Epidemic
Men, unprepared, tremble
in scared confrontation
with nightmares no nation
now dares to dissemble.
Protesters assemble,
unconscious of station,
beware explanation,
aware it resembles
a plague. So they tremble
and in consternation
seek some consolation...
while earthworms assemble...
Still scientists tremble
as genes reassemble.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Her Eyes Say Yes
Her eyes say Yes, her lips say No.
Ah, tell me, Love, when she denies,
Shall I believe the lips or eyes?
Bid eyes no more dissemble,
Or lips too tremble
The way her heart would go!
Love may be vowed by lips, although
Cold truth, in unsurrendering eyes,
The armistice of lips denies.
But can fond eyes dissemble,
Or false lips tremble
To this soft Yes in No?
poem by Arthur Symons
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You Cry and Hence Sorry
A scene moves you, you react; you cry.
I understand that you are sorry.
You cry so you are sorry and
Not that you are sorry so you cry.
You tremble so you are afraid and
Not that you are afraid so you tremble.
(13.04.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Three Pretenders
Three pretenders forced their entry
There wasn't time to defend or attack
Somewhere inside I held their fury
But one by one my defenses began to crack
The first became a voice from my childhood
Without a world to call his own
Asking questions but doubting the answers
And too confused to stand up and face it alone
I can feel my body tremble
Like an animal under the gun
Can you feel your body tremble
Look in and see the eyes of Three Pretenders
The second came a shadowy hustler
Selling anything not nailed to the ground
He put a price on my resistance
And if it's high, I know he'll be marking it down
The third became a mysterious traveller
Stormy words like sea-weathered sails
His life was scarred with peaks and valleys
A haunted kingdom crumbling against the gales
I can feel my body tremble
Like a child afraid of the dark
Can you feel your body tremble
Look in and see the eyes of Three Pretenders
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Knees Of My Bees
we share a culture same vernacular
love of physical humor and time spent alone
you with your penchant for spontaneous events
for sticky and raspy, unearthed and then gone
you are a gift promised sent with a wink
with tendencies for conversations that raise bars
you are a sage who is fueled by compassion
comes to nooks and crannies, is bound for all stars
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you are a spirit that knows of no limit
that knows of no ceiling who baulks at dead-ends
you are a wordsmith who cares for his brothers
not seduced by illusions of fair-weather friends
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you are a vision who lives by the signals of
stomach and intuition as your guide
you are a sliver of god on a platter
who walks what he talks and who cops when hes lied
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
you make the knees of my bees weak, tremble and buckle
you make the knees of my bees weak
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stanza From A Translation Of The Marseillaise Hymn
Tremble, Kings despised of man!
Ye traitors to your Country,
Tremble! Your parricidal plan
At length shall meet its destiny...
We all are soldiers fit to fight,
But if we sink in glory's night
Our mother Earth will give ye new
The brilliant pathway to pursue
Which leads to Death or Victory...
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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In Me, Past, Present, Future meet
In me, past, present, future meet
To hold long chiding conference.
My lusts usurp the present tense
And strangle Reason in his seat.
My loves leap through the future’s fence
To dance with dream-enfranchised feet.
In me the cave-man clasps the seer,
And garlanded Apollo goes
Chanting to Abraham’s deaf ear.
In me the tiger sniffs the rose.
Look in my heart, kind friends, and tremble,
Since there your elements assemble.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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I Am A Wall Of Fire
I am a wall of Fire
To my children in despair
The Lord God never tires
In silence He prepares
When all your walls are broken down
And you lift your voice and cry
The wall of fire will surround
For you are the apple of my eye
For you are my sons and daughters
And I dwell within your heart
Your enemies are prepared for slaughter
And from you I shall never depart
All ye people tremble
For the Lord my God awakes
And His children shall assemble
And die for His namesakes
Arise O God and shake the earth
For every man shall see
That God shall stand, and Him alone
In glorious majesty
poem by Frank McEleny
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Song IX: Ho Ye Who Seek Saving
Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving,
Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it,
And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving;
These know the Cup with the roses around it;
These know the World's Wound and the balm that hath bound it:
Cry out, the World heedeth not, 'Love, lead us home!'
He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward;
Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble
Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward,
Lo his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble!
Lo his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble!
Cry out, for he heedeth, 'O Love, lead us home!'
O hearken the words of his voice of compassion:
'Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken
Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashions!
As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken,
But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken,
As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home.
'Come--pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending!
Come--fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting!
Come--change ye shall have, for far are ye wending!
Come--no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting,
But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting!
Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!'
Is he gone? was he with us?--ho ye who seek saving,
Go no further; come hither; for have we not found it?
Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving;
Here is the Cup with the roses around it;
The World's Wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it:
Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home.
poem by William Morris
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Surviving The Game
time…
its hands never tremble
it is slowly passing its scalpel on our faces
like a serial killer in love with its art
only my hands tremble
when I try to shave
I always say to myself
today I have to be more beautiful
perhaps I will meet the sublime
I have been wearing the same clothing
for a lifetime my word
I walk the streets laughing
perhaps I will disappear in this clatter
and time will lose me from sight
yet people turn back to their homes
I am left alone facing the destiny
my hands tremble with love
I am surviving the game where people hide
after each sunset my hands are trembling
a bow to you
who taught me to live by the rule
everything reduces to the one and only clothing
in which I was born I live I die
poem by Ionuţ Caragea from Donator universal (2007), translated by Ioana Tirtirau
Submitted by Ionuţ Caragea
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L'Île
L’île basse, parmi les eaux, isole en elle,
Sous les pleurs du vieux saule et le frisson du tremble,
Le pavillon carré dont la tristesse semble
Enclore en son secret un silence fidèle.
Par les vitres, on voit, qui se décharne, l’aile
D’une harpe tendre ses cordes où il tremble
Un peu du frôlement des doigts qui l’ont ensemble
Fait vibrer doucement jadis, sonore et grêle.
Et le blanc pavillon de marbre et de cristal
S’est endormi, avec en lui l’accord final
Que le silence embaume en son ombre engourdie ;
Et qui sait si le chant, par la fenêtre close,
N’en filtre pas encor pour charmer l’eau verdie,
Faire trembler le tremble et sangloter le saule ?
poem by Henri de Regnier
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The Artist
Why do you subdue yourself in golds and purples?
Why do you dim yourself with folded silks?
Do you not see that I can buy brocades in any draper’s shop,
And that I am choked in the twilight of all these colours.
How pale you would be, and startling,
How quiet;
But your curves would spring upward
Like a clear jet of flung water,
You would quiver like a shot-up spray of water,
You would waver, and relapse, and tremble.
And I too should tremble,
Watching.
Murex-dyes and tinsel—
And yet I think I could bear your beauty unshaded.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Thank You Naomi Klein
She spoke out defending “The First Amendment”
In support of “Occupy Wall Street” protesters
“The Right to assemble” police tried circumvent
Lied about “No Permits”, cuffed n’ did arrest her
poem by Ray Lucero
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Locekd In
I cant stand the way you move it
You drive me crazy with that walk
You get me so excited. I tremble and I shake
When you make the moves you make.
Youve got the key. the key to my heart
Go ahead and use it
Drag me in, slam the door.
Then Ill be yours, for evermore
Youve got me locked in.
Locked inside your love
I cant take it when you touch me
Feels so good I could explode
Youve got me in a frenzy
I tremble and I quake
When you shake the things you shake.
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Saul And David
It was a villainous spirit, snub-nosed, foul
Of breath, thick-taloned and malevolent,
That squatted within him wheresoever he went
.......And possessed the soul of Saul.
There was no peace on pillow or on throne.
In dreams the toothless, dwarfed, and squinny-eyed
Started a joyful rumor that he had died
.......Unfriended and alone.
The doctors were confounded. In his distress, he
Put aside arrogant ways and condescended
To seek among the flocks where they were tended
.......By the youngest son of Jesse,
A shepherd boy, but goodly to look upon,
Unnoticed but God-favored, sturdy of limb
As Michelangelo later imagined him,
.......Comely even in his frown.
Shall a mere shepherd provide the cure of kings?
Heaven itself delights in ironies such
As this, in which a boy's fingers would touch
.......Pythagorean strings
And by a modal artistry assemble
The very Sons of Morning, the ranked and choired
Heavens in sweet laudation of the Lord,
.......And make Saul cease to tremble.
poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
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Sonnet XXXI: Thou Comest!
Thou comest! all is said without a word.
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XXXI
Thou comest ! all is said without a word.
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt ! and yet I cannot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help ! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Xxxi
Thou comest ! all is said without a word.
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt ! and yet I cannot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help ! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Hounds!
There is music on disc and on wireless,
Band-music, dance-tunes for the tireless,
Sweet music from day unto day;
But the music a man will remember
Shakes down the last leaves of November,
And speeds the wild geese in December,
And greets the first oak-bud in May.
What string with such beauty can tremble?
What bugle such raptures assemble?
What trumpet can sound such a call?
Is there ever a melody nearer
The quick-beating heart of the hearer?
Is there ever a tune that is dearer
As it chooses a dance for us all?
No song is so sweet in the setting,
No lilt so forbids all forgetting
Or lingers so long by the way;
When the shadows of night gather o’er us,
And the scarlet has faded before us,
The ring of that ravishing chorus
Dies not with the death of the day.
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Sonnet 31 - Thou comest! all is said without a word
XXXI
Thou comest! all is said without a word.
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue
The sin most, but the occasion—that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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The Sonnets To Orpheus: IV
O you tender ones, walk now and then
into the breath that blows coldly past,
Upon your cheeks let it tremble and part;
behind you it will tremble together again.
O you blessed ones, you who are whole,
you who seem the beginning of hearts,
bows for the arrows and arrows' targets--
tear-bright, your lips more eternally smile.
Don't be afraid to suffer; return
that heaviness to the earth's own weight;
heavy are the mountains, heavy the seas.
Even the small trees you planted as children
have long since become too heavy; you could not
carry them now. But the winds...But the spaces....
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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