Sanary
Her little hot room looked over the bay
Through a stiff palisade of glinting palms,
And there she would lie in the heat of the day,
Her dark head resting upon her arms,
So quiet, so still, she did not seem
To think, to feel, or even to dream.
The shimmering, blinding web of sea
Hung from the sky, and the spider sun
With busy frightening cruelty
Crawled over the sky and spun and spun.
She could see it still when she shut her eyes,
And the little boats caught in the web like flies.
Down below at this idle hour
Nobody walked in the dust street;
A scent of a dying mimosa flower
Lay on the air, but sweet--too sweet.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Related quotes
From A Dark Room
"Our spirits were made for light, not for darkness." Thomas Merton
This dark room
comforts me.
Tender eyes
are safe here from
the hot autumn wind.
Dark tears cleanse
as I gaze out
to the shimmering street
where rises the sacred scent
of yellow flowers,
heavy
and sweet.
poem by Steven Federle
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For Lillian
She was so dear, so fair. Her memory stays,
Even her dying robs me not of this,
That I have walked with her in mortal ways
Whose tender beauty now immortal is.
There are sweet flowers that bloom in ways forlorn
And sad sweet eyes whose beauty is a flower
Blown in the night to which there is no morn,
Dream-born and dying in its dewy bower;
And she was such a flower, her sweet eyes such;
The secret hours that only the heart knows
Thrill with the glamour of her tone and touch
Like music that is sweetest at the close,
Falling to death as falls the fairest thing
Beyond the power of love's recovering.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Twenty-One
The world, all busy round us here of late,
Is still unchanged: but you are twenty-one.
The mind, victorious with the rising sun,
Steps boldly and blithely through the imagined gate
On greener grass where brighter flowers await
The quickened senses and the waters run
With livelier music, and a web is spun
Of loveliest pattern on the loom of fate.
Doubt nothing, fare right on with manly trust,
And know, whatever failures be in store,
Though all your light seem shimmering blinding haze,
And flowers and grass fly up in choking dust,
Better than you can fancy waits before
For those who find the secret of the maze.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Click to Proceed
A web has been spun
around the world
wide as imagination
making possible what
before hand took years
Many other modes of
communication and
intercourse have fallen
almost by the way side
and flies come in droves
thirsting for much more
What spider lurks we
can only conceptualise
What dangers we
can scarce visualise
But what remains as
it was in antiquated
human conversation
is that in all this closeness
in each others' faces
we are trully still alone.
A web has been spun
around the world
wide, wild conflagration
forging herculeaic
the marriage of hearts
and souls and minds.
poem by Frederick Kesner
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The rock-a-by lady
The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street
Comes stealing; comes creeping;
The poppies they hang from her head to her feet,
And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet -
She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet,
When she findeth you sleeping!
There is one little dream of a beautiful drum -
"Rub-a-dub!" it goeth;
There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum,
And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come
Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum,
And a trumpet that bloweth!
And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams
With laughter and singing;
And boats go a-floating on silvery streams,
And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams,
And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams,
The fairies go winging!
Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet?
They'll come to you sleeping;
So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet,
For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street,
With poppies that hang from her head to her feet,
Comes stealing; comes creeping.
poem by Eugene Field
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Scene From The Future's Web
Gorilla, man, have played their innings out,
Freeway turned to grass without a doubt
Spider, which waited long, will reign supreme.
Sirens silent, mankind just dust done dream
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall all spiders scout
winging hummers, shawl fly caught, spun scheme
singing drummers' sprawl, spry sought fun theme!
(2 March 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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And Still
(liz heingber, tommy lee james)
Thousands of people live in this town
And I had to run into him
When I saw him there on that busy street
Those feelings came back again
There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide
He walked up to me, looked in my eyes
Chorus:
And still
The world stood still
I couldnt move
And all I could feel
Was this aching in my heart
Saying I loved him still
He said howve you been
Its great to see you again
Youre really a sight for sore eyes
I said, I cant complain
Im doing fine
We talked as the people rushed by
We laughed about old times and all we went through
Thats when he hugged me and said Ive missed you
Thats when she walked up to him
He said, this is my wife
I gave my best smile
But I was dying inside
He said we gotta go now
Its getting late
It was so good to see you
Then they walked away
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City of Death
The city reminded her
Of a room full of dark flies;
The constant sound of buzzing;
The frightening hitting of
Bodies against the sides; but
Something more disturbing was
Brought to mind: the memory
Of Mr Danzinki who
Died in a room up on Eastside,
And no one found him for months
On end, and the flies got in
And laid their seeds, and they came
To fruition and buzzed in
Turn, and when his rescuers
Opened the door of the room,
There was that awful smell of
Decomposition, and a
Swarm of flies, and the image
That someone told her as a
Child of the sickening find,
Took up residence in her
Mind and stayed there, and somehow
Related to the city, and
The whole buzz and noise of the
Place, and maybe some dying
Corpse down there in the moving
Throng, and a sense of death and
Dying in the city's air.
poem by Terry Collett
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Faute De Mieux
WHEN the corn is green and the poppies red
And the fields are crimson with love-lies-bleeding,
When the elms are black deep overhead
And the shade lies cool where the calves are feeding,
When the blackbird whistles the song of June,
When kine knee-deep in the pond are drowsing,
Leave pastoral peace--come up through the noon
To the high chalk downs where the sheep are browsing.
Oh! sweet to dream in the noontide heat,
On the scented bed of thyme and clover,
With the air from the sea, blown keen and sweet,
And the wings of the wide sky folded over,
While, far in the blue, the skylark sings,
Renounce desire and renounce endeavour,
Forget life's little unworthy things
And dream that the dream will last for ever.
The love of your life, in your heart's hid shrine,
With its gifts and its torments, leave it sighing,
And I will bury the pain of mine
In the selfsame grave where its joy is lying.
Let me hold your hand for a quiet hour
In the wild thyme's scent and the clear blue weather,
Then come what may, we have plucked one flower,
This hour on the downs alone together.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Night Worker
A spider spun his web all night
and waited patiently.
A fly had circled all the morn
and buzzed there cautiously.
The spider watched and stayed so still.
No movement did he make.
And by and by the fly descended
and landed wide-awake.
He spotted the spider and tried his best
to escape the sticky trap.
The spider watched and slowly moved
and the fly with his handicap
became the bait inside the web
that the spider made at night.
The spider had his breakfast early
in the morning light.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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My dear dream
Dream of sea,
Dream of ships,
Dream of huge ocean,
Dream of men in unifom
Its my dream, dream so different,
Dream so new, dream of dark sky up above,
Dream of sea so calm, dream of sea roaring,
Its my sweet dream.
Dream so sweet, wonderfull, special, close to my heart,
Its my sweet dream.
Dreaming to get my dreams happen.
Its my sweet dream.
poem by Anees Akbar
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I Once Looked At A Face
I once looked at a face
which in a single glance spoke volumes to me,
the traffic lights, the cars
the other people on the sidewalk
went by unnoticed
The glittering of her eyes
their colour and expression
her slender nose, her dimpled cheek
her lustrous dark hair
made a lasting impression
as if I was looking at an ideal form
but there was more to it than just that
and her sparkling laughter
the way that she threw her hair back
had an own significance
Yet more stunning was her actions
of which years later I am still trying
to decipher the meaning
as she walked up to me
flinging her arms around my neck
She drew my head down to hers
her perfume was enchanting
her lips sweet, soft and hot against mine
and there was a kind of electricity
while she kissed me
I was totally dumbfounded
while her laughter
was both sweet and serene
and she was a stranger to me
but extremely pretty
She looked at me
for another moment in excitement
with a smile on her lips
before she walked away
with swinging hips
poem by Gert Strydom
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Madame Joy
All the men would turn their head
When she walked down the street
Clothes are fine and hair that shine
Smiling oh so sweet, smiling oh so sweet
Got a taste of all religion
Comes on with the new
In her hair a yellow ribbon
And shes decked out all in blue
Oh yes in, decked out all in blue
Steppin lightly, steppin brightly
With her books in hand
Going to the university to teach them
Help them understand
And are helping em understand
And all the kids would love to see her
Follow in her steps
And tell her stories and adore her
Climb in through the fence
Climb in through the fence
Here she comes walking
Here she comes talking
I do believe its madame joy
Walking past that old street corner
And shes looking for her boy
Oh yes she is, looking for her boy
Steppin lightly, steppin brightly
With her books in hand
Going to the university to teach them
Help them understand
Yeah, help them understand
I was looking at the way she moved me
And I was seeing every side
Tell me, can I learn the language
Have you got the mind, have you got the mind
Here she comes walking
Here she comes talking
I do believe its madame joy
Shes walking by that old street corner
And shes looking for her boy
Oh yes looking for her boy
And all the men would turn their head
When she walked down the street
Clothes refined and hair that shine
And smiling oh so sweet, oh yes, shes smiling oh so sweet
Smiling, smiling oh so sweet, yeah, yeah, yeah
Smiling, smiling oh so sweet
And all the men would
And all the men would turn their head around
When that woman walked down the street
When that woman walked down the street
When that, when that woman walked
When that woman walked, when that woman walked
When that woman walked, when that woman walked
When that woman walked, what she wore
When that woman, when that woman, when that woman
When that woman, when that woman, when that woman
When that woman, when that woman, when that woman
When that woman, when that woman walked
She just walked
Just kept on walking down the street
When she walked, when she walked down
When she walked on down
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barfly
Barfly.
Outside a bar, Bella Vista, in the sleepy town of Barranquilla-
Colombia- a donkey wore a hat with holes for its ears, dozed.
Hot day, its serenity was endless. Around its closed eyes blue
flies crawled. I’m kind to animals, waved my hand in front of
its eyes to get rid of flies. The beast saw it differently, kicked.
In the street only the donkey, me and the cruel midday sun,
everyone else had sought refuge the dark interior of houses.
Looked at the bar’s dark, cool interior, since the beast didn’t
care for my sympathy I limped back in there and had a beer.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Fresh Flower Blue
It's a fresh flower blue.
I wrap it in a sheet.
I love its scent, it's hues.
It sips the mist, the dew
and leaves an odor, treat
It's a fresh flower blue.
Its pets, the bees and crew
they meet, they greet, they eat.
I love its scent, its hues.
From dawn to dusk they woo
and bask in rain or heat.
It's a fresh flower blue.
There's a flower for you
There's one for me. A treat!
I love its scent, its hues.
The day I say adieu
I send you one so sweet.
It's a fresh flower blue
I love its scent, its hue.
poem by Agatha Lai
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The Web
Two old spinsters
Sitting in the barn,
One used candlewick
The other used yarn,
One wore a bonnet
With a white lace trim,
The other bobbed her hair
With a dragonfly pin.
They spun and they spun
‘Til the bobbins were full,
They'd squeeze out the knots
Put a twist in the wool,
They spun through the day
And on through the night
And glared at each other
If it didn't look right.
While up in the beams
Of the barn overhead
Two spinsters were spinning out
A gossamer thread,
They stared on down
With their little black eyes
And they spun round the bonnet
And the red dragonfly.
The webs floated down
Were glued to each face
With the spinsters spinning
At a frantic pace.
The wheels stopped spinning
With a sudden click-clack
As the spinsters stared
At those eyes, so black.
As the next day dawned
They came to the barn,
The men and the children
Of that little old farm,
The spinsters were spun
In a giant cobweb,
As they sat, eyes staring -
They were stone cold dead!
13 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Desire
Last night I took a turn I never should
I knew nothing good could come of this
Morning's come now and the smoke has cleared
How did I get here from a single kiss
I can't undo what's been done
When the web's already spun
I got caught up in desire
No matter what I say
I can't make it go away
The trouble's just begun
Can't undo what's been done
When I get home there will be hell to pay
I wish there was a way to ease the pain
In a heartbeat I could lose it all
Then my tears would fall, fall like pouring rain
I can't undo what's been done
When the web's already spun
I got caught up in desire
No matter what I say
I can't make it go away
The trouble's just begun
Can't undo what's been done
I can't undo what's been done
When the web's already spun
I got caught up in desire
No matter what I say
I can't make it go away
The trouble's just begun
Can't undo what's been done
No I can't undo what's been done
song performed by by Dixie Chicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Among The Timothy
Long hours ago, while yet the morn was blithe,
Nor sharp athirst had drunk the beaded dew,
A reaper came, and swung his cradled scythe
Around this stump, and, shearing slowly, drew
Far round among the clover, ripe for hay,
A circle clean and grey;
And here among the scented swathes that gleam,
Mixed with dead daisies, it is sweet to lie
And watch the grass and the few-clouded sky,
Nor think but only dream.
For when the noon was turning, and the heat
Fell down most heavily on field and wood,
I too came hither, borne on restless feet,
Seeking some comfort for an echoing mood.
Ah, I was weary of the drifting hours,
The echoing city towers,
The blind grey streets, the jingle of the throng,
Weary of hope that like a shape of stone,
Sat near at hand without a smile or moan,
And weary most of song.
And those high moods of mine that someone made
My heart a heaven, opening like a flower,
A sweeter world where I in wonder strayed,
Begirt with shapes of beauty and the power
Of dreams that moved through that enchanted clime
With changing breaths of rhyme,
Were all gone lifeless now like those white leaves.
That hang all winter, shivering dead and blind
Among the sinewy beeches in the wind,
That vainly calls and grieves.
Ah! I will set no more mine overtasked brain
To barren search and toil that beareth nought,
Forever following with sorefooted pain
The crossing pathways of unbourned thought;
But let it go, as one that hath no skill,
To take what shape it will,
An ant slow-burrowing in the earthy gloom,
A spider bathing in the dew at morn,
Or a brown bee in wayward fancy borne
From hidden bloom to bloom.
Hither and thither o'er the rocking grass
The little breezes, blithe as they are blind,
Teasing the slender blossoms pass and pass,
Soft-footed children of the gipsy wind,
To taste of every purple-fringed head
Before the bloom is dead;
And scarcely heed the daisies that, endowed
With stems so short they cannot see, up-bear
Their innocent sweet eyes distressed, and stare
Like children in a crowd.
Not far to fieldward in the central heat,
Shadowing the clover, a pale poplar stands
With glimmering leaves that, when the wind comes, beat
Together like innumerable small hands,
And with the calm, as in vague dreams astray,
Hang wan and silver-grey;
Like sleepy maenads, who in pale surprise,
Half-wakened by a prowling beast, have crept
Out of the hidden covert, where they slept,
At noon with languid eyes.
The crickets creak, and through the noonday glow,
That crazy fiddler of the hot mid-year,
The dry cicada plies his wiry bow
In long-spun cadence, thin and dusty sere:
From the green grass the small grasshoppers' din
Spreads soft and silvery thin:
And ever and anon a murmur steals
Into mine ears of toil that moves alway,
The crackling rustle of the pitch-forked hay
And lazy jerk of wheels.
As so I lie and feel the soft hours a wane,
To wind and sun and peaceful sound laid bare,
That aching dim discomfort of the brain
Fades off unseen, and shadowy-footed care
Into some hidden corner creeps at last
To slumber deep and fast;
And gliding on, quite fashioned to forget,
From dream to dream I bid my spirit pass
Out into the pale green ever-swaying grass
To brood, but no more fret.
And hour by hour among all shapes that grow
Of purple mints and daisies gemmed with gold
In sweet unrest my visions come and go;
I feel and hear and with quiet eyes behold;
And hour by hour, the ever-journeying sun,
In gold and shadow spun,
Into mine eyes and blood, and through the dim
Green glimmering forest of the grass shines down,
Till flower and blade, and every cranny brown,
And I are soaked with him.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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In Wait!
Your arms are warm wrapped around my body
Your breath, sweet, lazily it wafts over my face
I can feel your chest rise and fall next to mine
Your hair and eyes shine brightly in the dark
As I close my eyes to dream off
I wake in this dark room to find I left the dream behind
The cold air from the window swings its fanged head and bites at my exposures
To think, you were just here
Not a memory but a dream, a wish, my wish
To have that dream in reality
Given two or four years time
That dream will be real
For now I live in a real nightmare until the sun comes
Due to the darkness and lone dreamer
It is hard to find comfort and return to a calm sleep
As thoughts of you press hard on my mind and sway thus
It only deepens the wounded thought that I must wait hours to see you
Hours to hold and years to fulfill that dream
For now I shall dream and dwell upon them
Because dreams give me insight to the future
Let it be a De’javu.
poem by Ryan Collins
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Tiny Angel
.Tiny Angel,
Fragile and weak,
Spun from silken chalk.
Tiny Angel,
Fierce and strong,
Spun from silken chalk.
My fallen Tiny Angel
Fragile and weak,
Gave me strength and hope.
Spun from silken chalk.
My fallen Tiny Angel,
Strong and brave,
Spun from silken chalk.
My sleeping Tiny Angel,
Spun from silken chalk,
No longer fragile and weak,
Flies.......
poem by Christina Jayne
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