Haunted Shores
Herodias and I have led a phantom cavalcade
Through veiled and pagan history where superstitions reigned
And Christendom sought to pervet but poets of my name
Sang of penumbral victories that sorcery had claimed
The Graal and mighty Caliburn as votive offerings
To an England rearisen under vast majestic wings
These are the shores whereto my soul
Blood drenched and unredeemed
Shalt seek solace in secrets told
Through the whispers of a dream
From the woods Pendragon-born
song performed by by Cradle Of Filth from Dusk And Her Embrace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Song Of An Emigrant
Far away! O far away,
Over the wide sea's bounding spray,
Many a league o'er the pelting foam.
We seek a country, we seek a home!
Farewell, England! our native land,
Lingering still on thy verdant strand,
We look our last on thy once-loved shore,
And vow in our hearts to return no more.
Far away! O far away!
Nothing invites us here to stay.
England, our mother, is hard as stone,
And shuts her ear to her children's moan,
And running on to destruction sure,
Pampers the rich, and grinds the poor!
Farewell, England! A last farewell!
We fly thy shores, but we wish thee well.
Far away! O far away!
We seek a world o'er the ocean spray.
Welcome, O land across the sea,
Where bread is plenty, and man is free;
Welcome, the woods and deserts drear,
And boundless fields of another sphere.
Our sails are set, and the breezes swell,
England, Our country--Farewell! Farewell!
poem by Charles Mackay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Sing Last / Not For Tears
We've been told lies.
We've been herded around
Taken for rides, told that this is the one
We've learned all the steps and where do they lead
Right back to zero or not far I believe
Making history as we open our eyes
And no one's quite sure so we... We improvise
And wherever it leads us is wherever we'll go
I'd dance forever if they'd let me, you know
Wearing our hair up in anger we cry
The revolutions dead it went out in style
The children are learning much faster than we
Soon they'll be older but then again, so will we
Time has come for each of us to decide
To follow blindly or to step out of line
The party is over it has been for years
Let's use the water to wash up, not for tears
Seems such a pity
It seemed we had the same dream
And thinking of things past
You sang first I sang last
You sang first I sang last
You sang first I sang last
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Neolithic To Greco Roman Time Lost Ritual Overtones
Neolithic rituals primal urges Greco Roman votive offerings
Neolithic polished axe hoards beg question votive victories
or authority to net rule in peace to execute like Roman fasces?
power jurisdiction wielded society as strength through unities
votive offerings prayers beg need fulfill embedded perplexities?
Bronze Age axe hoards morph into what high status artifacts
swords spearheads anticipate achievement of sharp pointed wishes?
define mist millennia centuries into cult time cut religious purposes?
swords spearheads buried ritually cast into water bodies peat bogs
sacrificed into bodies of water rivers bogs of no possible recoveries?
ritual hoard objects often all broken killing future utilitarian usages?
deposition purposefully discarding valuable items swords spearheads
achieves what individual social time lost fixated ritual overtones?
what mysteries into rivers lakes wet places cast what urge needs?
what neurons spark brain zaps fire camera flash in core vortexes?
votive faces eyes ears see hear appear ever attentive guardians?
terracotta votive offerings amass phalli breasts uteri fascinates?
possibilities pre Viagra Greco Roman Bacchantes desires orgies?
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode to Hecate
In You My Millennia Long Search Has
Found it's Long Sought Conclusion-
It's 'Death or Glory' for Us, Hecate,
Carlo Gambino, or NOTHING,
For You & I,
You, & You alone Shine Brighter than if You
Were Born the Legitimate Daughter of
The Prince of the East-
You halt Me Snip of the Silver Cord
That Gratefully Imprisons Me-
You halted Me Snip of the Silver Cord
That Gratefully Gaoled Me in the Here, & Now!
'The Brightest Stars are Not Always in
The Mood to Sing', As You Know, 'I
Shall Speak as Liberal as The North'.
'Magick & Art have Strange linkages'.
My Friend Dante Krysto Sleeps Hanging
Upside Down from Your Roof like a Bat
Preserved in a Vat of Liquid near
Crystal Beasts! of the Chainsawed Forests
'Here', Here
Old Love will Spread Sun simple, HERE
Our New skin will turn from
Kindergarten Yellow, to Burnt Orange, to Pale Black,
& Back to a Pastel Red!
Just Loan Shark Me 6 Agonizing Minutes
Of Cobra Kicking Blood, & a Rectangle
Of sHiMmErInG Mauve & I'll Hip
You to the Dirty Secrets of 'MR.CLEAN',
& The Sepulchre of the Souls Botox
Injected Need, In-
Deed,
'I Shall Speak as Liberal as The North',
As Some Character claimed in 'Falstaff'.
Your Distant Embrace is the only Portal
to the Realm to which I Constantly
Pine to Return.
In you My Millenia Long Search has Found it's
Long Sought Conclusion-
It is ' Transition or Glory' for Us Two who are
Swinging for The Fences of ETERNITY,
Hecate,
Carlo Gambino or NOTHING, for us, NOW! !
It is.
Conjured By: Stedmond Pardy
October 22nd,2012
Poets note-
'The brightest Stars are Not always in the Mood to sing'
is a nod to One of my favourite Canadian poets
Susan Musgrave.
& Hecate- ' is an ancient goddess, frequently depicted in triple form and variously associated with crossroads, entrance-ways, fire, light, the Moon, magic, witchcraft, knowledge of herbs and poisonous plants, necromancy, and sorcery.[1][2] She has rulership over earth, sea and sky, as well as a more universal role as Saviour (Soteira) , Mother of Angels and the Cosmic World Soul'.
poem by Stedmond M. Pardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Statesman
Captain be he, my England, who doth know
Not careful coasts, with inland welcomes warm;
But who, with heart infallible, can go
Straight to the gulf-streams of the World, where blow
The inevitable Winds. Let cockles swarm
The sounded shores. He helms Thee, England! who,
Faced by the very Spirit of the Storm,
Full at the phantom drives his dauntless prow!
And tho' the Vision rend in racks of blood,
And drip in thunder from his reeling spars,
The compass in his hand, beholds the flood
Beneath, o'er-head the everlasting stars
Dim thro' the gory ghost; and calm in these,
Thro' that tremendous dream sails on to happier seas.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When We Get To England
When we get to england
Will we know when weve arrived?
When we get to england
Will we know if she has died?
Does the girl with the dogs
Still live in the big house
On the corner?
Are the boys collecting frogs
Still marching away
To die in war?
Like its all from a dream
Like its all from some history book
Didnt look too hard
Did I miss something that I should have seen?
When we get to england
Will it still be there?
When we get to england
Will we know where weve arrived?
When we get to england
Will a kiss bring her alive?
Once a farmer in the field
Had to grow enough
To feed his family
Now they pay him for his yield
Just to burn it down
And throw away
Like its all from a dream
Like its all in a crystal ball
Did it fall so hard?
Rest in pieces on a village green
When we get to england
Will it still be there?
When we get to england
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Attics Of My Life
In the attics of my life, full of cloudy dreams unreal.
Full of tastes no tongue can know, and lights no eyes can see.
When there was no ear to hear, you sang to me.
I have spent my life seeking all thats still unsung.
Bent my ear to hear the tune, and closed my eyes to see.
When there was no strings to play, you played to me.
In the book of loves own dream, where all the print is blood.
Where all the pages are my days, and all the lights grow old.
When I had no wings to fly, you flew to me, you flew to me.
In the secret space of dreams, where I dreaming lay amazed.
When the secrets all are told, and the petals all unfold.
When there was no dream of mine, you dreamed of me.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Attic Of My Life
In the attics of my life, full of cloudy dreams unreal.
Full of tastes no tongue can know, and lights no eyes can see.
When there was no ear to hear, you sang to me.
I have spent my life seeking all that's still unsung.
Bent my ear to hear the tune, and closed my eyes to see.
When there was no strings to play, you played to me.
In the book of love's own dream, where all the print is blood.
Where all the pages are my days, and all the lights grow old.
When I had no wings to fly, you flew to me, you flew to me.
In the secret space of dreams, where I dreaming lay amazed.
When the secrets all are told, and the petals all unfold.
When there was no dream of mine, you dreamed of me
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Offspring Blessings Opposes Barren Desires
votive faces eyes ears see hear appear ever attentive guardians?
terracotta votive offerings amass phalli breasts uteri fascinates?
possibilities pre Viagra Greco Roman Bacchantes desires orgies?
offspring blessings opposes barren cursed shame couples childless?
votive offerings reasoned fixation items pepper ancient societies?
feature throughout diverse modern societies evil eye luck beads
patron saints crucifixes prayer beads ritualistic in varied religions?
an assortment of rites head coverings adorn male female devotees?
all share desires respect given gains favor with supernatural forces?
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Pagan Place
How did he come here?
Who gave him the key?
Slipped it in his hand
So secretly
And who put the colour
Like lines on his face?
Brought him here
To a pagan place
Now who shot his arrow?
How high did it fly?
When he tipped it with poison
Did he even know why?
What unseen hand
Brought him face to face to face to face with
All this and more
In a pagan place?
Come into my parlour
Sail in at my shore
Drink my soul dry
There is always more
There is always more after now
Fly on my carpet
Look into my face
See the heart of man
In a pagan
In a pagan
In a pagan
In a pagan
In a pagan
Pagan...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
On An Engraving Of Hindoo Temples
LITTLE the present careth for the past,
Too little—'tis not well!
For careless ones we dwell
Beneath the mighty shadow it has cast.
Its blessings are around our daily path,
We share its mighty spoil,
We live on its great toil,
And yet how little gratitude it hath.
Look on these temples, they were as a shrine
From whence to the far north
The human mind went forth,
The moral sunshine of a world divine—
That inward world which maketh of our clay
Its temporary home;
From whence those lightnings come,
That kindle from a far and better day.
The light that is of heaven shone there the first
The elements of art,
Mankind's diviner part;
There was young science in its cradle nurst.
Mighty the legacies by mind bequeathed,
For glorious were its pains
Amid those giant fanes,
And mighty were the triumphs it achieved
A woman's triumph mid them is imprest
One who upon the scroll
Flung the creative soul,
Disdainful of life's flowers and of its rest.
Vast was the labour, vast the enterprise,
For she was of a race
Born to the lowest place,
Earth-insects, lacking wings whereon to rise.
How must that youthful cheek have lost its bloom,
How many a dream above
Of early hope and love
Must that young heart have closed on like a tomb.
Such throw life's flowers behind them, and aspire
To ask the stars their lore
And from each ancient store
Seek food to stay the mind's consuming fire.
Her triumph was complete and long, the chords
She struck are yet alive;
Not vainly did she strive
To leave her soul immortal on her words.
A great example has she left behind,
A lesson we should take,
Whose first task is to wake
The general wish to benefit our kind.
Our sword has swept o'er India; there remains
A nobler conquest far,
The mind's ethereal war,
That but subdues to civilize its plains.
Let us pay back the past, the debt we owe,
Let us around dispense
Light, hope, intelligence,
Till blessings track our steps where'er we go.
O England, thine be the deliverer's meed,
Be thy great empire known
By hearts made all thine own,
By thy free laws and thy immortal creed.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mighty Wings
By Harold Faltermeyer, Mark Spiro
It's just a ball of dust
Underneath my feet
It rolls around the sun
Doesn't mean that much to me
I take a chance on the edge of life
Just like all the rest
I look inside and dig it out
Cause there's no points for second best
There's a raging fire in my heart tonight
Growing higher and higher in my soul
There's a raging fire in the sky tonight
I want to ride on the silver dove
Far into the night
(Chorus)
Till I make you take me
On your mighty wings
Make you take me
On your mighty wings across the sky
Take me on your mighty wings
Take me on your mighty wings tonight
With just a little luck
A little cold blue steel
I cut the night like a razor blade
Till I feel the way I want to feel
There's a raging fire in my heart tonight
Growing higher and higher in my soul
There's a raging fire in the sky tonight
I want to ride on the silver dove
Far into the night
(Chorus)
Till I make you take me
On your mighty wings
Make you take me
On your mighty wings across the sky
Take me on your mighty wings
Take me on your mighty wings tonight
Take me on your mighty wings
Take me on your mighty wings
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Weary of his land of Spain, an old soldier of the king sought solace in Ariosto’s vast geographies, in that valley of the moon where misspent dream-time goes, and in the golden idol of Mohammed stolen by Montalban.
Jorge Luis Borges in Dreamtigers, Parable of Cervantes and Don Quixote (1955), translated by Mildred Boyer
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Spanish | In Romanian
Sold My Soul
I prayed to God and jesus
But I guess they didnt hear
My sacrfice was useless
My pleas fell on deaf ears
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I looked to the lord in heaven
But he must have looked away
My crying eyes repentant
Please send her love to light my day
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
Sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
Sold my soul to the devil
To the devil
Sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul
I sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Out Of The Fulness Of The Heart The Mouth Speaketh
In answer to those who have said that English Poets
give no personal love to their country.
ENGLAND, my country, austere in the clamorous council of nations,
Set in the seat of the mighty, wielding the sword of the strong,
Have we but sung of your glory, firm in eternal foundations?
Are not your woods and your meadows the core of our heart and our song?
O dear fields of my country, grass growing green, glowing golden,
Green in the patience of winter, gold in the pageant of spring,
Oaks and young larches awaking, wind-flowers and violets blowing,
What, if God sets us to singing, what save you shall we sing?
Who but our England is fair through the veil of her poets' praises,
What but the pastoral face, the fruitful, beautiful breast?
Are not your poets' meadows starred with the English daisies?
Were not the wings of their song-birds fledged in an English nest?
Songs of the leaves in the sunlight, songs of the fern-brake in shadow,
Songs of the world of the woods and songs of the marsh and the mere,
Are they not English woods, dear English marshland and meadow?
Have not your poets loved you? England, are you not dear?
Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom,
Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam,
Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom,
Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home.
Lanes that are white with hawthorn, dykes where the sedges shiver,
Hollows where caged winds slumber, moorlands where winds wake free,
Sowing and reaping and gleaning, spring and torrent and river,
Are they not more, by worlds, than the whole of the world can be?
Is there a corner of land, a furze-fringed rag of a by-way,
Coign of your foam-white cliffs or swirl of your grass-green waves,
Leaf of your peaceful copse, or dust of your strenuous highway,
But in our hearts is sacred, dear as our cradles, our graves?
Is not each bough in your orchards, each cloud in the skies above you,
Is not each byre or homestead, furrow or farm or fold,
Dear as the last dear drops of the blood in the hearts that love you,
Filling those hearts till the love is more than the heart can hold?
Therefore the song breaks forth from the depths of the hidden fountain
Singing your least frail flower, your raiment of seas and skies,
Singing your pasture and cornfield, fen and valley and mountain,
England, desire of my heart, England, delight of mine eyes!
Take my song too, my country: many a son and debtor
Pays you in praise and homage out of your gifts' full store;
Life of my life, my England, many will praise you better,
None, by the God that made you, ever can love you more!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dryden and Pope
Of our Laureate we now do sing-
His youthful muse had daring wing,
He then despised Baronhood,
And sang 'twas noble to be good.
None sang like him of knights of old,
He England's glory did uphold,
In wondrous song he hath arrayed.
Glorious charge of light brigade.
And he hath the people's benison.
Greatest of living poets, Tennyson.
Genius of Dryden and of Pope,
Both did take a mighty scope ;
The first he Virgil did translate,
The second showed us Troy's fate.
On English themes they loved to sing,
And high their muses flight did wing.
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Born From the Blood of the Gael
I learned my history of Ireland
From my father every Friday night,
When he would arrive home from Madigan’s bar
Reciting in song and verse of Ireland’s fight.
He talked of Robert Emmett
And sang of the brave Wolfe Tone,
He spoke with pride of Padraig Pearse
Of James Connolly, he would recite a poem.
It was not the Guinness that fuelled his passion,
For his heritage, he would never part.
And he told me, that I, a son of the Diaspora
Was an Irish bhoy at heart.
He said that Brother Walfrid should be canonized a saint
For his vision and his dream.
For he brought faith and pride to the Glasgow Irish
With men proudly wearing the emerald green.
A second-class citizen is how he had felt all his life
For being a Catholic of Irish descent.
And it burned his soul, the discrimination and bigotry,
That had encountered his up bringing in a Glasgow tenement.
He spoke of the shipyards; he had worked down by the Clyde,
Harassed for his faith, labeled a papist and Fenian.
His solace he found, in Our Lord and the Virgin Mary,
How he sometimes wished, he had the strength of Cúchulainn.
Our heritage and culture, he said, shall last forever
For we are born from the blood of the Gael,
And the next time that you walk into Parkhead,
Those rebel songs of old, sing, shout and yell.
Daniel McDonagh June’2008
poem by Daniel McDonagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Clouds Make Love....
yours lips wet with desire,
tremble the flame....
curtains shout,
and seas divide!
while rain drenched leaves
tempt the wind with touch,
as small children play
hide-and-seek in the shadows.
time burns the edge
of page and thought,
armies disperse, abandoning cars.
rainwater stands in half empty pots,
your hands open and close.
the tongue wrapped around
the butterfly's wings,
heat waves lap at unknown shores.
your breasts rise and fall,
be it dream, or want...
while thunder rolls,
and clouds make love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Buck House...
England attracts with one's view eyes
of tourists.
tall trees, water fountains and colour flags
are bouncing as in the water
as in the mirror.
To be in London and not to see the palace
it is incredible.
To learn his history
it to enter the palace in order
to hear whispers of walls, appliances
and senses hidden deep secrets and the ones
which stopped already being them...
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love Sonnet LX
My mind and heart both love you utterly.
And so each thought of mine is doubly yours,
And all my will about your body pours
Scents of my blood and fires that flow from me.
Who has created me, so young, so free,
Eager to-day to close convention’s doors,
To-morrow to return and sweep the floors
With my loose hair in blinding memory?
Dearest, you have, who gave my heart such love,
It sang the marriage of our mingling blood;
Sweeping us on in a supreme control,
To those vast stillnesses that move above;
And in the wonder of its mighty flood
My mind drew God from your eternal soul.
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!