Die a Log Dialogue
'While wine still trickles fickle Death
must sheath sharp sickle, pause for breath
which hope for scope empowereth.'
To phantom sigh said passer by.
'The spine that shivers sets the score
for mind beyond the shadows led,
what's lust to who may prey no more? '
To passer by ghost of reply.
'Tears, fears, arrears are paid in Time
as Trust plays out Life's p[h]antomime
awaiting Paradise sublime.'
To phantom sigh said passer by.
'Death knows no fears, they're faced before,
some trembling mirage sins restore.
Tears are drowned out by sonic roar.'
To passer by said phantom sigh.
'No favours asked, no quavers given,
by backward glance no joys are driven,
but sins forgotten, sins forgiven.'
To phantom, 'Why? ' said passer by.
'Temptation taps a semaphore
of semi quavers sped instead
of scene thats seen, Mort or Amor.'
To passer by said phantom sigh.
'All things Love conquers, victory
of life sublime, eternity
is hyphen syphon, surface sea,
which all must sail' said passer by.
'Upon Time's [s]wings, that base bass whore
all face is surface phantom sped,
desire inspires, masks empty core.'
To passer by said Phantom sigh.
'Farewell! my welfare lies elsewhere,
and yet lies not, believes in fair
winds which Time's leaves for Life prepare'
To phantom sigh said passer by.
'Your's is not pitch or toss to call,
for finger beckon none forestall,
must dropp what seems their wherewithal
to answer summons.' Phantom said.
'That may seem so in this dimension
yet other dreams may add extension,
prorogue fell sentence, toxin mention.'
To phantom, 'bye! ' said passer's sigh.
'Betimes by night c[l]ause rhymes with c[l]aw,
bell tolls the tocsin dark and dread,
worms bore, fire burns. In store no awe.
Life's reasons seize on.' Phantom said.
'To others, therefore, say adieu,
before sun dries dawn's sparkling dew
as I am now so shall you, too,
lie, as a phantom, stark abed.'
(30 November 2006)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Return Of The Phantom Stranger
Shape shifting high
And a haunted eye.
Falling plastic and paper demons!
No trace of time,
Im branded sly,
I am your ghostmaster baby free me.
All you know,
Is alone,
You see a,
Phantom stranger!
Down you go,
All alone,
You love my,
Phantom strange!r
My sinister sounds
Sweep the grounds
Still-born I lie beneath it
I throw it away
The freaks all stay
Deformed and laughing screaming!
All you know,
Is alone,
You see a,
Phantom stranger!
Down you go,
All alone,
You love my,
Phantom stranger!
A wretched heart
In the dark decay,
Dominate forever...
Destroy the things you love
And see if I remember
All you know,
Is alone,
You see a,
Phantom stranger!
Down you go
All alone
You love my,
Phantom stranger!
song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Phantom
The Phantom stalks these many halls
The tunnels and the many rooms here
His distorted features hidden from sight
And he will not come too near
The Phantom strikes when we expect it least
When our defences are down and we are weak
His purpose is served with a beautiful girl
In times when the outcome looks bleak
The Phantom haunts the mind and soul
Of both lovers and the lonely in the night
The path of destruction is opened wide
And the scene is set for an epic fight
The Phantom though is not a real man
No demon or monster from hell
But the power we all hold in our hearts
That of which the great romantics tell
The Phantom is love both good and bad
Distorted as we are when he takes our hand
He hides in the chambers of our heart
Until the day his purpose we understand.
poem by Anthony Lund
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Phantom Of The North!
Behold the Phantom of the North,
The wild, white wolf of old!
His legends nightly going forth
And in hushed tones are told...
Of how he glides across the snow,
Or leaps to touch the sky!
A ghostly figure none should know
And no need asking why...
Behold the Phantom 'twixt the trees,
One second here, then gone!
Of all the forest's fantasies,
There's much to ponder on...
For like a spectre seen at night,
That chills you to the bone,
Be thankful yet, despite the fright,
That he walks on his own!
Behold the Phantom face-to-face!
Stand fast if courage lets,
Or flee far from that awesome place,
As if without regrets...
The Phantom fears no coward soul,
He's seen them run before!
As long as each one knows his role,
He'll howl forevermore!
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Phantom Of The North'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Tulip And The Passer By
In a flower pot of love lives a beautiful tulip plant,
And then was the passer by with words to attract it;
For, it was just like a passing glance and the sense of love,
And they were both attracted to each other.
The tulip was so beautiful to be touched,
And so nice to smell its aroma;
For its aroma fumes the iar around it.
The passer by was attracted to it like a magnent and,
He was touched by the fragrance of this tulip;
And love was the key for him to touch this tulip.
Of the passer by and the tulip,
Of the sense of humour to attract both of them;
But it was just a passing glance for the passer by,
And true love did crown the day for both of them.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You walk, and look like me
You walk, and look like me,
Your eyes directed down.
I also used to lower mine!
Hey you, passer by, stop!
Read-when you've gathered
A bouquet of buttercups and poppies,
That I was called Marina
And how old I was.
Don't think that this is a grave,
That I will appear,scary...
I myself loved too much
To laugh, when I shouldn't have!
And the blood would come to my face
And my hair was curly...
You passer by, I also was!
You passer by, stop!
Break yourself off a wild stem
And after it a berry,-
No wild strawberry is larger or sweeter
Than one from a graveyard.
Only don't stand gloomily,
Dropping your head on your chest,
Think about me easily,
As easily then forget!
How the sun's ray shines upon you!
You're all covered in golden dust...
-Don't let it disturb you,
My voice from underground.
poem by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
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God's Rest.
I saw God in a dream go by,
As if He trod the phantom air
Within a hushed eternity,
Dead worlds around Him everywhere.
No sign of life — and God asleep!
All things absorbed in Him at last;
Nothing for Him to care for, keep,
Since thought from everything had passed.
A mystic vision on its way
His image filled the awful gloom,
As if His work were o'er for aye —
Himself His own creation's tomb!
As if, when sleep fell on Him, all
Sensation with a tremor ceased,
As all things felt the weird recall,
And the gigantic strain released.
The worlds stayed still without a breath,
Entranced within the phantom air,
Since God had done with life and death
And ta'en Himself from everywhere.
This was His Sabbath. In the past
'Tis said He rested for a day;
But this was a sleep that would last,
Since He had done with all for aye.
poem by Robert Crawford
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The War Films
O living pictures of the dead,
O songs without a sound,
O fellowship whose phantom tread
Hallows a phantom ground --
How in a gleam have these revealed
The faith we had not found.
We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven,
We have passed by God on earth:
His seven sins and his sorrows seven,
His wayworn mood and mirth,
Like a ragged cloak have hid from us
The secret of his birth.
Brother of men, when now I see
The lads go forth in line,
Thou knowest my heart is hungry in me
As for thy bread and wine;
Thou knowest my heart is bowed in me
To take their death for mine.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Phantom Of The Night
Who are you, Phantom of the night?
Creeping into my soul, just out of sight,
Of pain and light, and waking to heavy hold of life,
So clean and bright, a love so right,
Divine, I feel complete within the circle of your arms,
Away from worldly charms,
Those shallow empty feelings doing harm,
I feel only that love which is real, unconditional,
And the place I want to be forever,
I wish to leave you never,
It is not to be however, for I awake,
And you are whisked out of sight,
Beyond daylight but not of mind,
Where are you love? Be here with me,
On earth, and in eternity,
Who are you Phantom of the night?
poem by Rosi Caswell
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Phantom Lord
Sound is ripping through your ears
The deafing sound of metal nears
Your bodies waiting for his whips
The taste of leather on your lips
Hear the cry of War
Louder than before
With his sword in hand
to control the land
Crushing metal strikes
on this frightening night
Fall onto your knees
For the Phantom Lord
Victems falling under chains
You hear them crying death pains
The fists of terrors breaking through
Now there's nothing you can do
Hear the cry of War
Louder than before
With his sword in ha o
to control the land
Crushing metal strikes
on this frightening night
Fall onto your knees
For the Phantom Lord
The leather armies have prevailed
The Phantom Lord has never failed
Smoke is lifting from the ground
The rising volume metal sound
Hear the cry of War
Louder than before
With his sword in hand
to control the land
Crushing metal strikes
on this frightening night
Fall onto your knees
For the Phantom Lord
Fall to your knees
and bow to the Phantom Lord
song performed by by Metallica from Kill 'Em All
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Much Like Me
Much like me, you make your way forward,
Walking with downturned eyes.
Well, I too kept mine lowered.
Passer-by, stop here, please.
Read, when you've picked your nosegay
Of henbane and poppy flowers,
That I was once called Marina,
And discover how old I was.
Don't think that there's any grave here,
Or that I'll come and throw you out ...
I myself was too much given
To laughing when one ought not.
The blood hurtled to my complexion,
My curls wound in flourishes ...
I was, passer-by, I existed!
Passer-by, stop here, please.
And take, pluck a stem of wildness,
The fruit that comes with its fall --
It's true that graveyard strawberries
Are the biggest and sweetest of all.
All I care is that you don't stand there,
Dolefully hanging your head.
Easily about me remember,
Easily about me forget.
How rays of pure light suffuse you!
A golden dust wraps you round ...
And don't let it confuse you,
My voice from under the ground.
poem by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Redirected
The Phantom spoke. He said repent.
I replied I’m innocent.
The Phantom spoke again annoyed
You must repent or be destroyed.
I can’t repent what I’ve not done
I think my friend you should begone
You seem to have your wires crossed.
It seems to me you have got lost
I am Mother Superior.
I’m not who you are looking for
Why don’t you try the Vatican
where if you try I’m sure you can
find many there in residence.
Though they protest their innocence
Evil men, so called priests
who have behaved like rutting beasts.
Protected by the Mother Church
Which has obstructed every search
Misuse of power to delay
every attempt to make them pay.
The Phantom groaned, apologised
confessed he had been ill advised
and would go to investigate.
The Holy See, The city state.
I understand he is there still
his sacred duties to fulfil.
I rather think that he will be
kept busy for eternity.
25/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com.poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Secret Pond
you know the way to the secret pond of my heart
meet me there
and stay there for a while
do you not notice the wild grass growing there?
think of me as the unintended
think of me as the wanton beauty of the grass
that plans nothing to spread anywhere
think of me as a free vine
bringing soon a flower to you lips
do you notice the grey stones blunt and the pebbles black?
think of me as a certain hardness uncracked by the pain
of infidelities, think of me as pebbles that you through
after some sweet confidences after some utility
think of me as a stone that may kill a mocking bird
do you notice the stagnant waters there?
still, and quiet, and not flowing
it is what my love is all about, no noise, no words, no transfering
from one brook to another
do you notice my absence? be patient, wait for a while.
soon i may come but like a cloud above that secret pond
i may just be a drifter, a passer by, a vagabond, a wisp of air, a hush
a ghost, a phantom, an image, a shadow, a mirage.
yes, it will still be sad and lonely.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Phantoms
It is the night, it is the night
When they come - those
Phantom thoughts that
plague my quiet,
They crowd around my bed
and mock me, these phantom
thoughts, they stop me sleeping
I cannot rest, I cannot rest.
I long for the morning when
the light will chase those
phantoms away, but all too soon
comes the night, it is the night,
It is the night when they come,
the night...
poem by Glenda PalmerVibert
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Name For a Phantom
Who are you stranger as you walk through my days?
All I did was, to wish on my phantom
He was to be an enigma, sleeping in my dreams
A silent partner to the phantom I really am
I didn't plan to give him your name
I didn't plan to be drugged on your thoughts
Now I look for you in everyone I turn away from
My senses shun those dreams I once used to feed on
Would you go away when its time for your freedom?
Would you disappear into those cobbled streets I cant do?
If I call this love, you would teach me different,
Can I call this our dance, would you step in then?
Stay on stranger, this is my last dance
Dream with me please, this could be your true dance…
poem by Bindu Vijayan
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Tiptoes
Waking up again another sleepless night
Climbing taller buildings more dreams of flight
In a pool of sweat not knowing what to do
No more earth-bound feelings a diffrent point of view
Moment of truth he heads towards the building
His glazed eyes stare vacantly following his feelings
No turning back the doors already shutting
Standing on his tiptoes to reach the nineteenth button
To miss a grasping hand
(Im falling again)
And squash a passer-by
(Im falling again)
He wanted to see some evidence
(Im falling again)
That he could really fly
Balanced on the edge only time could tell
Some say he was pushed, others say he fell
Standing on that rooftop his brain told him no
But all the dreams in nights before told him he must go
To miss a grasping hand
(Im falling again)
And squash a passer-by
(Im falling again)
He wanted to see some evidence
(Im falling again)
That he could really fly
His questions and himself
Nearly fell on stony ground
He couldve embarrassed his family
Who watched him from the crowd
Balanced on the edge only time could tell
Some say he was pushed, others say he fell
To miss a grasping hand
(Im falling again)
And squash a passer-by
(Im falling again)
He wanted to see some evidence
(Im falling again)
That he could really fly
(Im falling ...)
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Helen of Tyre
What phantom is this that appears
Through the purple mist of the years,
Itself but a mist like these?
A woman of cloud and of fire;
It is she; it is Helen of Tyre,
The town in the midst of the seas.
O Tyre! in thy crowded streets
The phantom appears and retreats,
And the Israelites that sell
Thy lilies and lions of brass,
Look up as they see her pass,
And murmur "Jezebel!"
Then another phantom is seen
At her side, in a gray gabardine,
With beard that floats to his waist;
It is Simon Magus, the Seer;
He speaks, and she pauses to hear
The words he utters in haste.
He says: "From this evil fame,
From this life of sorrow and shame,
I will lift thee and make thee mine;
Thou hast been Queen Candace,
And Helen of Troy, and shalt be
The Intelligence Divine!"
Oh, sweet as the breath of morn,
To the fallen and forlorn
Are whispered words of praise;
For the famished heart believes
The falsehood that tempts and deceives,
And the promise that betrays.
So she follows from land to land
The wizard's beckoning hand,
As a leaf is blown by the gust,
Till she vanishes into night.
O reader, stoop down and write
With thy finger in the dust.
O town in the midst of the seas,
With thy rafts of cedar trees,
Thy merchandise and thy ships,
Thou, too, art become as naught,
A phantom, a shadow, a thought,
A name upon men's lips.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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L'amour faite passer les temps. Les temps faite passer l'amour. (Love makes time pass. Time makes love pass.)
French Sundial Motto proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Eternal Waiting Game
Entouré et enterré
La protection des morts
Coffre-fort et sûr
Obscurité
Silence
La terre s'adapte
Grincements de bois
Silence de nouveau
Attente
Éternel
Plus de grincement
Silence de nouveau
Fraîcheur
Croissance de plus frais
La température de terre
Laisser-passer d'heures
Alors jours
Alors mois
Alors saisons
Une goutte
Alors un autre
Eau
La terre s'adapte
Grincements de bois
Plus de gouttes
Humidité
Laisser-passer de saisons
Plus de gouttes
Plus d'ajustage
Laisser-passer d'années
Humidité
Fait d'être moisi
Déchirures de bois
La terre tombe vers l'intérieur
Calamité
Compression
Silence
poem by Jim Davidson
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I Have Dreamed of You so Much
I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth and make
your dear voice come alive again?
I have dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown used to being crossed on my
chest as I hugged your shadow, would perhaps not bend to the shape of your body.
For faced with the real form of what has haunted me and governed me for so many
days and years, I would surely become a shadow.
O scales of feeling.
I have dreamed of you so much that surely there is no more time for me to wake up.
I sleep on my feet prey to all the forms of life and love, and you, the only one who
counts for me today, I can no more touch your face and lips than touch the lips and
face of some passerby.
I have dreamed of you so much, have walked so much, talked so much, slept so much
with your phantom, that perhaps the only thing left for me is to become a phantom
among phantoms, a shadow a hundred times more shadow than the shadow the
moves and goes on moving, brightly, over the sundial of your life.
poem by Robert Desnos
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Hallway Phantom Singer
I am the hallway phantom singer, singing
‘Les souvenirs de mes jours passés, les
souvenirs me reviennent' until a passing
pedestrian glanced at me surprised - we
both laughed - serenading a fellow civil
servant in the foyer ‘Think of me, think
of me fondly' from ‘The Phantom of the
Opera' - It is good for whatever ails you
‘Quand j'étais petit garçon je repassais
mes leçons en chantant' but in the quiet
office only listening on earphones; rather
less successful than singing along - when
driving home this afternoon there shall be
time for a thousand songs: ‘Oú sont passés
les beaux jours…'
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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