Night Wind
Darkness like midnight from the sobbing woods
Clamours with dismal tidings of the rain
Roaring as rivers breaking loose in floods
To spread and foam and deluge all the plain
The cotter listens at his door again
Half doubting whether it be floods or wind
And through the thickening darkness looks affraid
Thinking of roads that travel has to find
Through night's black depths in danger's garb arrayed
And the loud glabber round the flaze soon stops
When hushed to silence by a lifted hand
Of fearing dame who hears the noise in dread
And thinks a deluge comes to drown the land
Nor dares she go to bed untill the tempest drops
poem by John Clare
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Deluge Aftermath
Deluge aftermath
lies on a pyre of laughter -
sardonic laughter -
holocryptic in its litter of
charms and pangs of incence.
Deluge aftermath
swears oaths of allegiance to
waning day, refraining from
tales of calm and religious prescience;
it recalls the aftermath of the
Deluge of Noah.
Deluge aftermath
rests with inveterate slumber
earned in the cataract of
puissant vices upon lonesome,
green artifacts of a laconic culture.
Deluge aftermath
looms across the dark visage of
waste,
and atop glow-lines of garden lamps
and posts of decaying flames.
Deluge aftermath
crowns crabs monarchs of floods,
and frogs, adjutants of water regiment,
within breaths of rain.
Deluge aftermath
nubiferous - hanging old shrouds
of weeping clouds on the meek contours of
familiar skies to jeer downward.
Deluge aftermath,
bleaching the whited sepulchers
like elephants killed by lightning
in an unread plague of rain;
unearthing fossils of mosquitoes
about to become fuel,
and tickling the ribs of streams
to laugh and grow fat.
Deluge aftermath
dampens the hearth and the phalli -
two hot and intemperate organs
of warmth and man,
cringing in the event of the
breaking of the huge gourd
sitting on the earth-pillars.
Deluge aftermath -
one small flood for a community
and a giant inundation
for the aftermath of mankind.
poem by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
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Deluge
A deluge haunts a race unaware
It is larger than the one 'Noah' faced
It holds all in an embrace everywhere
It engulfs the already 'menaced'
Deluges have no hearts
They have ever been that cruel
A deluge is a nightmare of sorts
It has been on a mission dual
As you fail to see it come
The deluge laughs at you the blind
As I begin to warn you that it`s come
It tides over the realms of my mind.
A deluge leaves no hopes ahead
It is there to right a wrong yet
It will leave a silence of the dead
This deluge will leave HIM scot free you bet.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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If It's Modern It's Right
By the Mediterranean shore,
In the days of the cohorts and legions,
When oodles of rain used to pour
O'er the old agricultural regions,
When a deluge came thundering down -
Tho' the vineyards of Rome did not need it -
Men cocked a shrewd eye
At the lowering sky
And agreed that the gods had decreed it.
And they said to themselves: 'There is not the least doubt
That's Jupiter Pluvius pouring it out.'
But the restless old world forged ahead,
And men waxed in wisdom and reason;
An in bluff, Merrie England, 'tis said,
When a deluge came down out of season,
And rotted their 'turmuts,' their 'spuds',
Mangelwursts and similar riches,
The wise of the land
Saw black magic at hand,
So they sizzled a couple of witches.
And they said to themselves, 'There be not the least doubt,
They hags can cast spells for a deluge or drought.'
But progress moved onward, and soon
Men derided the cult of witch-burning;
And, in times of great floods, 'twas the moon
Caused it all, said the men of deep learning.
And they proved, since she governs the tides,
She must govern all water and weather.
So men turned to this new view,
Since 'twas novel and new,
And they scrapped old beliefs altogether,
For they said to themselves, 'There is not the least doubt,
Lest the moon's on her back she must spill water out.'
But we moderns, of course, high of brow,
Are amused by these crude superstitions.
We are guided by scientist now
Astronomers, mathematicians.
'Tis sunspots, as now we know well,
Cause phenomenal floods and such troubles;
But there isn't much harm;
So still your alarm,
For it's only old Sol blowing bubbles.
But I say to myself, 'Can there be any doubt
That a brief hundred years sees this theory out?'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Rain Comes Sobbing to the Door
The night grows dark, and weird, and cold; and thick drops patter on the pane;
There comes a wailing from the sea; the wind is weary of the rain.
The red coals click beneath the flame, and see, with slow and silent feet
The hooded shadows cross the woods to where the twilight waters beat!
Now, fan-wise from the ruddy fire, a brilliance sweeps athwart the floor;
As, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door:
As, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door.
Dull echoes round the casement fall, and through the empty chambers go,
Like forms unseen whom we can hear on tip-toe stealing to and fro.
But fill your glasses to the brims, and, through a mist of smiles and tears,
Our eyes shall tell how much we love to toast the shades of other years!
And hither they will flock again, the ghosts of things that are no more,
While, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door:
While, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door.
The tempest-trodden wastelands moan - the trees are threshing at the blast;
And now they come, the pallid shapes of Dreams that perished in the past;
And, when we lift the windows up, a smothered whisper round us strays,
Like some lone wandering voice from graves
that hold the wrecks of bygone days.
I tell ye that I ~love~ the storm, for think we not of ~thoughts~ of yore,
When, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door?
When, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door?
We'll drink to those we sadly miss, and sing some mournful song we know,
Since they may chance to hear it all, and muse on friends they've left below.
Who knows - if souls in bliss can leave the borders of their Eden-home -
But that some loving one may now about the ancient threshold roam?
Oh, like an exile, he would hail a glimpse of the familiar floor,
Though, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door!
Though, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door!
poem by Henry Kendall
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So We Are Now Refugees
Little drops from heaven's ballister
Ceaslessly falls upon our land
Heaven weeps on us without remedy
Our land is excessively watered
Gutters are fed to yhe throats
Rivers rages above their banks
Furrows are submerged with ridges
Our farmlands suddenly vamoosed
Our homes are sacked by floods
From upper Benue to down Niger
Our homes laid postrate in floods
Old people cry for help
Mothers screamed for washed away children
Lives bodies float on water surface
Hues reign in our habitations
No more homes, no more land
Floods has eaten over our land
No more glitter in our birthplace
We are now refugees in our land
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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Night Of Horror
Night draw closer
like plague,
leaving me in wonderland
for I know not where I belong.
Night‘re for victorious
Night‘re for victim.
The victim is the man;
the victory is for the witches
every night they haunt
my armedless soul. (I dread to night)
Every night‘re nightmares,
They slain my dream
and murder became the
fate of my sleep
Every night they claim
my peace;
the peace that goes with nightfall
and left me to the luxury
of nothing but fear.
Fearing for the night
fearing for nothing,
yet I'm fearing for everything
fearing, and mere fear;
fearing that tonight
they might wash
them guilty hands in my blood
like they did with Caesar's
Night are filled with everything
Yet nothing come to your aid.
Night are brighten by stars
Yet darkness crown we head
I dread night fall.
The hoots of owl
Flames my disgust
For night fall.
The noise from their vocal piece
Make me mistake my dreams
For illusions;
I dread might fall
For at night my soul
Die a thousand time before
Cockcrow.
poem by Matthias Pantaleon
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Cathedral in the Thrashing Rain
(O mata fukitsunoru ame kaze.)
O another deluge of wind and rain.
Collar turned up, getting drenched in this splashing rain,
and looking up at you -- it's me, ...
it's that Japanese.
This morning
about daybreak the storm suddenly went violent, terrible,
and now is blowing through Paris from one end to the other.
I have yet to know the directions of this land.
(O mata fukitsunoru ame kaze.)
I don't even know which way this storm is facing. ...
Only because even today I wanted to stand here
and look up at you, Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris,
I came, getting drenched,
only because I wanted to touch you,
only because I wanted to kiss your skin, the stone, unknown to anyone.
O another deluge of wind and rain.
Though it's already time for morning coffee,
a little while ago I looked from the Pont-Neuf,
the boats on the Seine were still tied up to the banks, like puppies.
The leaves of the gentle plane trees shining in their autumn colors on the banks
are like flocks of buntings chased by hawks. ...
The chestnut trees behind you,
each time their heads ... get mussed up,
starling-colored leaves dance up into the sky. ...
All the square is like a pattern,
filled with flowing silver water, and isles of golden-brown burnt-brown leaves.
Then there's the noise of the downpour resounding in my pores.
It's the noise of something roaring, grinding. ...
With golden plane tree leaves falling all over my coat,
I'm standing in it.
Storms are like this in my country, Japan, too.
Only, we don't see you soaring.
O Nootorudamu, Nootorudamu ...
O Notre-Dame, Notre-Dame,
rock-like, mountain-like, eagle-like, crouching-lion-like cathedral,
reef sunk in vast air,
square pillar of Paris,
sealed by blinding splatters of rain, ...
O soaring in front, Notre-Dame de Paris,
it's me, ...
it's that Japanese.
My heart trembles now that I see you.
Looking at your form like a tragedy,
a young man from a far distant country is moved.
...
O another deluge of wind and rain. ...
Only the gargoyles ...
raise their paws, crane their necks,
bare their teeth, blow out burning fountains of breath. ...
O nanto iu ame kaze no shuuchuu.
O what a concentration of wind and rain. ...
How is the rooster at the top of the tall slender steeple doing? ...
O mata fukitsunoru ame kaze.
O another deluge of wind and rain.
Sono naka de hasseikikan omomi ni gasshiri to tatsu katedoraru ...
A cathedral standing in it
solid with the weight of eight centuries,
a mass of millions of stones piled and carved by believers of old.
A great scaffold for truth, sincerity, eternity.
You stand wordless. ...
You know the strength of nature's force ...
O cathedral in the thrashing rain ...
... wind and rain that took a breath and has driven itself harder,
all the instruments of the heavens gone berserk,
the dance swirls around ...
O cathedral, ...
you who watch motionless the houses of Paris suffering the storm,
please do not think me rude,
who, hands on your cornerstone,
has his hot cheek pressed on your skin,
it's me, the drunken one.
It's that Japanese.
poem by KotaroTakamura
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Insurrection
insurrection...
or just the pot boiling over,
the plant breaking through the gound,
the leaf bursting from the bud,
the wind breaking down the door.
light breaking through the darkness,
the body breaking free of bonds.
the spirit breaking from the body,
the truth breaking from the silence.
hope breaking from despair,
caring breaking from the calloused....
the individual breaking from the crowd.
the many breaking from the few,
the man breaking from enslavement.
the pot boiling over...
be careful!
you'll burn your hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Darkness Of...
Darkness is not the darkness of night
it is the darkness of mind and soul.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of discrimination between poor and rich.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of dishonesty.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of aggravate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is darkness of corruption.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of indiscipline.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of animosity.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of inveterate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of perjury.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness that we all brought up inside us,
so, light the lamp of light inside you...
poem by Suniya Garg
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Dweller On The Threshold
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
I have seen without perceiving
I have been another man
Let me pierce the realm of glamour
So I know just what I am
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Feel the angel of the present
In the mighty crystal fire
Lift me up consume my darkness
Let me travel even higher
Im a dweller on the threshold
As I cross the burning ground
Let me go down to the water
Watch the great illusion drown
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im gonna turn and face the music
The music of the spheres
Lift me up consume my darkness
When the midnight disappears
I will walk out of the darkness
And Ill walk into the light
And Ill sing the song of ages
And the dawn will end the night
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im a dweller on the threshold
And I cross some burning ground
And Ill go down to the water
Let the great illusion drown
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im a dweller on the threshold
Dweller on the threshold
Im a dweller on the threshold
Im a dweller on the threshold
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Open Boat
O, what is that whimpering there in the darkness?
'Let him lie in my arms. He is breathing, I know.
Look. I'll wrap all my hair round his neck' - 'The sea's rising,
The boat must be lightened. He's dead. He must go.'
See - quick - by that flash, where the bitter foam tosses,
The cloud of white faces, in the black open boat,
And the wild pleading woman that clasps her dead lover
And wraps her loose hair round his breast and his throat.
'Come, lady, he's dead.' - 'No, I feel his heart beating,
He's living, I know. But he's numbed with the cold.
See, I'm wrapping my hair all around him to warm him.' -
- 'No. We can't keep the dead, dear. Come, loosen your hold.
'Come. Loosen your fingers.' - ' O God, let me keep him!' -
O, hide it, black night! Let the winds have their way!
And there are no voices or ghosts from that darkness,
To fret the bare seas at the breaking of day.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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I Dread the Silence
I need noise when I’m awake
I dread the silence when I am not asleep
It’s either pounding my eardrums with songs, music or any mp3s
or razzing it to an audio book or MTVs
Noise has been a means to cover up the reality
I dread the silence for it prods a cognizance that I’m alone despite the crowd.
I dread the silence fearing that I wake up from my self-created imaginary world
I dread the silence for fear that it made me question about my existence
I dread the silence fearing that I will hear the inner voice
clamoring and wanting to escape from this dragging circumstances
That still small voice which prefers peace
that still small voice wanting to get away from this kind of place.
that still small voice, crying from this senseless pace.
that still small voice, wanting a break from this pointless race.
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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Winter Moonlight
LOUD-VOICED night, with the wild wind blowing
Many a tune;
Stormy night, with white rain-clouds going
Over the moon;
Mystic night, that each minute changes,
Now as blue as the mountain-ranges
Far, far away;
Now as black as a heart where strange is
Joy, night or day.
Wondrous moonlight, unlike all moonlights
Since I was born;
That on a hundred, bright as noonlights,
Looks in slow scorn,--
Moonlights where the old vine-leaves quiver,
Moonlights shining on vale and river,
Where old paths lie;
Moonlights--Night, blot their like forever
Out of the sky!
Hail, new moonlight, fierce, wild, and stormy,
Wintry and bold!
Hail, sharp wind, that can strengthen, warm me,
If ne'er so cold!
Not chance-driven this deluge rages,
ONE doth pour out and ONE assuages;
Under His hand
Drifting, Noah-like, into the ages
Shall touch land.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Bells Of Ostend
No, I never, till life and its shadows shall end,
Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend!
The day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud,
And rung as it passed through each murmuring shroud.
My forehead was wet with the foam of the spray,
My heart sighed in secret for those far away;
When slowly the morning advanced from the east,
The toil and the noise of the tempest had ceased;
The peal from a land I ne'er saw, seemed to say,
'Let the stranger forget every sorrow to-day!'
Yet the short-lived emotion was mingled with pain,
I thought of those eyes I should ne'er see again;
I thought of the kiss, the last kiss which I gave,
And a tear of regret fell unseen on the wave;
I thought of the schemes fond affection had planned,
Of the trees, of the towers, of my own native land.
But still the sweet sounds, as they swelled to the air,
Seemed tidings of pleasure, though mournful to bear,
And I never, till life and its shadows shall end,
Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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All Through The Night
With air so still, no breeze around,
a storm was brewing, somewhat near.
Not a whisper crept o’er the ground,
just eerie silence, fraught with fear.
Birds ceased their singing, creatures fled,
knowing that something might ensue.
Rumbling was heard, causing such dread,
one sky with stealth, much darker grew.
The landscape stood out harsh and bleak,
lightning bolts pierced the firmament.
Torrential rain in sheets so freak,
came crashing down when clouds gave vent.
All through the night the tempest roared,
pelting the earth with potent force.
And on and on the deluge poured,
as it continued on its course.
When all was spent the sun did rise,
reflecting on a wet terrain.
Then as land ultimately dries,
life thus returns to its domain.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Hope
an angel a bridge
of heart
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness Darkness
a light
of humanity tree
Historical Grief
A perpetual war between
frame and content feeds
the fire!
I step outside the house of thoughts.
The death begins the counting and
jasmines start crying.
I hear the over-worn desert
blowing the sand.
A raw stone throws up a sculpture.
Midnight knocks on the door were loud.
Rain was banging, moonlight drifts in.
The huge cloud outlines
the ceremony of deluge.
Abstract ideas have to be clothed again.
The naked truth stops the clock.
A proxy death shatters me.
I also die in a dome.
Night melts in hissing sounds,
time becomes a paper weight.
The splender of quartz cracks.
Demolition is complete
historical grief now takes over.
poem by Satish Verma
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Alone... In The Rain...
alone in the darkness
under the rain
crying out loud
that no one can hear
alone in the darkness
under the rain
with a broken heart
and so much pain
alone in the darkness
under the rain
i wish you were here
to comfort me again
alone in the darkness
under the rain
how long will i endure it
i think...forever...
poem by Meann Santiago
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Fragment I
I round the threshold wandering here,
Vainly the tempest and the rain invoke,
That they may keep my lady prisoner.
And yet the wind was howling in the woods,
The roving thunder bellowing in the clouds,
Before the dawn had risen in the sky.
O ye dear clouds! O heaven! O earth! O trees!
My lady goes! Have mercy, if on earth
Unhappy lovers ever mercy find!
Awake, ye whirlwinds! storm-charged clouds, awake,
O'erwhelm me with your floods, until the sun
To other lands brings back the light of day!
Heaven opens; the wind falls; the grass, the leaves
Are motionless, around; the dazzling sun
In my tear-laden eyes remorseless shines.
poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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Sea Parting
The sea shall part before your eyes
And you will not learn of darkness.
The heart grows fond of this miracle
As length of the rivers do not match.
We are in safety, we are in a house
That worked upstairs and downstairs.
Some lights are delighting the company
In the house or palace of wonders.
This night the lights are out
With the sea parting forcing us to drown
With the lights off, with the house in floods.
The real saviour is the man in the house
Who is the landlord, the only warrior of water.
poem by Naveed Akram
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