Related quotes: When you are young and...

Binge drinking grub in pub rues dreams run rare

When you are young and blithe, brink full of fun,
binge drinking grub in pub rues dreams run rare.
Case quick disjointed joint. Soon rising sun
transforms both in and outright sight with glare.

Teetering down by overflowing bar,
murmur, sadly slurring, how Love fled.
Glass clinking clown mask crowd clouds twinkling stars
as unseen, from the gutter, as mountains overhead

Take a quick gander in mind's mirror too.
Shake out fair hair, where lusting hands would grope.
Make hay while sun shines, remember very few
shall beacon beckon, most unravelled rope
too soon unreel. Time's kriegspiel lightning flash
strikes home as Charon charges one-way fee
for memories few hold. Bough breaks. Vows trash
consigned by brash newcomers seeking key.

In some sum total of recorded time
ryhmed second servings swerve to third or fourth,
from sublime to ridiculous pantomime
thoughts surge urge merge, submerge, flow forth.

Carpe Diem! Grace swallowed by death's maws,
which hollow eyed leaves rich dreams wrinkle lined
behind bluff laughs, fnds pilgrims with bed sores,
as wander, lust, and wonder all unwind.

Who'll care a tinker's curse in fifty years
or even ten, when mirror's glass distorts
the image one once shone, swift wan, with tears,
crow fingered cares will linger mid waste's warts.

Most love lies superficial, fancy phrase,
for starlets eclipsed before tomorrow's press,
stale story told, bold head lines lost. Pain, praise
vain, Janus mortal mask shred. Nonetheless
perhaps some karmic churn recycling dust
will recreate Eve, Adam, and Isolde
shall some fresh Tristan kiss, and vow 'We must
elope! ' Perhaps next incarnation, bolder,
may banish fears that Yeats and Ronsard shared
across arched centuries of mortal plight.
Could spruced up mutant download pre-prepared
software, shed books, good looks, spread wings for flight...?

(10 June 2010)

Written in haste to be stirred with egg heads and taken with a pinch of saltAfter William Butler Yeats When You are Old, itself after Pierre Ronsard Quand vous serez vielle When you are old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
William Butler Yeats

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian

When you are Old

Sonnet XXXII

Should you survive the number of my days,
Attest to buried bones and grounded hope,
Nervous, by chance, perhaps this book you'll ope,
Grave hand re-reading, when fast passed my ways.
Tender friend recall our comet blaze,
Openly with instinct's gyroscope
Mark, nurture, sight and sound, bright chromascope,
Able to distill implicit ph[r]ase.
Methinks fond thoughts might share this paraphrase:
“As rainbow bridge strips off coarse envelope
Underdeveloped were poor poet’s plays -
Death forced him far too early to elope.
E’er since he died, have other poets flourished.
Competent their works, I’ll read his, who love nourished.”

[c] Jonathan Robin

Shakespeare Sonnet XXXII
(cf Ronsard: When you are old and grey)

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shall by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceasèd lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp’d by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the heights of happier men.
O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'?

Quand vous serez bien vieille

Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,
Assise auprès du feu, dévidant et filant,
Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant:
'Ronsard me célébrait du temps que j'étais belle.'

Lors vous n'aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle,
Déjà sous le labeur à demi sommeillant,
Qui au bruit de Ronsard ne s'aille réveillant,
Bénissant votre nom de louange immortelle.

Je serai sous la terre, et fantôme sans os,
Par les ombres myrteux je prendrai mon repos;
Vous serez au foyer une vieille accroupie,

Regrettant mon amour et votre fier dédain.
Vivez, si m'en croyez, n'attendez à demain;
Cueillez dès aujourd'hui les rose de la vie.

Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 – 1578

RONSARD Pierre de 1524_1585 rons1_0014_rons1_0000 PFS_DLZ Quand vous serez bien vielle_Quand vous serez bien vielle

RONSARD Pierre de 1524_1585 rons1_0014_FRANC_0000 PFS_DLZ
Quand vous serez bien vielle_Quand vous serez bien vielle

“When you are very old...”

When you are very old, at evening, by the fire,
spinning wool by candlelight and winding it in skeins,
you will say in wonderment as you recite my lines:
“Ronsard admired me in the days when I was fair.”

Then not one of your servants dozing gently there
hearing my name’s cadence break through your low repines
but will start into wakefulness out of her dreams
and bless your name — immortalised by my desire.

I’ll be underneath the ground, and a boneless shade
taking my long rest in the scented myrtle-glade,
and you’ll be an old woman, nodding towards life’s close,

regretting my love, and regretting your disdain.
Heed me, and live for now: this time won’t come again.
Come, pluck now — today — life’s so quickly-fading rose.

Tide and Undertow Anthony WEIR Belfast 1975
Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle
and William Butler YEATS – To His Book

WEIR Anthony 19_20 weir1_0001_wear1_0000 PST_LZX When you are very old_When you are very old at even by the fire

WEIR Anthony 19_20 weir1_0001_yeat1_0000 PST_LZX When you are very old_When you are very old at even by the fire

WEIR Anthony 19_20 weir1_0001_rons1_0014 PST_LZX When you are very old_When you are very old at even by the fire

When You are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And, nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.

How many loved your moments of glad grace
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountain overhead
And his his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler YEATS 1893 - The Rose
Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle

YEATS William Butler 1865_1939 yeat1_0011_yeat1_0000 PTX_DLZ When you are old_When you are old and gray and full of sleep

YEATS William Butler 1865_1939 yeat1_0011_rons1_0014 PTX_DLZ When you are old_When you are old and gray and full of sleep

Candlelight Blues

When yore gitten old at candlelight
Sittin’ at the fire gonna spin all night,
You’ll say sorta marvelin’ as y’sing my song,
“Good old Ronsard sang when Ah was young.”

Then y’won’t have a maid what hears that soun’,
Jist about t’fall asleep an’ all tired down,
Who ain’t gonna wake when she hears ma name
An’ start praisin’ yore name of immortal fame.

Ah’ll be six foot under, no skeleton,
‘Neath the myrtle groves is where my soul will run;

You’ll be dreamin’ at the hearth in a messy ole way,
Sorry you was proud, now Ah’ve gone away.

Better saddle up yore horse, don’t wait all night,
Pick yore roses today, then you’ll be all right.

G. R. TEJADA-FLORES,1961
Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle

TEJADA-FLORES G. R.19_20 teja1_0001_teja1_0000 PST_LZX Candlelight Blues_When yore gitten old at candlelight

TEJADA-FLORES G. R.19_20 teja1_0001_rons1_0014 PST_LZX Candlelight Blues_When yore gitten old at candlelight

When You are Old

Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend,
Assise auprès du box with knitting and teapot,
Say, kid, chantant mes vers, my God, that man was hot!
Ron était stuck on me quand my face was mon friend.

Pauvr’old bag, quelle façon d’arriver à your end,
Dozant par le TV en watchant Golden Shot!
N’assumez pas, ma chère, que déjà that’s your lot –
Comme Ronnie’s has-been poule you’re always dans le trend.

Puis quand j’ai snuffed it, sqweet, vous serez rien du tout.
Alors, écoutez-moi très bien, vous silly moo;
Ne turne me down pas now – trop soon vous trouverez

Qu’on a toujours besoin d’un tel terrific chap,
Un super-poet, qui vous met bien sur le map;
Les roses de Ron son best – so cueillez while you may.

Alison PRINCE 1931_20
Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle

PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_prin1_0000 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend

PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_FRANC_0000 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend

PRINCE Alison 1931_20 prin1_0001_rons1_0014 PSW_LZW When you are Old_Quand vous serez past it, au soir, un triste weekend

Quand vous serez bien vieille

When you are old, one night while candles flare,
Spinning before the fire you’ll sit and say,
Speaking my lines and wondering in your way:
‘Once Ronsard praised me: I was young and fair.’
If any maid should hear you, though her share
Of the day’s work like sleep upon her lay,
Ronsard’s renown would wake her, she would pray
A benediction on your name: her prayer

I shall not hear; buried, a boneless ghost,
At peace I’ll be among the myrtled host;
Muddled about the fire you still will stay,
Feeling remorse at heart for your disdain.
Let’s live, my love; to-morrow waits in vain!
Gather the roses of life; begin today!

Author Unknown 0182 Parody Translation Pierre de RONSARD 1525_1584
Sonnets pour Hélène, II,43 1578 Quand vous serez bien vielle

Author Unknown 0182 AuUnM_0182_AuUnM_0000 TSX_LZX Quand Vous serez bien Vieille_When you are old, one night

Author Unknown 0182 AuUnM_0182_rons1_0014 TSX_LZX Quand Vous serez bien Vieille_When you are old, one night

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tribute to W.B.Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep
And nodding by the fireside. Take down this book
and slowly read and dream of the soft look.
Your eyes once had and of their shadows deep

William Butler Yeats 1865-1939

A tribute to W.B Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep
and conscious thoughts go in and out.
I am quite sure I have no doubt.
That memories will unbidden creep

And nodding by the fireside. Take down this book
a true record of all that’s been
Everything you’ve done and seen.
It is past time to take another look.

And slowly read and dream of the soft look
you used to see in your lovers eyes.
You are content because you realise.
There is contained within this book

Your eyes once had and of their shadow deep
Are still the same they have not changed.
Constant they have not been re-arranged
All of the memories you chose to keep.

31/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.

quote by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold On Lynette The Horses Are Coming

Lynette was a beautiful baby
A true joy to her ma and pa
Free from oriningal sin she was
The whole family was in awe

She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved

One day she woke with fever
There was snow and wind and cold
The car was stuck at the end of the drive
To the doctor they could not go

She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved

Quick hook-up the team and the sleigh
By horse she'll surely make it
Hold on Lynette the horses are coming
Let's take some time to say how much we love you

She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved

Manes a flyin' tales a whippin'
The horse's plowed right through
Muscles a bulgin' and hides a sweating
Let's take some time to say how much we love you

She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved

Well by horse they surely made it
By horse they surely did
Just in time to tell them
There was nothing they could do for her

She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved

Well, for all those ma's and pa's out there
Who've lost their little ones
This songs not about a child dying
It's of a parent's love

One day on earth is just the same
as one year or fifty or a hundred
The only difference my friends
Is in the love you been giving and receiving

Love love love
Love love love
Love love love
Love love love

Hold on Lynette the horses are coming
Let's take some time to say how much we love you

poem by Atty Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Loved

Loved
Written by Ricky Wilde & Terry Ronald
Take all your goodness and shiness away
I'll tell you the things I've been longing to say
I'll break it to you just so you understand
The force and control that you hold in your hands
Make me the beat of your heart
Then fall into mine
One step at a time
You have no reason for doubting your feelings
Love isn't always the same
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
(Ooh you are loved)
Live for the moment according to you
And so when the time comes you know what to do
Trust me, I'm giving no secret away
I'm drowning in you but I want it that way
Make me the beat of your heart
Then fall into mine
One step at a time
You have no reason for doubting your feelings
Love isn't always the same
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
You are loved
(Ooh you are loved)
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
You are loved
(Ooh you are loved)
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
Rise to my world, fly to my arms
I love you
I'll make it for good, I'll make it forever
you know you are loved
Make me the beat of your heart
Love isn't always the same
You are loved
Ooh you are loved
(Loved you are)
(Loved you are)
(Loved you are loved)
Ooh you are loved
(Loved you are)
(Loved you are)
(Loved you are loved)
Ooh you are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
Ooh you are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
(You are the only one I love)
You are loved
(Loved you are)
You are loved
(Loved you are)
You are loved
You I love
You
(You are the only one I love)
You are loved
(Loved you are)
You are loved
(Loved you are)
You are loved
You I love
You
(You are the only one I love

song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They also loved

‘We only love if we have first been loved.’

Aye, there’s the rub.

The teenager, her room walled round
with rock and pop stars who, it seems,
all smile their open, deep-eyed smiles
just for her… twists, red-eyed, on the bed,
hammers the pillow with clenched fists…

the boy she loved has dumped her;
she gave him all her love, and now
he’s taken it, so she’s got no love left,
not now, not forever, in her life..

Here in the tidy convent, where
everything seems polished, even the faces,
the nun kneels. Her veil hides her face; is she young or old?
She is very still. We may not know her thoughts.

Not far away, the monk is praying too; kneeling,
he’s restive; from time to time, raises his head,
looks to the crucifix. We may not know his thoughts.

Here’s Saint Augustine. When he was young
he was the member of a gang; did all the things
that young men spur each other on to do;
knew hot lust and passion to surge up, and fade;
then took a longtime mistress; loved her, and desired.

So when he says, we only love
if we have first been loved,
his words sound many things to us:
he’s tearaway, lover, man, and monk,
teacher, perhaps; and saint.

Here in a cell in Patmos, is Saint John:
sees all things as clearly as the Grecian landscape,
the sea, the sky, blue; the tiny boats down there,
white sails matching white summer clouds:
takes his pen, writes daringly: ‘God is Love’… the heavens
do not fall in upon him; only cicadas and wild herbs
sing in the silence: he sees Creation in its perfect order,
Man made by God, and in His image; so, adds,
with the certainty of which the stars and sun are made,
‘ We love Him, because He first loved us.’

The teenager, given time, will dry her tears;
time brings tears, and time wipes them away;
given time, she’ll give her love again.
What love is, is for each to say.

‘We only love, if we have first been loved.’

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Many Words Of Love Have Already Been Written

So many words of love have already been written
Why should my poem for you be anything new?

It is true I loved you very much
And for years was deluded in the joyful thought that you loved me
I wrote of course words of love to you
But they are lost like most of what I have written-

Do I still love you now
So many years after we truly loved?

I loved you with the total obsessive love of one for whom the happiness of the other is the only meaning of the world-

Now I am old and far from even true remembrance of the love
that once was my life
And where you are in your soul I sadly do not truly know.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seasons of My Love

I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunrise in her hair
There lived no other in the world could in my heart compare
Her eyes were stars of midnight bliss, her laugh a meadow breeze
I would have done all that she asked, so quick was I to please

I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair
Embraced in velvet lullabies, such sweetness did we share
We were all we ever had but we were wild and free
And in the lands you would not find a soul as lark as me

I loved a maid as white as winter, with snowflakes in her hair
The seasons of our love had both a beauty and despair
Two hearts that beat as one were we, our song was meant to be
And in the skies you would not find a dove as spry as she

I loved a maid as bright as spring, with blossoms in her hair
I loved her fierce, I loved her true, we were doomed; we did not care
The hands of time would take from me, even she was not to spare
In the whispers of my dreams, I still see my maiden fair

poem by Leonard Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beneath The Mask

Beneath the mask her wander lies
projecting an image for lovers eyes.
Such endless beauty my eyes behold,
under the mask she wears so bold

She hides behind her vain-full pride,
The twist and turn of storms inside.
She sits so still, so calm a girl
And guards with faith her hidden pearl.

Behold the mask covers her face
For between its cracks lies hidden grace
And beneath that mystic mask of wood
Lies secrets of a love so good

She needs to see through sudden glee
She needs not wear the mask for me.
In her glory I need to bask
For I love the girl who wear the mask.

Beneath the mask
There is a love and compassion
Inhibition and insecurities,
But there is also the girl I love

poem by C.F Francis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mask

'PUT off that mask of burning gold
With emerald eyes.'
'O no, my dear, you make so bold
To find if hearts be wild and wise,
And yet not cold.'
'I would but find what's there to find,
Love or deceit.'
'It was the mask engaged your mind,
And after set your heart to beat,
Not what's behind.'
'But lest you are my enemy,
I must enquire.'
'O no, my dear, let all that be;
What matter, so there is but fire
In you, in me?'

poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Dreamers Lament

Once a love now withered in dust,
the flame that kindled candles glow,
of dreams and pastures nightmare past,
a glass unseen splinters so.
The conjured love young hearts bring,
so fine and neatly traced,
disappear within the years
that fondly take their grace.

A sonnet of bestowing fame,
lay years to be unseen,
like tokens in a daydream case
that hurry passed in haste.
A tormented soul in darkness,
awaits its freedoms light,
but passing time awaits no one,
in its rush to pass.

The swiftness of a cupid’s arrow,
within no mortal dream.
The flight of a songbird in the sky,
will a way want not.
I am a dreamer of the past,
whose futures an empty bowl,
shed tears of staining sorrow
across a hidden brow.

No man is an island,
no man is ever best,
for one never dreams of love,
or puts it to the test.
One can only dream of things,
with hope they’ll come true,
but fools are only dreamers,
and fools win in the end.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written In The Stars

song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aedh Tells of a Valley Full of Lovers

I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs,
For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood;
And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood
With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes:
I cried in my dream ‘O women bid the young men lay
‘Their heads on your knees, and drown their eyes with your hair,
‘Or remembering hers they will find no other face fair
‘Till all the valleys of the world have been withered away.’

poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Memory Of Youth

THE moments passed as at a play;
I had the wisdom love brings forth;
I had my share of mother-wit,
And yet for all that I could say,
And though I had her praise for it,
A cloud blown from the cut-throat North
Suddenly hid Love's moon away.
Believing every word I said,
I praised her body and her mind
Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,
And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
And vanity her footfall light,
Yet we, for all that praise, could find
Nothing but darkness overhead.
We sat as silent as a stone,
We knew, though she'd not said a word,
That even the best of love must die,
And had been savagely undone
Were it not that Love upon the cry
Of a most ridiculous little bird
Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.
ALTHOUGH crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
And even old men's eyes grew dim, this hand alone,
Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-place
Babbling of fallen majesty, records what's gone.
These lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,
These, these remain, but I record what-s gone. A crowd
Will gather, and not know it walks the very street
Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud

poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Magic Mirror

Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest fair of all?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Who’s the smartest head of all?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Who’s that girl standing tall?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Who's to hold me when I fall?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Why are you not answering my call?

Oh mirror...

The lines and the scars you do not hide;
My scattered thoughts you would not guide.

Me myself and I; the gap so wide.
Oh mirror; you make me look inside!

You show me a girl against the tide,
By the rules she would not abide.

Within your frame, a caged spirit am I?
By your name, what voice have I?

Oh mirror … can you hear me?
My mirror is deceiving me!

I will show you my smile... will you let me?
A star in my eyes... will you get me?

I will show you a happy face... please let me!
A shelter from myself... please get me!

Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Do not show me her face;
I have killed her and left no trace.

Mirror … mirror on the wall,
She shall never stutter;
With a new voice, words she will utter.

Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Her fear you shall never show;
Fearless she is to know.

Mirror... mirror on the wall,
Do not point at her scars;
It hurts... not her scars.

Oh mirror...

There is no Santa but tell her not;
Dreams are dreams but wake her not.

She will give in... tell her not to.
She will give up... tell her not to.

Cruel mirror...

Why show me a figure so broken?
Why tell me words unspoken?

My mirror...
Every time I look at you
I miss a line in her face.

Every time I come to you
A part of her I erase.

Every time I need you
I abandon her grace.

So my mirror..

Where is the little fat girl that you used to show me?
Where are the frightened eyes that used to look at me?

Is she still hiding her smile with her hand?
Is she still looking for a magic wand?

You loved her not;
You loved me a lot!

Mirror … mirror on the wall,
What have I done?

Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Where has she gone?

Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Which way do I run?

Yes mirror...

How I wish I could give you my back
and never look at you again.

How I wish I could leave you on a rack
and never fall for your tricks again.

Oh mirror... Why can’t you lie?
Why don’t you tell me that I am the fairest fair of all?
Why don’t you tell me that I am the smartest head of all?
Why don’t you let me stand proud and tall?
Will you at least be there when I fall?
Oh … Mirror … mirror on the wall …
Why are you not answering my call?

poem by Marwa Rakha
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moments of turmoil [Clipe de zbucium]

My love, I feel that you're so far away...
You've put your tiny hands upon my head,
But like a wall between us stand today
The memories of times that now are dead.

When my whole being craves you, it's in vain,
You remain still, your eyes stare in the night,
So many secrets full of grief and pain
Get lost in the deep darkness of your sight!

I hope my life will end, because I'm sad,
The wind of passion blows through the leaves green,
I ask to see the face that you once had,
Which until now I've never ever seen.

O, how I wish the pain was cured by time!
So many nights I've cherished it in vain,
I've sacrificed to it my years sublime
I've smiled... Only your heart has been my gain.

You've given it to me! And the abyss
Lies down below this flower nice and sweet,
(But when upon my brow you place your kiss
You do it like in dreams when people meet),

Because the soul, like sorrowful debris,
Preserves in it the light for old times' sake –
And when a ray pervades and reaches me
I feel, my darling, that you're thrilled and shake.

It shines in you and without warning lights
The precipice of what has been before...
I hear the story of my heart's delights,
But I can't understand it any more.

* * *

That's why tonight I really do not care
Enhance my pain or soothe this bloody scar,
I'm asking you, lost woman young and fair,
– Where do you come from and who really are?

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!

Moments of turmoil [Clipe de zbucium]

My love, I feel that you're so far away...
You've put your tiny hands upon my head,
But like a wall between us stand today
The memories of times that now are dead.

When my whole being craves you, it's in vain,
You remain still, your eyes stare in the night,
So many secrets full of grief and pain
Get lost in the deep darkness of your sight!

I hope my life will end, because I'm sad,
The wind of passion blows through the leaves green,
I ask to see the face that you once had,
Which until now I've never ever seen.

O, how I wish the pain was cured by time!
So many nights I've cherished it in vain,
I've sacrificed to it my years sublime
I've smiled... Only your heart has been my gain.

You've given it to me! And the abyss
Lies down below this flower nice and sweet,
(But when upon my brow you place your kiss
You do it like in dreams when people meet),

Because the soul, like sorrowful debris,
Preserves in it the light for old times' sake –
And when a ray pervades and reaches me
I feel, my darling, that you're thrilled and shake.

It shines in you and without warning lights
The precipice of what has been before...
I hear the story of my heart's delights,
But I can't understand it any more.

* * *

That's why tonight I really do not care
Enhance my pain or soothe this bloody scar,
I'm asking you, lost woman young and fair,
– Where do you come from and who really are?

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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A Drinking Song

poetry flows from my heart
the way wine gurgles
into this fine crystal glass
dancing with the moon
clinking to a lonesome night
the riveting sublime light
sparkles like the beauty of verses
sip by sip the light flows into me
line by line spirited verses
oozes from my heart
the essence distillled from
matters of heart and soul
my love, would you pour me wine
vintage wine from that bottle
that has caroused with time
to give us its real wonder?
through it i see the beauty
of the world as verses flow
from a seasoned heart that has
twisted, whaltzed, swung, rocked with time

inspired by

A Drinking Song
WINE comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
William Butler Yeats

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Binge drinking grub in pub rues dreams run rare

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Moments of turmoil [Clipe de zbucium]

Moments of turmoil [Clipe de zbucium]

A Drinking Song

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