The Wavering Grain
Just as smoke from the fire
rises to the canopy of pine,
my eyes believe,
'thine beauty is mine.'
Observing the embers,
as they flash and die.
Through the air,
so clear and fine.
My eyes conceive.
'thine beauty is mine.'
These sights alone,
have led me to the road,
covered in gravel,
isolated in it's own
Walking past the house of the owner,
down to the river,
I studder.
For even in darkness,
a cerulean sky is above.
With a snowflake shape light,
made with stars through the night.
Gazing upon further,
a shooting star,
then,
no longer.
Like a flicker,
through a shutter,
until I have come to find,
tis not divine,
'thine beauty is mine'
And on my path back home,
a road tempts me,
but not my own.
And it sounds as if, or nay,
that the sound of life
has refrained from it today.
But I choose not to go,
for thine beauty is mine
and this night has allowed it to be so.
Plain and plentiful,
the wavering grain.
Breathes and recedes.
Through morning dew,
summer heat,
and magenta sky.
-
As dusk approaches-
its breathing subsides,
but it does not die.
For like I,
the grain,
plain and plentiful,
finds solace
in the night sky.
poem by Joseph Ostapiuk
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Related quotes
Mine Eyes Beg Sight Of Thee
Mine eyes beg sight of thee; mine mind begs, thought;
Mine heart begs consort with thee-for us to be what we ought;
Mine arms beg thine own body, in loving embrace-
Contrariwise, mine own body begs of same, face to face!
Mine own soul begs for thine, as its mate-
Our re-acquaintance made as was, through the powers of fate;
Mine whole life begs for thine own beauty's attestation:
As I bide still, I ruminate upon my futurity's celebration.
Until this time, when we shall meet my beloved, fair thee well:
May we both one day be the story that we lovingly tell.
All that I am begs for all that you are-
In a world with myriad resplendence, you are its brightest star!
Query not why it is that I covet thee as I do,
Ponder only: that in the morrow, more of same shall be gifted, to you!
poem by Maurice Harris
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Thine Eyes I Wear
Hidden beneath your immense stare
Is thine soul exquisite, refined and rare
Fluid and chilly as a streaming river
Your look, your soul, makes mine shiver
Under thine eyes, thy raiment I wear
The look of love, thine ardent glare
Attractive to thee like the embers of fire
What is that thou sincerely admire?
Is it thine own eyes I wear?
Is it thine eyes that attract thy own stare?
When thou look I change into you
For in thine look, thy love I accrue
Always look at me with that beautiful glare
And thine look, thine eyes, I will proudly wear.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Clasping of Hands
LORD, Thou art mine, and I am Thine,
If mine I am; and Thine much more
Then I or ought or can be mine.
Yet to be Thine doth me restore,
So that again I now am mine,
And with advantage mine the more,
Since this being mine brings with it Thine,
And Thou with me dost Thee restore:
If I without Thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor Thine.
Lord, I am Thine, and Thou art mine;
So mine Thou art, that something more
I may presume Thee mine then Thine,
For Thou didst suffer to restore
Not Thee, but me, and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since Thou in death wast none of Thine,
Yet then as mine didst me restore:
O, be mine still; still make me Thine;
Or rather make no Thine and Mine.
poem by George Herbert
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Pog
With thine kiss mine heart leap
into thee where my love grow
With thine kiss thy beauty I reap
and thy love mine heart sow
My beauty so kiss me
So love can feel
What beauties kiss
and thine heart reel
into majestic mist
where we can love
and our hearts seal…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Beautiful Breast
Dainty, delicate and delicious doth meet
On thine breast tender, mild and sweet
Beauty in thy heart veiled by a beauteous breast
Seizes mine sight and mine heart arrest
Thou art a manifestation of tranquil beauty
Nurturing life, possessing love's duty
Enticingly sweet thy gravitate to me
With all love's passion glistening on the breast of thee
Thou kiss mine lips with thine tender breast
And I doth taste thy flesh while thine heart caress
Mine heart too, wert love in us doth meet
On thine tender, mild breast, lovely and sweet
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Thine Beauty
I bath myself with thy beauty thine
To conceal myself under thee
Warm flesh molded from beauty divine
Solaces pain that inhabits me
I live for you to live free
Gracious, graceful thy sweetly give
All thine love to live in me
By thine beauty with beauty does my love live
So if thou love me like thou say
Thou know that it's thee
That thy beauty and love doth play
In you and in me
Reflecting always in each other's mind
Thine beauty and love, we doth always find…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sonnet 24: “Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled…”
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled,
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart,
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes:
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done,
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 24: Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazèd with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee.
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art:
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Fontana Di Trevi
Why do I sit within the spell
Of eyes like thine, who oft have known
What 'tis in Beauty's gaze to dwell,
And then-to feel alone:
Back be remitted to my cell,
Too lately near a throne?
What though the moon on Trevi's fount,
Whilst we together drink, doth shine,
Can it the rural miles remount,
Or I subtract from mine?
Whilst Time hath scarce begun to count
The pleasant paths of thine.
How vain to thus divide its wave!
It will not help to blend our own.
Thy voice is gay, but mine is grave,
As thine too will have grown
In days when nought is left thee save
A half-remembered tone.
The light that gilds my world no more,
But only now just breaks on thine;
Thy shadows stretch all bright before,
Behind in darkness mine.
Leave me my unillumined shore,
And in thy lustre shine!
Forth to thy Future, gifted child!
Oh, be it fair as thou!
As thy sweet tones and temper mild,
And cloudless as thy brow;
And thou wilt then be reconciled
That I am silent now!
poem by Alfred Austin
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Far Away
Thine presence yet unfading in my thoughts
Thine voice I merely hear in echo
The comfort mine mere imagination brought
Thine bright illuminating halo
A glimpse to the sky, thy beauty lies
A view in blizzards, thy image formed
A peek in the fireplace, Memory stays
A stare on waters, thy reflection showed
How much of you mine thoughts are bothered
Thy memory was never in serenity
Upon the nights, mine dreams be shattered
To completely fade after eternity.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Sonnet 2:
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 2
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Pleasance Of Thine Gaze
If pure beauty ever had a more true manifestation,
I know not its form, nor its very ideation-
Ponderance of same has been thusly, banished-
As my want for else long ago vanished.
My most ardent desires lie in its appreciation:
This humble heart seeks thine, for life-long adoration;
Somniation allows that I may, in glimpses, continue to gather-
Still, this ardor's puissant presence, I would much rather.
Should hope and faith have been all that were needed,
Long, long ago, this intermittence would have ceded
To ubiquity, and a dream would have been realized;
Therein lies the cause for mine sight: to drink in thine eyes;
There is not enough time, in a lifetime of days,
To satiate mine want for the pleasance of thine gaze!
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 2: When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held.
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer, "This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,"
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
poem by William Shakespeare
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To-- Yet look on me
Yet look on me -- take not thine eyes away,
Which feed upon the love within mine own,
Which is indeed but the reflected ray
Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.
Yet speak to me -- thy voice is as the tone
Of my heart’s echo, and I think I hear
That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone
Like one before a mirror, without care
Of aught but thine own features, imaged there;
And yet I wear out life in watching thee;
A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed
Art kind when I am sick, and pity me.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Morning Thoughts
What secret hand at morning light,
By stealth unseals mine eye,
Draws back the curtain of the night,
And opens earth and sky?
'Tis Thine, my God - the same that kept
My resting hours from harm;
No ill came nigh me, for I slept
Beneath th' Almighty's arm.
'Tis Thine - my daily bread that brings,
Like manna scatter'd round,
And clothes me, as the lily springs
In beauty from the ground.
This is the hand that shaped my frame,
And gave me pulse to beat;
That bears me oft through flood and flame,
Through tempest, cold, and heat.
In death's dark valley though I stray,
'Twould there my steps attend;
Guide with the staff my lonely way,
And with the rod defend.
May that dear hand uphold me still,
Through life's uncertain race,
To bring me to Thine holy hill,
And to Thy dwelling-place.
poem by James Montgomery
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You'll Be Mine
Well darling all the night
You'll be mine and i know
You'll be mine
Till you die
You'll be mine
And so all the night
You'll be mine
You'll be mine
And the stars
Always shine
You'll be mine
Oh
My darling, when you burnt
That toast the other morning
I, i looked into you eyes and
I could see that national health eyeball
And i love you, like i've never done,
Like i've never done before!
Oh darling
In your eyes
And you'll be mine
You will be mine
You'll be mine
At the star and so
You'll be mine
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mother of Beauty and Love
Through thine heart, and times portal,
Thine give me truth and love immortal
No love, if there is love, is like thee
Sometimes I ponder if love is what thou be?
Or if love we did know before was just a charade
A propriety, a clandestine façade
To satiate sinister lust
That infects us…
For when thy walk, thou dance to me
And when thou talk, thou words paint
In my sweet soul of loves immortality
The contours of thy body which hide in my souls eye
thine beauty, mine sadness… should thy beauty die
And thy beauteous soul leave like an autumn tree
All its beauty for my heart to see…
I write this poem to immortality
the mother of love of beauty!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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To Mine Heart's Captor
To mine heart's captor: thou knowest who for art thou!
With its absquatulation complete, what art thine plans now?
Art thine intentions altruistic and pure-
May thine jollity, these intentions, ensure?
Might thine heart be exalted in consort with mine?
If thee were to seek its consult, how would it opine?
Love knows not impediments, it lasts and grows forever;
Come with me, my beloved, we shall live this truth, together!
Have not thee thought of me, fondly, in mine absence?
The gift of our love is proof of His Divine Benevolence!
Walk this journey called life with me by thine side;
Mine unceasing love shall always, and e'er, be supplied-
For so long as thou art enamored by this offer;
First though, you need remove thine heart from its coffer!
-Maurice Harris,16 May 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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We whisper goodnight…
As the clock of love ticks
Mine heart slowly grows
Our love melted in we sticks
As in thine heart mine love flows
Gently like the somber waves
Of the sorrowful sea blue
The sound we follow paves
Art love to beauty true
Melted together like the heat of the sun
We shine on the waves gleam
Flowing together with the voice of one
In earth's shadows we beam
Our light of sweet heaven delight
In the light of stars in tender night
We whisper goodnight…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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