1. The Stair
the quietness of the
setting sun is haunting
the hurried chirp of
the returning swallows
echoing round the school
evokes a forlorness this
evening chill works to thicken
those flighty years have
come back like swallows
to roost, each echoing
a pain, a joy, a tear, a
smile, a hug, a kiss, a loss
each step of this stair
spins a tale, walks me up
a time warp of yearnings
and disillusions
the stair where a thousand
dreams were spun and another
thousand trailed the wind
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
Wilt Not Forget Thee
I love the time between eight and nine
tortured heart wilt not forget thee.
I love the time between eight and nine
long are days I do not glimpse thee.
Longed for time between eight and nine
favoured beloved; beloved time of your coming.
So far away gone throughout chill day
yet in mine thoughts ever close within me.
So far away gone throughout chill day
emotion evoke; you stir depth smitten in me.
In vain searched for face; gone throughout chill day
life revolves round; favoured time of your coming.
When foot-fall I hear upon the stair
your presence drawith near ascend thee,
expected foot-fall I hear upon the stair
heart inflates, lifts up to ascend thee,
presence felt now; I hear foot-fall upon the stair
when heard not, oh how I miss thee.
For this is time, heartfelt time of your coming
expected awaited time of your coming.
Life revolves round time of your coming
life enfolds round time of your coming.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Halfway Down
Halfway down the stairs
is a stair
where i sit.
there isn't any
other stair
quite like
it.
i'm not at the bottom,
i'm not at the top;
so this is the stair
where
I always
stop.
Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up
And it isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead!
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Culpable
Re-echoing.
The words we spoke but now regret.
Re-echoing.
The pain they caused still lingering
although not meant to cause upset.
They are not easy to forget.
Re- echoing
(Rondelet/18-Jun-07)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Stairs....
the stairs show us
a door, and we focus
to the moment when
we arrive at the very
doorstep
anticipating about
a day of an opening
and see finally what is next
what is there
we step upon each
plank
ascend every next
stair
each stair
and the next stair
all the days of our
lives
spending time
with little rest
and sometimes with
nothing at all
sooner we feel
so deceived
having spent so much
time already
ascending
habitually
but not really getting near
that attractive door
and when we notice that
it is too late
our faces have given birth
to all the wrinkles
our heads have grown
all the white hairs
and silences by all means
have sewn our lips
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A View Of The Stairs....
we all love the stairs
there is order in its placement
there is a hierarchy that we equate
with stages
of life, of something that is always
higher
and that something below it
also serves
the purpose of elevating a step
so someone
can reach the door of the house
and then
enter it
we all love the stair
there is respect in elevation
there is use and
artistic purpose,
there is dignity in elation
we remember every nail that is hammered
there,
echoing the sound of the past
struggles
it is the perfection of friction
the platform of a reconstructed struggle
step by step
a comfort to achieve height
a bridge to another
dimension
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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O, Do Not Forsake Me
O, do not forsake me, my indolent friends
O, do not forsake me though you know I must spend
All my darkest hours talking like this
For I am one thousand years old
One thousand years old
Sure, you think thats old
One thousand years old
But what do you know?
In my darkest hour Im talking like this
For I am one thousand years old
Oh, some have forgotten the flower of speech
And walks through the garden where I go to defend
Misbegotten notions while talking like this
For I am one thousand years old
One thousand years old
Sure, Id say thats old
One thousand years old
But what do I know?
In your darkest hour, my indolent friends
Well be one thousand years old
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O Do Not Forsake Me (Demo)
O, do not forsake me, my indolent friends
O, do not forsake me for you know I must spend
All my darkest hours talking like this
For I am one thousand years old
One thousand years old
Sure you think that's old
ONe thousand years old, but what do you know?
In my darkest hour I'm talking like this
For I am one thousand years old
Oh, some have forgotten the flower of speech
And walks through the garden where
I go to defent misbegotten notions while talking like this
For I am one thousand years old
One thousand years old
Sure, I'd say that's old
ONe thousand years old, but what do I know?
In your darkest hour, my indolent friends, we'll be one thousand years old
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kaif
I love the silence Im in.
I think I dreamed this before
Some lives seem so incomplete
Some just keep coming back for more
Where did the time go? (echoing) (*3)
I cant remember how it end
Dont even know who I am
A fading memory
A fading image redrawn
Cant wait for ever more
Where did the time go? (echoing) (*3)
Remember things I never said
Ive seen the faces before
I hope the future is dead
The dead keep asking for more
Where did the time go? (echoing) (*3)
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Choked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstructing her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is any more than she can tell what time it is
Which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog swallows it
She has been misled again
...and again
......and again
She screams, she’s tired; she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like she’s been here forever
Trees that don’t talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
Mocking her, humiliating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
Water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Joyce Forbus
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Swallows in the summertime
Swallows in the summertime
The swallows have returned again,
Reminding me of those halcyon days of my youth,
Many years have passed since those blissful days,
I would spend many happy evenings watch them dart around.
The swallows always return each summer,
Spreading their joyful wings over England's green and pleasant land,
Every summer I wonder how many more times will I see the return,
Although it's summer again, I ‘am approaching the winter of my life.
When the swallows return again next year again,
I wonder if I will still be here to see them again,
Flying on the wing under the clear blue skies of summer,
If I ‘am, I will sit by the babbling brook and watch their dance once more.
If I see the swallows return once more,
I will remember those summer days of long ago,
When I was a lad and the countryside seemed to go on forever,
And in my mind I will be young again.
By Christopher Tye
poem by Christopher Tye
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One Hundred Thousand Marching
One hundred thousand marching
One hundred thousand men
One hundred thousand heading
To a place and a time when
One hundred thousand dying
One hundred thousand cold
One hundred thousand praying
Forever young and never old
One hundred thousand lives were lost
One hundred thousand felt the pain
One hundred thousand maimed and slaughtered
And yet those armies march again.
poem by David Keig
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We
we build the stairs first
stair upon stair
wood and nail
and hammer
and hands
and some
determined thoughts
dreams to reach the skies
focus
and look what have be done
we have reached the door
of the room
it is here where we shall hatch
all our dreams
like eggs to our warm
hands
like chicks to our cheeks
time and stairs and hopes and dreams and nails and hammers
and hands
and eyes
be awake and always be vigilant
for dreams that do not die like night
stars
are we
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Batalha
IN this still cloister where the roses grow
Waist-high between the arches and the well,
You would have walked a thousand years ago,
So faithful, who are now so infidel;
You would have fancied your wild heart's emotion
Over the beauty of a scene like this,
A mystic piety, a pure devotion
And so, perhaps, it is.
Under the shade of column and of tracing,
Here in the dusk, where swallows dart and fly,
Barefoot and cowled, I think I see you pacing,
Brooding o'er thoughts of subtle mystery;
Fasting and prayer, and music and desire
Weaving a mood that men no longer know -
Oh, yes, my dear, you would have been a friar,
A thousand years ago.
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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The Opening in the Sky to Heaven
in the eyes of the swallows
the sky winds its way into
a mysterious golden
- cool luminous opening
to where heaven is
on and on the excited swallows
would sing wishing one day
it would be able to explore
what is inside
on and on the swallows would sing
as they cruise the sky
delighting all earth's inhabitants
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Your Smile... Ill Walk A Thousand Miles...
If only you would smile for a little while…
I’ll walk a thousand miles..
Just to see your smile…
I’ll do anything to make you smile just for a while…
Will you smile? ? ?
When your feeling blue…
Give me a clue…
When I see your smile… it reaches inside me for a thousand miles…
When I feel like there’s a thousand knifes inside…
I just remember your smile…
It can mend a thousand times…
Walking a thousand miles just to see you smile
Is soo worth my wild…
Your smile is not wild…
It’s so mild…
Your smile is soo free…
Its easy to see…
Makes my day worthwhile…
Smile for a while…
Hearts will get near…
Words will be dear…
Your smile melts an angry heart…
Such a gentle smile…
Soo just remember to smile…
And ill come from a thousand miles…
By: Tou Yang
One Gets Used To All These
one gets used to all these
these and that, matters of the heart and soul
veiled with secrecy, worshiped as a secrecy
a devastation of the mind
a burning of the soul but no matter what
we both are here
still strong and silent in pain
rejoicing that oh,
somehow God has a plan for each of us
dead or alive
a room is reserved, a blue sky, a full moon,
a shining morning sun
a white butterfly, a scar that heals
exciting walks of life, stair by stair we tread upon
milestones
we shake our hands
we are here, and move on to the next, where no one
no one
can say, that this is all we have,
look over there,
there is more to all these
go.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Angles In The Snow
When december comes
Then we'll take the kids to mama's
They can make snow angels in the yard
Like a christmas card
We'll decorate the tree
Put an angel high above us
Like we always do
At christmas
On and on it goes
Every year new memories to share
And for all we know
We will all of us be there
When the autumn leaves have gone to gold
And swallows know december's calling
I'll be flying home a thousand times
In all my sweetest dreams
I can see the glow in your eyes
As we sit by the fire
Like lovers we knew long ago
While we watch our angels in the snow
When december comes
We'll be trying to remember
Where we packed our woolen winter clothes
Only heaven knows
When december comes
We'll be hanging pine and holly
Singing all the songs we sing at christmas
Home is ever near
Hearts return no matter what we do
And love
Will build a bridge
And i will always be there with you
When the autumn leaves have gone to gold
And swallows know
December's calling
I'll be flying home a thousand times
If only my dreams
And i see the glow in your eyes
As we sit by the fire
Like lovers we knew long ago
While we watch our angels in the snow
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Beatrice Stuart--Wortley Ætat
Patter, patter, little feet,
Making music quaint and sweet,
Up the passage, down the stair;
Patter, patter everywhere.
Ripple, ripple, little voice;
When I hear you, I rejoice.
When you cease to crow and coo,
Then my heart grows silent too.
Frolic, frolic, little form,
While the day is young and warm.
When the shadows shun the west,
Climb up to my knee, and rest.
Slumber, slumber, little head,
Gambols o'er and night-prayers said.
I will give you in your cot
Kisses that awake you not.
Open, open, little lids!
Lambs are frisking in the meads;
Blackcaps flit from stem to stem;
Come and chirp along with them.
Change not, change not, little fay;
Still be as you are to-day.
What a loss is growth of sense,
With decrease of innocence!
Something in your little ways
Wins me more than love or praise.
You have gone, and I feel still
Void I somehow cannot fill.
Yes, you leave, when you depart,
Empty cradle in my heart,
Where I sit and rock my pain,
Singing lullaby in vain.
Come back, come back, little feet!
Bring again the music sweet
To the garden, to the stair;
Patter, chatter everywhere.
poem by Alfred Austin
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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 06: Portrait Of One Dead
This is the house. On one side there is darkness,
On one side there is light.
Into the darkness you may lift your lanterns—
O, any number—it will still be night.
And here are echoing stairs to lead you downward
To long sonorous halls.
And here is spring forever at these windows,
With roses on the walls.
This is her room. On one side there is music—
On one side not a sound.
At one step she could move from love to silence,
Feel myriad darkness coiling round.
And here are balconies from which she heard you,
Your steady footsteps on the stair.
And here the glass in which she saw your shadow
As she unbound her hair.
Here is the room—with ghostly walls dissolving—
The twilight room in which she called you 'lover';
And the floorless room in which she called you 'friend.'
So many times, in doubt, she ran between them!—
Through windy corridors of darkening end.
Here she could stand with one dim light above her
And hear far music, like a sea in caverns,
Murmur away at hollowed walls of stone.
And here, in a roofless room where it was raining,
She bore the patient sorrow of rain alone.
Your words were walls which suddenly froze around her.
Your words were windows,—large enough for moonlight,
Too small to let her through.
Your letters—fragrant cloisters faint with music.
The music that assuaged her there was you.
How many times she heard your step ascending
Yet never saw your face!
She heard them turn again, ring slowly fainter,
Till silence swept the place.
Why had you gone? . . . The door, perhaps, mistaken . . .
You would go elsewhere. The deep walls were shaken.
A certain rose-leaf—sent without intention—
Became, with time, a woven web of fire—
She wore it, and was warm.
A certain hurried glance, let fall at parting,
Became, with time, the flashings of a storm.
Yet, there was nothing asked, no hint to tell you
Of secret idols carved in secret chambers
From all you did and said.
Nothing was done, until at last she knew you.
Nothing was known, till, somehow, she was dead.
How did she die?—You say, she died of poison.
Simple and swift. And much to be regretted.
You did not see her pass
So many thousand times from light to darkness,
Pausing so many times before her glass;
You did not see how many times she hurried
To lean from certain windows, vainly hoping,
Passionate still for beauty, remembered spring.
You did not know how long she clung to music,
You did not hear her sing.
Did she, then, make the choice, and step out bravely
From sound to silence—close, herself, those windows?
Or was it true, instead,
That darkness moved,—for once,—and so possessed her? . . .
We'll never know, you say, for she is dead.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Angels In The Snow
When december comes
Then well take the kids to mamas
They can make snow angels in the yard
Like a christmas card
Well decorate the tree
Put an angel high above us
Like we always do
At christmas
On and on it goes
Every year new memories to share
And for all we know
We will all of us be there
When the autumn leaves have gone to gold
And swallows know decembers calling
Ill be flying home a thousand times
In all my sweetest dreams
I can see the glow in your eyes
As we sit by the fire
Like lovers we knew long ago
While we watch our angels in the snow
When december comes
Well be trying to remember
Where we packed our woolen winter clothes
Only heaven knows
When december comes
Well be hanging pine and holly
Singing all the songs we sing at christmas
Home is ever near
Hearts return no matter what we do
And love
Will build a bridge
And I will always be there with you
When the autumn leaves have gone to gold
And swallows know
Decembers calling
Ill be flying home a thousand times
If only my dreams
And I see the glow in your eyes
As we sit by the fire
Like lovers we knew long ago
While we watch our angels in the snow
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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