Related quotes: Once Black, White, could compete...

Bitter-Sweet Triple Sonnet - Current Version

Once Black, White, could compete
no neutral grey'd encumber
life's canvas - harvest wheat
framed golden peace aslumber.
Now hope tree's ninety feet
is felled, logged down as lumber,
eco-system complete
with canopy's down-under.
Grey - neutral once - concrete
ugly urban tundra
now witnesses, pain's street
paves joy's grave, wanton plunder.
Enthralled pure white delete,
grey pall shawl sprawls - death's treat.

Long nights creep bitter-sweet,
love's lightning darts stunned, under
bright stars two no more meet,
wan true heart torn asunder.
Wor[l]d block where wont to greet
glowed soul-pair sharing wonder, -
there hole weighs whole defeat
bewailing blindest blunder.
Moon bale, clouds shroud deceit,
light veiled from countless number
of throttled hopes, dead-beat
memories encumber.
Who'd read rimed rhyme complete,
need couplet indiscreet?

Despair in winding sheet
stifles resentment's thunder,
where weary tears repeat
wear, tear, bare bodkin's funda-
mental balance-sheet
pro's conned or misunder-
stood, as gale blown wheat,
scattered harvest plunder.
Drops sully virgin sheet
as sally weeps lost slumber
red-eyed vigil replete
with wishful-thinking scumber.
Was plighted troth tryst treat,
commitments vain conceit?

(14 March 2012)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes

Bitter-Sweet - Initial Version

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Reflections: Bridal Reign Or Bridle Rein?

Mirror, tell us mortals all
Is it Bride before fast fall?
Revelation of defeat?
Resplendent triumph? Joy complete?
Or hooded warning naught can stall
Recalling Chance consumes conceit?

Mirrored hand from sable shawl
Isolating wherewithal
Regretting wrinkles, tease or cheat.
Room for no groom when scythe's tithe treat
Outplays Hope's hand and trumps heart's call,
Refusing wedding band replete.

Mirrored lily blank receipt
In time to come when Time's dumb beat
Retrieves blanched gifts, lifts veil on pall
Returning dust to dust, recall
Of pregnant promise, harvest wheat
Rich Death's drought withered, seedless, small.

Mirrored grasp, last gasp, catchall
Icing dreams that once stood tall,
Rescinding promises pure, sweet,
Refusing prayers that children greet:
One wonders why life's mortal thrall
Runs out untimely, doom must meet.

Mirrored fingers grace-girl maul,
Intensely grip with gruesome gall,
Respite ungranted, paraclete
Regretfully cannot compete
Or face refrain of Fate's footfall
Retrenching humble, vain, slow, fleet.

poem by Jonathan Robin
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She Is Everything

She Is Everything
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Sunday, April 10,2011, @ 11: 23 AM

With a voice sounding so sweet
She said please come, have a seat
She so slender, tender, and petite
Her looks no other can compete

When I come home her beautiful smile always greets
Wonders and merriment's given under the sheets
A gift from god for she is an absolute treat
My love she will never ever deplete

She keeps herself so really neat
Her personality always bright and upbeat
Always the lady when she’s on the street
Even though she always brings the heat

Modest, humble, and continuously discreet
She moves and grooves to her own beat
She makes me run as if I am an athlete
Over hot coal for her I’d walk bare feet

A tasty pastry so delightful and ready to eat
Wholesome reminiscent of whole-wheat
Never she full of conceit
What we have is truly concrete

She’s now my very heartbeat
Preordained for we were distant to meet
My vow to her to never mistreat
She has made my life so complete

poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Shades of Grey

Black is the color of the night
Grey is the shadow of you I sight
White is the shirt you wear
Black is your suit I declare

White is the wall you lean against
Grey is our path I sensed
Black is the memory I lost
Black is the road we never crossed

Grey is the prospect of the day
Grey is the taxi driving away
Black is the truth to never find you
Black is everything I can't undo

Black is my room without light
White is my color of hope in spite
Grey is the circle around my heart
Black is the truth like a work of art

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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The Grey World

Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.

Grey mists in the morn,
And grey waves that rave,
Grey mould on my grave,
And grey eyes forlorn.

Grey clouds in the sky,
And the grey world asleep,
Grey ghosts that sigh,
And grey eyes that weep.

poem by Leon Gellert
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New Year Snow

THE white snow falls on hill and dale,
The snow falls white by square and street,
Falls on the town, a bridal veil,
And on the fields a winding-sheet.

A winding-sheet for last year's flowers,
For last year's love, and last year's tear,
A bridal veil for the New Hours,
For the New Love and the New Year.

Soft snow, spread out his winding-sheet!
Spin fine her veil, O bridal snow!
Cover the print of her dancing feet,
And the place where he lies low.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Black and White (Stream XV)

I have black thoughts,
It is a black day,
A day when the black dog
Coal black, hovers at my shoulder.
I shoulder the burden.
Deep in the black hole.
Black as a black hearted night.
Negative.
Stark.
Black and white.
I do not call my good days white days.
Why?
Or have white thoughts
On a white day,
When the white dog
Pure white sits upon my shoulder.
Which is unburdened.
Out of the pit,
Luxuriating in the bright white light;
White as the purest snow.
Positive.
For we live in a too white world
Maybe we should have grey days,
And light days.
Why should Black be negative and White poitive?

For me then, today is a grey day.
Maybe tomorrow will be a light day.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Rainbow

I live at one of those Grey Clouds
Not really know that I am lifeless

I heard people talking about rainbow,
They’d met each other, always in a happy occasion
I wish I met the rainbow myself
Then perhaps I would know,
What the people say is not true
That there is no thing such rainbow,
That could make people’s eyes glittering
In Blue color of the sky
In Green color of the valley
In Red color of the blood
In Yellow color of the sun

I am belongs to the Grey Clouds
I Love Grey, as it is all the color I have in life

Then one day, at the ticking time of my ordinary Grey-day
I see something really bright,
With the scent of a precious flower I’d lost in the mist
For a moment I’m overwhelmed
Then I took a step further…
Away from something so beautiful, that wasn’t Grey
But the figure reveal and I stranded there
I Never learn that there are many color one’s could posses

Day goes by,
The Grey Cloud is the latest place I’d like to be
It was the rainbow…
Holding me and warm me
With a lot of bunch of dream in my empty mind
Dream I never knew
Dream I never dare to explore
The forbidden dream for my Grey outfit
I’m content with joys,
The first time I ever feel grand to face my life
My heart reflecting the color of rainbow
Blue for the peace soul
Green for the new beginning
Red for the faith
Yellow for a bright hope

Not very long
The thunder strikes,
The lightning burned my rainbow
All was Grey again
The rainbow gone away
Prefer to have a quite-smooth journey with all its color

While the thunder sent me here
Back to the Grey Clouds

poem by Niken Kusuma Wardani
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Atlantis

The light of suns unseen, through depths of sea descending,
Within her street awakes the ghost of noon
To bide its little hour and die unheeded, blending
Into her night that knows nor stars nor moon.
The hurrying feet of storms that trample o’er the surges
Arouse no echo in these silent deeps;
No thunder thrills her peace, no sword of lightning scourges
The dim, dead calm where lost Atlantis sleeps.

Long leagues above her courts the stately days advancing
Kindle new dawns and see new sunsets dim;
And, white and weary-eyed, the old stars, backward glancing,
Reluctant pause upon the ocean’s rim.
But she, of dawns and dusks forgotten and forgetful,
Broods in her depths with slumber-weighted eyes;
For all her splendid past unanxious, unregretful,
She waits the call that bids her wake and rise.

No mortal voice she hears. The strong young ships, full-freighted,
With hopes of men, with women’s sighs and tears,
Above her blue-black walls and portals golden-gated
Sweep on unnoted through the speeding years—
Until at last they come, as still in silence resting
She keeps her vigil underneath the waves,
By tempests tossed and torn, and weary of their questing,
Slow sliding downward past her to their graves.

So side by side they lie in ever gaining number,
The sunken ships, by fate or fortune led
To this, their final port, resistless sent to slumber
Until the sea shall render up her dead—
Shall render up her dead to all their olden glories,
Shall render up what now so well she keeps,
The buried lives and loves, the strange, unfinished stories
Of these dim depths where lost Atlantis sleeps!

poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1899)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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For You, My Dear, When You Are So Blank

white sheet. a paper. like you.
iwant to write something
just to fill this white sheet a little bit
some words. i can utter them.
but i like writing them
just to make this white sheet looking
full. like

'i love you'.

the rest need not be written.
i know you know and you know that i know.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Monsoon

Storm clouds are overhead as there is a monsoon,
but no need to despair because we’re over the moon,
all the running and fighting in the street,
stops because the angels have begun to weep,
their tears falling and splashing at our feet,
people then start rejoicing and dancing in the street,
because the water from heaven is so sweet,
so won’t you take my hand,
and help build up this newly moist land,
then we can all be together,
rejoicing in the lush and wet weather.

The dark grey clouds of the monsoon,
destroy the gloom and start a season of bloom,
so all those people in the street,
that you keep on wanting to meet,
open their arms in a gesture to greet,
as the falling precipitation peppers the street,
the resonate pattering, a golden treat,
as this is their lucky number seven,
pennies cascading down from heaven,
helping to put an end to drought and poverty,
and make a start to freedom and positivity.

poem by Dale Mullock
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A Meeting

Quite carelessly I turned the newsy sheet;
A song I sang, full many a year ago,
Smiled up at me, as in a busy street
One meets an old-time friend he used to know.
So full it was, that simple little song,
Of all the hope, the transport, and the truth,
Which to the impetuous morn of life belong,
That once again I seemed to grasp my youth.
So full it was of that sweet, fancied pain
We woo and cherish ere we meet with woe,
I felt as one who hears a plaintive strain
His mother sang him in the long ago.
Up from the grave the years that lay between
That song's birthday and my stern present came
Like phantom forms and swept across the scene,
Bearing their broken dreams of love and fame.
Fair hopes and bright ambitions that I knew
In that old time, with their ideal grace,
Shone for a moment, then were lost to view
Behind the dull clouds of the commonplace.
With trembling hands I put the sheet away;
Ah, little song! the sad and bitter truth
Struck like an arrow when we met that day!
My life has missed the promise of its youth.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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White Town

Its midnight down in sector two
Little girl walkin dressed in innocence and cool
Only fourteen and dressed up for the score
Hold that breath now boy, he(? )
She dances, baby, to the beat
Of breaking glass and running feet
Down in white town
Down in white town
Down in white town
Oh, she comes home from work and grabs something to eat
Turn the corner and walks down her street
In a row of houses, chic, shiny and dirty and grey
Disappears like the scenery in another mans play
And as she dances, oh, to the beat
Oh the trooper stickin dresses for the number on the sheet
Down in white town
Down in white town
Down in white town
Down in white town
Yeah, mr. outside, youre walkin so free
If you turn your eyes so you dont see
You act like youre the hand turns the key
And you become the hand that turns the key
And no matter how I try I cannot understand
The way that they will turn a man
Into a stranger in his own land
Down in white town
(repeat to fade)

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Right to Decide

As either each with Fate must meet
R endez-vous as time and tide
I n synch are meant to coincide,
G rief leave behind, or, karma greet.
H ear arguments none should delete.
T he right inalienable to decide
T hus sane need to retain worldwide.
O ne should not days or months repeat
D ire pain, before dread winding sheet
E ats up all energy inside.
C omfort who curtains draws. Abide
I n conscience by choice to complete
D eath's call when inner voice can choose
E xit that none should dare refuse.

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Grey Dog of Despair

Death? I don't know what it is.
But this I know - that death
Is twice as deep with despair.
I am frightened of the Grey Dog whose eyes
Are two red holes; whose body is a sheet
Which chokes; whose tooth
Will gnaw a living hell from cold
And tumble thoughts to ruin in his throat.

I am frightened of the Grey Dog whose tongue
Will burn the blood to dry; whose claws
Will cut the wounds which close;
Whose growl
Is a terrible token of no light, no love, no longing -
Only a mingling of mad misery and despair.

poem by Tan Pratonix
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The Burial Of The Poet

In the old churchyard of his native town,
And in the ancestral tomb beside the wall,
We laid him in the sleep that comes to all,
And left him to his rest and his renown.
The snow was falling, as if Heaven dropped down
White flowers of Paradise to strew his pall;--
The dead around him seemed to wake, and call
His name, as worthy of so white a crown.
And now the moon is shining on the scene,
And the broad sheet of snow is written o'er
With shadows cruciform of leafless trees,
As once the winding-sheet of Saladin
With chapters of the Koran; but, ah! more
Mysterious and triumphant signs are these.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Song of the Wheat

We have sung the song of the droving days,
Of the march of the travelling sheep;
By silent stages and lonely ways
Thin, white battalions creep.
But the man who now by the land would thrive
Must his spurs to a plough-share beat.
Is there ever a man in the world alive
To sing the song of the Wheat!
It's west by south of the Great Divide
The grim grey plains run out,
Where the old flock-masters lived and died
In a ceaseless fight with drought.
Weary with waiting and hope deferred
They were ready to own defeat,
Till at last they heard the master-word—
And the master-word was Wheat.

Yarran and Myall and Box and Pine—
’Twas axe and fire for all;
They scarce could tarry to blaze the line
Or wait for the trees to fall,
Ere the team was yoked, and the gates flung wide,
And the dust of the horses’ feet
Rose up like a pillar of smoke to guide
The wonderful march of Wheat.

Furrow by furrow, and fold by fold,
The soil is turned on the plain;
Better than silver and better than gold
Is the surface-mine of the grain;
Better than cattle and better than sheep
In the fight with drought and heat;
For a streak of stubbornness, wide and deep,
Lies hid in a grain of Wheat.

When the stock is swept by the hand of fate,
Deep down in his bed of clay
The brave brown Wheat will lie and wait
For the resurrection day:
Lie hid while the whole world thinks him dead;
But the Spring-rain, soft and sweet,
Will over the steaming paddocks spread
The first green flush of the Wheat.

Green and amber and gold it grows
When the sun sinks late in the West;
And the breeze sweeps over the rippling rows
Where the quail and the skylark nest.
Mountain or river or shining star,
There’s never a sight can beat—
Away to the sky-line stretching far—
A sea of the ripening Wheat.

When the burning harvest sun sinks low,
And the shadows stretch on the plain,
The roaring strippers come and go
Like ships on a sea of grain;
Till the lurching, groaning waggons bear
Their tale of the load complete.
Of the world’s great work he has done his share
Who has gathered a crop of wheat.

Princes and Potentates and Czars,
They travel in regal state,
But old King Wheat has a thousand cars
For his trip to the water-gate;
And his thousand steamships breast the tide
And plough thro’ the wind and sleet
To the lands where the teeming millions bide
That say: “Thank God for Wheat!”

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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White Sheet

White sheet resembles virgin bride,
unblemished, waiting tender hand
to st[r]oke the fire which out of hand
flares up in ph[r]ases to deride
conventions, rhyme schemes cut and dried.
Rhymed reasons often Time test stand
through feelings all may understand,
communication deep inside
soul sanctum which can't be denied
a share in wonderland while sand
still trickles, while the wedding band
runs circles round true love defied.
Both lover, writer, radiate
when, selfless, they communicate.

(1 March 1995 revised 16 October 2006 robi03_0750_robi03_0000 SXX_ILZ)

for previous version entitled Sheet see below
Each sheet is like a virgin bride,
Unblemished, waiting for the hand
That st[r]okes the fires that out of hand
Flare up in ph[r]ases that deride
Conventions, rhyme schemes cut and dried.
And yet rhyme's reasons Time's test stand
As feelings all can understand
Alliterate, can't be denied!

(1 March 1995)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Unmet Need

I know not that for which I yearn
But know my life is incomplete,
At night I lie and toss and turn
But always I meet with defeat.

Sometimes my heart will miss a beat.
I know not that for which I yearn
A malady I cannot treat
Sometimes it goes but will return.

Perhaps in due course I will learn
What I must know to be complete.
I know not that for which I yearn
Until I know I can’t compete.

So like an echo I repeat
What must I do to earn
full forgiveness for my deceit
I know not that for which I yearn.

1-Jul-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unmet Need or M' lady Tara

I know not that for which I yearn
But know my life is incomplete,
At night I lie and toss and turn
But always I meet with defeat.

Sometimes my heart will miss a beat.
I know not that for which I yearn
A malady I cannot treat
Sometimes it goes but will return.

Perhaps in due course I will learn
What I must know to be complete.
I know not that for which I yearn
Until I know I can’t compete.

So like an echo I repeat
What must I do to earn
full forgiveness for my deceit
I know not that for which I yearn.

1-Jul-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

Bitter-Sweet Triple Sonnet - Current Version

Related quotes

Bitter-Sweet - Initial Version

Reflections: Bridal Reign Or Bridle Rein?

She Is Everything

Shades of Grey

The Grey World

New Year Snow

Black and White (Stream XV)

Rainbow

Atlantis

For You, My Dear, When You Are So Blank

Monsoon

A Meeting

White Town

A Right to Decide

Grey Dog of Despair

The Burial Of The Poet

Song of the Wheat

White Sheet

Unmet Need

Unmet Need or M' lady Tara

En.Citatepedia^®.ro