En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Menace

Oh, when the land is white as milk
With bloom that lets no leaf between,
When trees are clad in grass-green silk
And thrushes sing in a gold screen:
What is it ails Dark Rosaleen?

Why is the banshee in the night
Crying for all the young men gone?
Now when the world with bloom is white,
When the good sun's warm on the stone,
Why does the Woman of Death make moan?

As one who is not comforted,
I heard in every lonely glen
Dark Rosaleen cry for her dead
And for her dying race of men.
Dark Rosaleen, take heart again!

For, oh, there's God in His high place
And Patrick seated by His side
To judge with Him the Irish race;
And Columcille, Kieran and Bride
Shall not forget before God's Face.

There's Mary of the Seven Swords,
Queen of the Gael -- oh, many a saint,
With Oliver Plunkett to look towards
The Mercy Seat, with praise and plaint,
For Rosaleen, ever the Lord's.

Oh, weep no more, Dark Rosaleen!
Menace and terror pass you by.
Oh, loved beyond the sceptred queen,
Dark Rosaleen for whom men die!
And loved till death, Dark Rosaleen.

poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Reading Poems Of Mangan

Many of his verses tell of his great sadness
The hardships through life he had to endure
He lived in the hungry years of the great famine
And he knew what it was like to be poor.

His father James a Limerick man from Shanagolden
'About that place there is a famous song'
And his mother Catharine Smith from Fishamble Street in Dublin
Quite poor and to poor kindred she belong.

But circumstance of birth doesn't seem to hinder genius
Though wisdom from the poor is seldom quote
And though Mangan's verse today may seem neglected
He surely was a major Irish poet.

He never had his poems published in England
And outside of Ireland he's almost unknown
But his 'Dark Rosaleen' perhaps will live forever
And it took a genius to write such a poem.

He himself said Dark Rosaleen was from the Irish of Costello
And that into English 'Roisin Duibh' he did translate
But many critics say the poem is quite original
And that in any case it lives as something great.

One of Ireland's greatest poets James Clarence Mangan
But in the literary World a near forgotten name
And I have my doubts if there were many better
And he is worthy of a greater fame.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ride Of Rody Burke

The heat haze veiled the distant hills, the white clouds floated high,
Drifting in slow content across the blue Australian sky;
And down in Clancy’s paddock there were mirth and laughter gay,
Where the She-Oak Jockey Club were met upon St. Patrick’s day.

There were carts and cars and buggies ranged beneath the spreading trees,
Where country folk for miles around were clustered thick as bees,
Watching the prancing horses pass with keen appraising eyes,
All out to win the Squatters’ Cup, the hundred-guinea prize.

Jim Daintry on The Digger rose; hopes for his mount were high,
A gallant roan with swinging pace, game head and fiery eye,
And Jim’s horse was the favourite, the betting there was keen,
But some were backing Rody Burke upon Dark Rosaleen.

A thing of velvet, fire and steel-a little dark brown mare,
With dainty legs and shoulders slant, lean head and high-bred air,
But knowing backers simply scoffed her chances of the race,
“She’ll never see his heels when once The Digger sets the pace.”

‘Twas just before the starting time that Rody reached the course,
And little Nora Shanahan watched for the dark brown horse,
And sighed to mark the rider’s face was white as if with pain,
Could Rody after all her prayers, be ‘going wild’ again?

How could she know that very morn as Rody cross the yard
The old white draught-horse lumbering by, had lashed out good and hard.
The broken ribs, the searing pain that caught his breath away—
Ah! Naught but Irish pluck and grit brought Rody there that day.

As he and Jim rose side by side, each cast a wistful eye
Where little Nora Shanahan looked on aloof and shy;
And each man thrilled at sight of her, the simple girlish grace,
The little kind brown hands of her, the apple-blossom face.

Rivals were they in sport and love, and yet good friends withal,
Whose true Australian mateship held no feeling mean or small,
And Nora, long her maiden heart had done an angels’ work,
With tears and prayers to save the soul of reckless Rody Burke.

Jim Daintry, manly, straight and true, had spreading acres wide,
And any girl in she-Oak might be proud to be his bride,
But who shall read a woman’s heart, or pierce its hidden screen,
Sweet Nora’s hopes were on the track with Rod and Rosaleen.

They’re off! A rush of flying hoofs, a blur of colours bright –
Tim Clancy’s Skylark in the lead, The Digger well in sight,
Dark Rosaleen leads the bunch behind, nor falters in her stride,
While Rody bears with sobbing breath the torture in his side.

And nearer, nearer still she draws, light as the summer wind,
She’s with The Digger neck and neck – the Skylark’s left behind,
Jim Daintry had his whale-bone out, before they reached the creek.
But Rosaleen’s dark shining coat showed neither spot nor streak.

And Rody whispered homely words, his tortured lips between,
“Hang to it now for Nora’s sake – ah! Stick it, Rosaleen!”
And as a swallow skimming low, swift as a streak of flame,
She passed The Digger’s mighty stride, as down the straight they came.

And flew between the winning posts a half a length before,
As “Rosaleen!' 'Dark Rosaleen!” rose in a mighty roar;
For thews and muscle, training e’en, are little more than dust,
When weighed against the spirit’s fire, that wins because it must.

But Rody all unconscious lay, nor heard the cheering cry,
With Jim’s strong arms around him clasped, all thought of self put by,
And Nora, trembling, joined the group that gazed upon the scene,
And raise her quivering girlish lips and kissed Dark Rosaleen.

A night of moonlight, dew-drenched flowers, and bending, whispering trees,
The music from the township ball came faintly on the breeze,
As Rody, bandaged here, gazed at Nora’s eyes of blue,
Telling the old, old story o’er to one who found it new.

And far across the moonlit plain, The Digger’s mighty stride,
Carried the aching heart of one who nursed his grief and pride.
Ah! the dear griefs of headstrong youth – half pleasure and half pain.
The gallant, hot, young broken hearts, so quick to heal again!

poem by Alice Guerin Crist
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Home Of The Irish

The Land where the famous stout Guinness is made
And that Imperialist Armies often did invade
And that has suffered in the political and religious divide
A problem that now seems to be Worldwide.

It's history seems complex and hard to understand
It's Patron Saint Patrick is of another Land
He did come from Scotia as we have been told
That's going back in time to a history that's old.

Myths and legends through the centuries about it have grown
By names such as Tir Na Nog and Hibernia it once has been known
Tribes such as the Laiginian, Milesians, Fir Bolg and De Danaan lived there before the Celts arrived
Though mostly only oral history of their existence 'twould seem has survived.

A Land in the North Atlantic that always looks green
Of legends such as Fionn MacCumaill, Kathleen Ni Houlihan and Dark Rosaleen
A Country that does have many claims to fame
The home of the Irish and Ireland it's name.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Secret Life Of Bees

my memories call to me, the sight of my mother plays in my head.

T-ray doesn't speak of her

When he does he just says that she left me

so i ran away with rosaleen

I sure did.Stole her right outta the hospital before they put her back in jail.

i found myself in a small town Tiburon, South Carolina
looking for clues that my mother had been there

living with the calendar sisters (may, june and august)

Pretending to be someone I'm not headed to place I'm certain I'm not going.

The honey makers, as they are called

honey, honey, honey is used for everything

June played for the dead, while May mourned for them.

May was the world's twin, feeling the pain of everybody

Her wailing wall was full of notes I bet some where for june and neil

sorrow grabs a hold of the house

When Zack's arrested for throwing a bottle, May couldn't take it.

Till we found out that the river how it claimed her life.

A letter is all that's left

For may: May she find peace in god's arms

A sign was all need to know I was loved by her.

I finally told August the truth, and she told me the answer to the questions.

August gave me my mother's things

There was my sign

But my peace didn't last long

Then all of a sudden the devil himself was on the doorstep

Living in the past; he grabbed my hair and tried to yank me out.

After I learned the truth about my mother and the way T. Ray used to be

And seeing him now. the only question i had for him now was aboout my question, as i watched him drive

thats when august, june, rosaleen and the daughters of mary, they became my new family and that's how it will stay/

poem by Tatiana Enriquez
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Black Rose

Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realm of the black rose
Play me the melodies i want to know
So i can teach my children, oh
Pray tell me the story of young c chulainn
How his eyes were dark his expression sullen
And how he'd fight and always won
And how they cried when he was fallen
Oh tell me the story of the queen of this land
And how her sons died at her own hand
And how fools obey commands
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
Where the mountains of mourne come down to the sea
Will she no come back to me
Will she no come back to me
Oh shenandoah i hear you calling
Far away you rolling river
Roll down the mountain side
On down on down go lassie go
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realms of the black rose
Play me the melodies so i might know
So i can tell my children, oh
My roisin dubh is my one and only true love
It was a joy that joyce brought to me
While william butler waits
And oscar, he's going wilde
Ah sure, brendan where have you behan?
Looking for a girl with green eyes
My dark rosaleen is my only colleen
That georgie knows best
But van is the man
Starvation once again
Drinking whiskey in the jar-o
Synge's playboy of the western world
As shaw, sean i was born and reared there
Where the mountains of mourne come down to the sea
Is such a long, long way from tipperary

song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roisin Dubh (Black Rose) / A Rock Legend

Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realm of the Black Rose
Play me the melodies I want to know
So I can teach my children, oh
Pray tell me the story of young Cuchulainn
How his eyes were dark his expression sullen
And how he'd fight and always won
And how they cried when he was fallen
Oh tell me the story of the Queen of this land
And how her sons died at her own hand
And how fools obey commands
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
Where the mountains of Mourne come down to the sea
Will she no come back to me
Will she no come back to me
Oh Shenandoah I hear you calling
Far away you rolling river
Roll down the mountain side
On down on down go lassie go
Oh Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realms of the Black Rose
Play me the melodies so I might know
So I can tell my children, oh
My Roisin Dubh is my one and only true love
It was a joy that Joyce brought to me
While William Butler waits
And Oscar, he's going Wilde
Ah sure, Brendan where have you Behan?
Looking for a girl with green eyes
My dark Rosaleen is my only colleen
That Georgie knows Best
But Van is the man
Starvation once again
Drinking whiskey in the jar-o
Synge's Playboy of the Western World
As Shaw, Sean I was born and reared there
Where the Mountains of Mourne come down to the sea
Is such a long, long way from Tipperary

song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You, the Dark

Dark, She is the mind of yours.
Icy chill of thought becomes
A steely shimmer.
Behold a glimmer in the black -
A flash of grey, that even glows
In show against the hallowed dark of you.

And that is why you scream in jarring tones
'I have no heart for joy!
My white and brittle bones have died'
You cried in dark and fractured moans.

So now the Queen of Black you writhe,
Whence from dark of shade
That honed an evil form afar;
In curse of me you bade:

'I, the wave shall rape the shore!
Violence will there be in glares I'll throw
At all who prey, and more:
A dark and fetid sea I'll bleed.'

And now, the bitter tinge
And bleak of waste
That eyed the death of once your soul
Will here forever be!

Indeed you tell:
'The cramping pain is here!
Eternal spasm, infinite chasm,
The Devil's chaplain plays!
We'll climax in a tortured glee
As all my love decays.'

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

Dark dark dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark
dark dark dark dark dark dark dark darkdarkdarkdark

poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death of Dusk

The sun resigns,
bleeds out the vestiges –
remnants of the day.

Exsanguination edges into twilight:
red-brown hangs;
upwards darkens:
blue-brown,
blue-black,
death-black,
disquiet – furtive,
like ghoul-ridden fog.

A sombre moon assumes its role,
gushing silver-white lymph upon the muted scape –
a prequel of supernatural undertones
to chill the scene,
ice the spine,
kill the brain –

we have unnerved the very firmament.

But now a shadow closing down the globe:
dinosaurian cloud shrouds the moon glaze,
claims the late hour –
declared in a dying crow caw.

I, the hidden owl
– nemesis of claustrophobic minds –
awake! for mammal flesh –
fresh, jerking out its warmth in dance of death.
Rock-still I perch in sculptured oneness
with my crooked night-tree,
emanating nocturnal allure.

Together we scowl
together we play the dark
upon the land and sky
and mind

while you lie as dead in your box.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night

poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mangan

Arguably the greatest poet old Ireland has seen
'Twas he penned the poem known as 'Dark Rosaleen'
In eighteen forty nine in his mid forties in poverty he died
Though true genius of him never can be denied
The great James Clarence Mangan Ireland's National bard
His journey through life was to say the least hard
He lived as he died in abject poverty
Yet one could not name many poets as great as he
From consumption and poor diet and neglect he died very young
For him no State funeral and he was unsung
Despite his hard life it seems a remarkable feat
That so many great poems the great poet did bequeath
To Ireland and it's people though he died just past his prime
As one of the poor souls of the Dublin of his time.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark Night

Dark dark night storm over me
Dark night is a holy blur
Dark dark night stop taunting me
Dark night and I think of her
Dark dark night I'm so lonely
Dark night why leave in me such a mess
Dark dark night I feel so much
Dark night filled with nothingness
Dark dark night please please
Bring the light

poem by Ary Bolanos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You have a taker.

They say you are dark,
And yet would care
Their lashes and lock
Ever to be black.
They like to their heart
The Koel and the Tusker,
Dark though they are,
And would rather admire
The dark horse in race
And the black bull in fight.

To me you look no dark.
The solitary diamond
That radiates on your nose
Is far shining –
Like a lonely star –
From your new-moon face.
Whenever you grin
There forms a crescent
Across your cheek,
Flashing like a lightening

From the rain-cloud sky.
Your teeth are far milky.
Draped in lime-white voile,
With jasmine weaving your tress
And silver anklet
Circling your limbs,
You are a snow-clad peak.
No more are you dark.
I like you to my heart
Only because you are dark
And not though you’re dark.
Be assured you have a taker.
08.01.97

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whistling In The Dark

A woman came up to me and said
Id like to poison your mind
With wrong ideas that appeal to you
Though I am not unkind
She looked at me, I looked at something
Written across her scalp
And these are the words that it faintly said
As I tried to call for help:
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I like
And that is whistling in the dark
A man came up to me and said
Id like to change your mind
By hitting it with a rock, he said,
Though I am not unkind.
We laughed at his little joke
And then I happily walked away
And hit my head on the wall of the jail
Where the two of us live today.
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I like
And that is whistling in the dark
Theres only one thing that I know how to do well
And Ive often been told that you only can do
What you know how to do well
And thats be you,
Be what youre like,
Be like yourself,
And so Im having a wonderful time
But Id rather be whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling in the dark
Whistling, whistling
Whistling in the dark
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)
Whistling (whistling), whistling (whistling)
Dark (dark), dark (dark)

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Guy In The Dark

The guy In The Dark
Has a Dark face without a name
And a Dark smile to hide the pain
The guy In the Dark
Doesn't know how much longer he can keep trying
Everyday he's slowly dying
The guy in the Dark
Sits all alone
But wants a place to truly call home
The guy in the Dark
Wants nothing more than to be free
….I know this because
……..that guy is me

poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shadow in the Dark

I’m a shadow in the dark
The quintessential sound of death
I’m a shadow in the dark
Like the reaper’s icy breath

I’m a statue set in stone
In apathetic sleep
Let the world just pass me by
And I will never weep

I’m a shadow in the dark
The quintessential sound of death
I’m a shadow in the dark
Like the reaper’s icy breath

You don’t have to set me free
You don’t have to light my night
You don’t have to feel my breath
Or step into my line of sight
For I’m a shadow in the dark
You know I’m there but you can’t see
I’m a shadow in the dark
You pass me by, and leave me be.

poem by Justin Robert Cooper
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Dark and Light

Here where I live it is dark.
Abide within and it is dark.
Sinister beings dwell in the dark.
Seeing is not possible in the dark.
They are Dark.

Cavort about in the dark.
Come and surround in the dark.
Laugh and howl in the dark.
See them not, hear them yet, here in the dark.
They are Dark.

Not always do I live in the dark.
Comes a time without the dark.
Sinister beings exists in the dark.
Cannot survive without the dark.
They are Dark

When it is not dark,
And it is not always dark.
Beings of warmth pierce the dark.
Crack and splinter the dark.
They are Light.

Then sometimes I live in the light
Warm and safe in the light
Want to stay in the light.
Surrounded by life and love in the light.
They are Light

Sometimes light, sometimes dark.
In one world, than in the other.
In one, fear; love in the other.
Back and Forth, Light and Dark
I am Dark! I am Light!

poem by Jeff Manion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Darkness! !

I am alone in this dark room
waiting for the sunlight to appear
but its obvious it won't
i am living in a dark world filled with dark people
the sky is dark the houses are dark
my life...........is dark
who am i?
well they always call me the queen of the dark
because i am a dark person as i write this i realize
the sun should not come because i love the dark
i breathe it, i live it, i smell it, and feel it
so i say to the sun stay where you are
because i love my life filled with darkness

poem by Tyreesha Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Light is out, Black is in

The light is getting dark
the clouds are turning gray
but i'll be ok

The day turns to night
and it's not going to change
So i'll walk through the streets
to see myself in a different light

The dark catches up and i'm covered
with death and dark
the dark is my new best friend
Through the dark i can control death

Through my death i can see my life
the life that was, is and could have been
with my new found friend comes
the choice of life or death

The dark is good it's new
the light was bad it's old
through the dark new choices arrive
with the light nothing was to choose

The dark is getting darker
but is that good or bad
cause it means death is for sure
I want the light back
I want to see myself not a stranger

poem by Jess Jayne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Feast Of The Assumption

Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead:
Thy Feast has fled;
My eyes are wet with tears unshed;
I bow my head;
Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway
I bend my knee,
And, like a homesick child, I pray,
Mary, to thee.

Dark! Dark! Dark!
And, all the day -- since white-robed priest
In farthest East,
In dawn's first ray -- began the Feast,
I -- I the least --
Thy least, and last, and lowest child,
I called on thee!
Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild;
Didst think of me?

Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! and no! The angels bright,
With wings as white
As a dream of snow in love and light,
Flashed on thy sight;
They shone like stars around thee, Queen!
I knelt afar --
A shadow only dims the scene
Where shines a star!

Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, beyond the sky,
Sweet, pure, and high,
The angel's song swept sounding by
Triumphantly;
And when such music filled thy ear,
Rose round thy throne,
How could I hope that thou wouldst hear
My far, faint moan?

Dark! Dark! Dark!
And all day long, where altars stand,
Or poor or grand,
A countless throng from every land,
With lifted hand,
Winged hymns to thee from sorrow's vale
In glad acclaim;
How couldst thou hear my lone lips wail
Thy sweet, pure name?

Dark! Dark! Dark!
Alas! and no! Thou didst not hear
Nor bend thy ear,
To prayer of woe as mine so drear;
For hearts more dear
Hid me from hearing and from sight
This bright Feast-day;
Wilt hear me, Mother, if in its night
I kneel and pray?

Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set, the day is dead;
Thy Feast hath fled;
My eyes are wet with the tears I shed;
I bow my head;
Angels and altars hailed thee, Queen,
All day; ah! be
To-night what thou hast ever been --
A mother to me!

Dark! Dark! Dark!
Thy queenly crown in angels' sight
Is fair and bright;
Ah! lay it down; for, oh! to-night
Its jeweled light
Shines not as the tender love-light shines,
O Mary! mild,
In the mother's eyes, whose pure heart pines
For poor, lost child!

Dark! Dark! Dark!
Sceptre in hand, thou dost hold sway
Fore'er and aye
In angel-land; but, fair Queen! pray
Lay it away.
Let thy sceptre wave in the realms above
Where angels are;
But, Mother! fold in thine arms of love
Thy child afar!

Dark! Dark! Dark!
Mary, I call! Wilt hear the prayer
My poor lips dare?
Yea! be to all a Queen most fair,
Crown, sceptre, bear!
But look on me with a mother's eyes
From heaven's bliss;
And waft to me from the starry skies
A mother's kiss!

Dark! Dark! Dark!
The sun is set; the day is dead;
Her Feast has fled;
Can she forget the sweet blood shed,
The last words said
That evening -- 'Woman! behold thy Son!
Oh! priceless right,
Of all His children! The last, least one,
Is heard to-night.

poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark.

Dark.
Dark is deep,
Is heavy
And soft,
Is gentle
And everywhere;
It's in your lungs.
Dark is in your lungs.
Dark is in limbo-land.
Dark is waxing
Waning as the
Phone is on/off ringing.
Dark is silent
Is in your bed,
And stirring the sheets,
Is your blanket tonight.
Every night.
Dark is warm/cold,
Is delecate hands
And elegant jewelry
Is wormed into your head.
And shiney
And thin
Is film over your eyes.
Dark.
Dark is in love.
Dark wants
You to sleep well
Tonight.

poem by Maia AlmediaAmir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dark Dark Girl

Dark girl so filled with strife
Dark Dark girl she'll take your life
Dark girl stay for a while
Dark Dark girl she makes me smile
Dark girl she shows no fear
Dark Dark girl is always near
Dark girl wont see her cry
Dark Dark girl just wants to die

But Dark girl lives in the dark
so you dont see her painfull mark

Dark Dark girl may never know
just how much the light can show

poem by Kyle Potter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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