.
Murmur, stream, the vale along,
Never cease thy sighs;
Murmur, whisper to my song
Answering melodies!
When thou in the winter's night
Overflow'st in wrath,
Or in spring-time sparklest bright,
As the buds shoot forth.
He who from the world retires,
Void of hate, is blest;
Who a friend's true love inspires,
Leaning on his breast!
That which heedless man ne'er knew,
Or ne'er thought aright,
Roams the bosom's labyrinth through,
Boldly into night.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Man in Green
A cancer of the lungs,
A murmur of the heart
Theres one he can't control
and one he didn't start
He lies unon his bed
Dressed in death robes green
reflecting on his life
and everything he's seen
The nurse all dressed in black,
notes the pallor of his skin
The doctor comes and asks
Him for the next of kin
A cancer of the heart,
A murmur from the lungs
His elegy he starts,
for there are no other tounges.
poem by Joshua Bosworth
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September Midnights
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, borken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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September Midnight
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Carried Time Tide Currents Global Death List
radiation is raw spewing into the sea
off island of Honshū from number two
nuclear reactor at crippled Fukushima
nuclear power plant seeding sea currents
lethal death ray deadly spray radiation
radiation ripped glow fish soon no fish
dead sea hot zone death creeping raw
radiation still spewing seeping fear fish
cooked on your plate nice steaming but
what was it eating where swimming past
radiation survivors swimming is building
up in sea food chain levels concentrating
building in plankton for choice whale meat
building in snapper tuna fish for your dish
carried time tide currents global death list
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I was and still am a fool.
I once met an old man who used to sit by a pool.
He'd look up as I passed and would murmur: '..oh, you fool.'
I used to think he was mad, or maybe I was in denial then.
I thought he was wrong; that I could never escape g-d's master plan.
I ran and I ran and hoped that my lungs would burst.
I'd trudge and stumble along, ignoring that thirst.
The thirst inside me that said I wanted a different life to lead;
One that was good and wholesome and contained none of this world's greed.
And then I became caught between two worlds; one neither here nor there.
I'd run and I'd stumble, look around and murmur: 'this is..where? '
I could never tell if it were better to mess a room up more in order to try and make it once again neat,
but I suppose once you start, you can't stop -because if not you'll realise you'll never really be complete.
Death! You have illumined my fate like no one before
Death! You have illumined my fate like no one before
Let it take a quiet sleep inside you
My resigned fate now needs a console
Let it take a deep breath inside your cold
Tell me where to go? Show me whom to ask?
Deliver me a shelter
Or a place to run beyond
Where you will not find me again
Will not descend in deadly murmur again
Tell me where to go? Show me whom to ask?
poem by Shamik Bose
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Proximity Of The Beloved One
I THINK of thee, whene'er the sun his beams
O'er ocean flings;
I think of thee, whene'er the moonlight gleams
In silv'ry springs.
I see thee, when upon the distant ridge
The dust awakes;
At midnight's hour, when on the fragile bridge
The wanderer quakes.
I hear thee, when yon billows rise on high,
With murmur deep.
To tread the silent grove oft wander I,
When all's asleep.
I'm near thee, though thou far away mayst be--
Thou, too, art near!
The sun then sets, the stars soon lighten me.
Would thou wert here!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Retreat.
Against my lonely latter years
I'll build a faery home for me —
Proof against sorrow with its fears,
And age with its adversity.
Within a region bosomed high
Above the ways of worldly men,
In a demesne where by-and-by
I oft shall come and go again.
Ah! there my home in a green nook
Shall sweetly stand the siege of time,
Where Thought may read his riddle-book
As to the murmur of old rhyme.
And faery footings still shall lead
My feet among mesmeric ways,
Where life is like a dream indeed,
And all the days are summer days.
But sylphs and fays and simple things
Shall murmur in my pensive ear,
Until the change shall come that brings
Me and my world to ruin here.
poem by Robert Crawford
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October in New Zealand
O JUNE has her diamonds, her diamonds of sheen,
Meet for a queen’s neck, if Death had e’er a queen!
June has her blue days, jewels of delight,
Set in the ivory of Alp-land white,—
But October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
O January’s garland is redder than the rose,
And the wine-red ruby of January glows
All the way to madness and half the way to sin,
When sleep is in the poppy and fire is in the whin!
But October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
October will ride in a mantle o’ the vair,
With the flower o’ the quince in her dew-wet hair;
October will ride to the gates of the day,
With the bluebells ringing on her maiden way;—
For October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
poem by Jessie Mackay
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Earth Pulse
ash
dirt
dust
solid
earth
groundterra firma
solidity stasis
earth murmur
heart murmur
shock earthquake
sudden heart attack
life pulse curve quirk
shake up tremour killers
aftermath scenes surreal
distorts harmonic flow
after shocks rhythmic
raw heart beat surge
cost displacement
miss monuments
rock time counts
fallen edifices
bodies rigid
shattered
seismic
ground
waves
flow
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sadder than lark when lowering
Sadder than lark when lowering
Clouds defend the sky;
Sadder than wild swan pouring
Death-notes ere it die;
Sadder than winds imploring
Shelter when storms are high,-
Couldst thou be less than adoring,
More sad were I.
Happy as streamlet flowing
'Twixt banks of heathery peat;
Happy as murmur going
Through the inclining wheat;
Happy as mother glowing
Over her little one's feet,-
I am happy in knowing,
Thou'rt mine, my sweet!
poem by Alfred Austin
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Lines.—When this heart is cold and still
When this heart is cold and still,
And can throb for thee no more;
When it wakes not to the thrill
Of the harp's wild chord;
Nor can e'en afford
A sigh to the days of yore;
Then come to my silent tomb,
Which the breeze will murmur over:
Where reigns the deepest gloom—
Where the bat flits by
And the ravens cry—
Thou shalt the spot discover.
poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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The Old Man's Grave
Make it where the winds may sweep
Through the pine boughs soft and deep,
And the murmur of the sea
Come across the orient lea,
And the falling raindrops sing
Gently to his slumbering.
Make it where the meadows wide
Greenly lie on every side,
Harvest fields he reaped and trod,
Westering slopes of clover sod,
Orchard lands where bloom and blow
Trees he planted long ago.
Make it where the starshine dim
May be always close to him,
And the sunrise glory spread
Lavishly around his bed.
And the dewy grasses creep
Tenderly above his sleep.
Since these things to him were dear
Through full many a well-spent year,
It is surely meet their grace
Should be on his resting-place,
And the murmur of the sea
Be his dirge eternally.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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The Passing Away Of Orange Shades
you gather symbols
the metaphors confuse you but just the same
you take a stone, a rose, a knife
chunks of clouds for a dinner
of loneliness
the night appears like a steel pipe
singing the songs of the winds
on empty holes
the rust are many and the powder of
regrets stumble upon the circular edge
of day
south of the moon's directions
against the coldness of the walls
you listen for something that you do not like to hear
you grapple for the touch
of looseness
dripping sounds from the bottom of
the orange sun sinking on the line of
black horizon
until you see nothing but the humming of the soul
inside your brain
nothing seems significant
except the murmur
that old murmur that becomes a chant
to survive the havoc of the day
you paint a sigh using some
fixtures of the firmaments dissolving while a meteor passes away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Duty Surviving Self-Love
Unchanged within, to see all changed without,
Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt.
Yet why at others' Wanings should'st thou fret ?
Then only might'st thou feel a just regret,
Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light
In selfish forethought of neglect and slight.
O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed,
While, and on whom, thou may'st--shine on ! nor heed
Whether the object by reflected light
Return thy radiance or absorb it quite :
And tho' thou notest from thy safe recess
Old Friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air,
Love them for what they are ; nor love them less,
Because to thee they are not what they were.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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