Switch
When dawn snuffs out sleep's candlelight
one's memory retains as bright
far fog framed phantom image which
imprints its background stitch by stitch
upon the mind – dream drawn despite
the evidence that day and night
defy comparison. The switch
from focus when the rest is pitch
to depth of vision often might
seem trite when gift of second sight
ungranted is or atrophies.
Soul inner cecity defies,
“necessity” denies. Heart seeks
beyond the ken of highest peaks.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Pocket Handkerchief To Hem
A pocket handkerchief to hem -
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!
How many stitches it will take
Before it's done, I fear.
Yet set a stitch and then a stitch,
And stitch and stitch away,
Till stitch by stitch the hem is done -
And after work is play!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Fading Tunes
i keep singing the same song
for the low pitch but the tune so long
i cling on to the whirling wind
never mind life at it's own speed
After all;
History buries no heroes
Age admits no zeroes
the dead are only weighty kilos
Nevertheless...
our time always comes
surely our prides always hurls
yet our wickedness ever curls
After all, We are just human
Every man with a half rib for a woman
a stitch by stitch is a full human
flesh for immortal soul makes us strong
poem by Timothy muggaga
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The Song of the Shirt
The Song of the Shirt
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread--
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."
"Work! work! work!
While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work — work — work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's Oh! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!
"Work — work — work
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work — work — work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!
Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch — stitch — stitch,
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
Sewing at once with a double thread,
A Shroud as well as a Shirt.
But why do I talk of Death?
That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear its terrible shape,
It seems so like my own —
It seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep;
Oh, God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!
"Work — work — work!
My Labour never flags;
And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread — and rags.
That shatter'd roof — and this naked floor —
A table — a broken chair —
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!
"Work — work — work!
From weary chime to chime,
Work — work — work!
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,
As well as the weary hand.
"Work — work — work,
In the dull December light,
And work — work — work,
When the weather is warm and bright —
While underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows cling
As if to show me their sunny backs
And twit me with the spring.
Oh! but to breathe the breath
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet —
With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet
For only one short hour
To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want
And the walk that costs a meal!
Oh! but for one short hour!
A respite however brief!
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief!
A little weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed
My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread!"
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread —
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, —
Would that its tone could reach the Rich! —
She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"
poem by Thomas Hood
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Stiches
Sew me back together
Make every stitch clean
Pull the thread tighter
I'm ripping from the seams
Come quickly whoever you are
And stitch back together my heart
poem by Sydney Bell
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Stitches
Sew me back together
Make every stitch clean
Pull the thread tighter
I'm ripping from the seams
Come quickly whoever you are
And stitch back together my heart
poem by Zara Youtz
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Don't Only Focus On The Money
When you go for the money,
You'll be selling your soul.
And when one goes for just the money,
The heart turns cold.
So don't focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't only focus on the money,
Don't.
Bling is nice but there's more to life.
Don't focus on the money,
Don't.
Open your mind with bright wide eyes,
To take a ride that will excite you.
With a view to greater heights.
So...
Don't focus on the money,
Don't.
No don't you focus on the money,
Don't.
When you go for the money,
You'll be selling your soul.
Don't focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't let your heart grow old and cold.
Don't focus on the money,
Don't.
So...
Don't you focus on the money,
Don't.
No don't you focus on the money,
Don't.
So...
Don't you focus on the money,
Don't.
No don't you focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't only focus on the money,
Don't.
No don't you focus on the money,
Don't.
So you just don't focus on the money,
Don't.
So you just don't focus on the money,
Don't.
No don't you focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't only focus on the money,
Don't.
'I feel funny when I don't have any money.'
Don't focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't only focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't you only focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't keep your focus on the fact that you always stay broke.
Don't focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't only focus on the money,
Don't.
Don't stay focused on the money,
Don't!
Don't keep your focus on the fact that you always stay broke.
Don't focus on the money,
Don't.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Singing Songs Of Creativity
who will come share
a few of my soul nights
with gift conversations
between soul ritual nights
writing songs of creativity?
thought songs birth born
cycle through mind moments
creep flutter in mind focus
wonder rapture sets traps
throughout soul mind webs
come dance night magic
come dance day magic
come dance night day cycles
come dance day night cycles
come dance image heartbeats
haunting perspective kaleidoscopic
is canvas a mind mist vision sees
swim in illusive thought mind oceans
swim in perception birth river seas
embrace vortex walk through walls
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sleep Return to Me
Sleep has eluded me
leaving me with
a sense of a lack
of awareness
and a lack
of focus.
One nights rest
disturbed
a multitude
of time leaves
a teetering mind
and a wavering heart
Sleep Oh sleep
where hath thee gone?
I need you
to help me
regain focus through
the rest that you give
Sleep, return to me.
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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Stanza # 28
I kissed the one that love denies
Where passions flare the truth defies
Tis only here faining realaity
Can a sweet embrace a prelude be
To a song wake I shan't e'er sing
E'en though thoughts of you a melody brings
To life as erotic music plays
Whilst our bodies in perfect rhythm sway
Sleep O' sleep irony is thy jest
To fullfill a dream must be at rest
poem by John A. Hancock
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A Stitch In Time
I work in dark factories --- a cog in the big wheel
Driving grey satanic mills and weaving sad stories.
And faceless masters --- oh, they pay me plenty ---
Crumbs from their luncheon packs, harsh wine from
Bottles halk empty.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Said cock robin from the wall.
Its an early bird catches the worm.
Show a little pride before you fall.
So I flew to the south sun with birds of a feather
To drink in the warm nights and tell of fine weather.
A stitch in time saves nine.
Listen all you young folk --- your lives on a timetable
Clocking on twenty-one --- fly while youre able.
A stitch in time saves nine.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cause and Consequence
Many options chance and choice might sow,
Although what meets the eye needs second-sight
Undoing ill that second-thoughts may show
DEspairing seeker after answers bright.
Much harm is done when wishful thinking mocks
Advancing voice or crystal image which
Unlocks outlook unfortunate or blocks
DEsired outcome grieving heart would stitch.
Most roads rejoin itinerary pre-traced,
As cause and consequence are intertwined,
Use or abuse of options closed, unlaced,
DEtermines more than mortal mind may find
Confined within fate's eye-ball wishing well
Creating mirror heaven or hell could spell...
[c] Jonathan Robin acrostic sonnet written 27 June 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Supreme Soul
In awakeness,
I was there,
My mind was there,
My body was there,
In my dreams,
I was there,
My mind was there,
But my body was lost.
In my deep sleep,
I was there,
But I lost the mind,
So do I lost my body.
In my state beyond,
In the depth of my sleep,
I never sleep,
Nor did I awake,
It was a state,
Of no movement,
No dreams,
And no thinking!
I was without knowledge,
But I was the knowledge,
I was the illumination,
Of the supreme soul,
With whom I parted
On my birth.
I lost my memory,
Of my parent soul
But for the active
Five senses
Of my body,
The gift of the supreme soul!
I attained him,
When I lost the senses,
When I lost the earthly bond
When I lost the turbulations,
Of the earthly passions!
In union with him
The supreme soul
I lost my self,
And my soul,
Melted and immersed
With the supreme soul!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Dreams (Inspired-Desire from Visions in the Night)
Is it just a dream - to dream?
Or can one intelligently
And with honest hope inquire:
' What does a dream, truly mean? '
Is the dream given or allowed
To each their own,
Or across the masses to the crowd?
From God, or the soul,
How to be certain, how to know?
From Heaven's throne, or from the depth's of the human mind?
For one alone, or all mankind?
Shall we be allowed arcanumly to know
Just some of what was missed
From afar, through a dim glimpse?
Could it all possibly be
From somewhere beyond us all,
An endless soft echo
In a very old call?
One that is only to be heard
When the mind has settled quiet,
Into the time when the soul alone gathers words?
Or,
Is the dream as gift given
Hope to arouse and awaken.......
Hope for what awaits
Just out of sight, right beyond Heaven's open gates,
Thus in meager human faith
Tis meant true expectancy to create.......
If it really is more
Than just a dream - to dream,
Then perchance it is nothing less than vision,
A guiding gift given
Part of a much larger plan
Beyond the sight of man,
Originating from the Being
Within everything.
From whence and why
Do this querulous questions arise?
I know not for certain
I can only here in simple words
Ponder upon them,
And the mysterious reason they return
Again and again.
It would surely seem
Dreamy sights travel mostly by nights'
With perhaps a scent of mystery, of the once was, and the yet to be.
Or maybe they just come with a comforting thought
And the sweet peace it may have here to us brought.
Sleepy dreams
Like stars throughout the night,
Constant dark companions
Never to be touched
Nor fully known,
Not even the reason -if there be one-
To be wholly shown;
Yet, faithfully there,
Even if their purpose we are unaware.
A story possibly to show
Given from the Story-Teller
Who wrote them on our hearts
So long ago;
For now we sit in exile,
This temporary land to last only a little while;
Some messages may very well be sent
With a reason to behold,
One that surely must come
From the great Ages of old,
Even if shrouded in a fallen translation,
Tis still our story, everyone's story,
Even my story,
Waiting, and so wanting to be told.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Gift You Are
This song appears on four albums, and was first released on the flower that shattered the stone album, and has also been released on the stonehaven sunrise, the gift you are and the john denver
Ction - annies song albums.
Imagine a month of sundays
Each one a cloudy day
Imagine the moment the sun came shining through
Imagine that ray of sunshine as you
Remember your darkest hour
With dawn still far away
Remember the way that you longed for mornings light
And think of yourself as a candle in the night
Make believe this is the first day
Everything all brand new
Make believe that the sun is your own lucky star
And then understand the kind of gift you are
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of spring
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true
The gift you are
The gift of you
You are the promise of all the ages
You are the prodigal son
You are the vision of prophets and sages
You are the only one
Dream of a bright tomorrow
Know that your dream will come true
Carry your dream in a sparkling crystal jar
Then you will know the kind of gift you are
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of spring
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true
The gift you are
The gift of you
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of springtime
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true - yes they do
The gift you are
The gift of you
The gift you are
The gift of you
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Optional Causes and Consequences
Many options chance codes choice modes sow,
Although what meets the eye needs second-sight
Undoing ill that second-thoughts may show
DEspairing seeker after answers bright.
Much harm is done when wishful thinking mocks
Advancing voice or crystal image which
Unlocks outlook unfortunate or blocks
DEsired outcome grieving heart would stitch.
Most roads rejoin itinerary pre-traced,
As cause and consequence are intertwined,
Use or abuse of options haste waste chased,
DEtermines more than mortal mind may find
Confined within fate's eye-ball wishing well
Creating mirror heaven or hell could spell...
[c] Jonathan Robin robi3_1774_robi3_0000 ASX_CJZ written 27 June 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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How Did You Rest, Last Night?
'How did you rest, last night?'--
I've heard my gran'pap say
Them words a thousand times--that's right--
Jes them words thataway!
As punctchul-like as morning dast
To ever heave in sight
Gran'pap 'ud allus haf to ast--
'How did you rest, last night?'
Us young-uns used to grin,
At breakfast, on the sly,
And mock the wobble of his chin
And eyebrows belt so high
And kind: _'How did you rest, last night?'_
We'd mumble and let on
Our voices trimbled, and our sight
Was dim, and hearin' gone.
* * * * *
Bad as I used to be,
All I'm a-wantin' is
As puore and ca'm a sleep fer me
And sweet a sleep as his!
And so I pray, on Jedgment Day
To wake, and with its light
See _his_ face dawn, and hear him say--
'How did you rest, last night?'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Memory Of Moments Before Birth Born
I dreamed long ago
memory of moments
before birth born
before my soul entered
this body before moment
expectant ego allowed
infusion of this soul
into this clay body
death to a higher plane
of existence price paid
for entry into possibility
changing this deceit world
in Islam dream vision
in sleep is lowest
form of mind miracle
from Allah God
but what pray tell
is dream memory?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Focus
focus
focus on god
focus on freedom
focus on forgiveness
focus on sweet speech
focus on treasures
focus on humility
focus on commitment
focus on mind
focus on success
focus on health
focus on healthy transformation
focus on goodness
focus on laughter
focus on fun
focus on angel
focus on sweetness
focus on wealth
focus
poem by Johnny Walks
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