Elegy With A Bridle In Its Hand
One was a bay cowhorse from Piedra & the other was a washed out palomino
And both stood at the rail of the corral & both went on aging
In each effortless tail swish, the flies rising, then congregating again
Around their eyes & muzzles & withers.
Their front teeth were by now as yellow as antique piano keys & slanted to the angle
Of shingles on the maze of sheds & barn around them; their puckered
Chins were round & black as frostbitten oranges hanging unpicked from the limbs
Of trees all through winter like a comment of winter itself on everything
That led to it & found gradually the way out again.
In the slowness of time. Black time to white, & rind to blossom.
Deity is in the details & we are details among other details & we long to be
Teased out of ourselves. And become all of them.
The bay had worms once & had acquired the habit of drinking orange soda
From an uptilted bottle & nibbling cookies from the flat of a hand, & like to do
Nothing else now, & the palomino liked to do nothing but gaze off
At traffic going past on the road beyond vineyards & it would follow each car
With a slight turning of its neck, back & forth, as if it were a thing
Of great interest to him.
If I rode them, the palomino would stumble & wheeze when it broke
Into a trot & would relapse into a walk after a second or two & then stop
Completely & without cause; the bay would keep going though it creaked
Underneath me like a rocking chair of dry, frail wood, & when I knew it could no longer
Continue but did so anyway, or when the palomino would stop & then take
Only a step or two when I nudged it forward again, I would slip off either one of them,
Riding bareback, & walk them slowly back, letting them pause when they wanted to.
At dawn in winter sometimes there would be a pane of black ice covering
The surface of the water trough & they would nudge it with their noses or muzzles,
And stare at it as if they were capable of wonder or bewilderment.
They were worthless. They were the motionless dusk & the motionless
Moonlight, & in the moonlight they were other worlds. Worlds uninhabited
And without visitors. Worlds that would cock an ear a moment
When the migrant workers come back at night to the sheds they were housed in
And turn a radio on, but only for a moment before going back to whatever
Wordless & tuneless preoccupation involved them.
The palomino was called Misfit & the bay was named Querido Flacco,
And the names of some of the other shapes had been Rockabye
And Ojo Pendejo & Cue Ball & Back Door Peter & Frenchfry & Sandman
And Rolling Ghost & Anastasia.
Death would come for both of them with its bridle of clear water in hand
And they would not look up from grazing on some patch of dry grass or even
Acknowledge it much; & for a while I began to think that the world
Rested on a limitless ossuary of horses where their bones & skulls stretched
And fused until only the skeleton of one enormous horse underlay
The smoke of cities & the cold branches of trees & the distant
Whine of traffic on the interstate.
If I & by implication therefore anyone looked at them long enough at dusk
Or in moonlight he would know the idea of heaven & of life everlasting
Was so much blown straw or momentary confetti
At the unhappy wedding of a sister.
Heaven was neither the light nor was it the air, & if it took a physical form
It was splintered lumber no one could build anything with.
Heaven was a weight behind the eyes & one would have to stare right through it
Until he saw the air itself, just air, the clarity that took the shackles from his eyes
And the taste of the bit from his mouth & knocked the rider off his back
So he could walk for once in his life.
Or just stand there for a moment before he became something else, some
Flyspeck on the wall of a passing & uninteruptible history whose sounds claimed
To be a cheering from bleachers but were actually no more than the noise
Of cars entering the mouths of a tunnel.
And in the years that followed he would watch them in the backstretch or the far turn
At Santa Anita or Del Mar. Watch the way they made it all seem effortless,
Watch the way they were explosive & untiring.
And then watch the sun fail him again & slip from the world, & watch
The stands slowly empty. As if all moments came back to this one, inexplicably
To this one out of all he might have chosen-Heaven with ashes in its hair
And filling what were once its eyes-this one with its torn tickets
Littering the aisles & the soft racket the wind made. This one. Which was his.
And if the voice of a broken king were to come in the dusk & whisper
To the world, that grandstand with its thousands of empty seats,
Who among the numberless you have become desires this moment
Which comprehends nothing more than loss & fragility & the fleeing of flesh?
He would have to look up at the quickening dark & say: Me. I do. It's mine.
poem by Larry Levis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silver Palomino
(A mother dies leaving her young son
to come to terms with the loss.
In remembrance of Fiona Chappel,
for her sons Tyler and Oliver.)
I was barely 13 years old
She came out of the Guadalupe's on a night so cold
Her coat was frosted diamonds in the sallow moon's glow
My silver palomino
Sixteen hands from her withers to the ground
I lie in bed and listen to the sound
Of the west Texas thunder roll
My silver palomino
I track her into the mountains she loved
Watch her from the rocks above
She'd dip her neck and drink from the winter flows
My silver palomino
Our mustaeros were the very best, sir
But they could never lay a rope on her
No corral will ever hold
The silver palomino
In my dreams bareback I ride
Over the pradera low and wide
As the wind sweeps out the draw
'Cross the scrub desert floor
I'd give my riata and spurs
If I could be forever yours
I'd ride into the serrania where no one goes
For my silver palomino
Summer drought come hard that year
Our herd grazed the land so bare
Me and my dad had to blowtorch the thorns off the prickly pear
And mother, your hand slipped from my hair
Tonight I wake early the sky is pearl, the stars aglow
I saddle up my red roan
I ride deep into the mountains along a ridge of pale stone
Where the air is still with the coming snow
As I rise higher I can smell your hair
The scent of your skin, mother, fills the air
'Midst the harsh scrub pine that grows
I watch the silver palomino
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Path Of Mirrors
They walk so close to you, yet so far away
Their eyes are lost, their faces fixed like stone
They walk behind the mirrors and here they shall stay
You walk with other souls liveng, breathing, yet for them they are alone
You walk through the hall way down the path of glass
You watch as they walk on into eternity, into the dark
They walk there behind the glass,
People around you going through leaving their mark.
They walk past your reflection as if you never saw
They walk through time as if time weren’t there
They know you would never aproach them
They know you would never dare.
They walk through the glass and look straight ahead,
They know nothing lies ahead, yet they know they can not turn back,
So they walk into nothing instead,
Passing you so all you see is their back.
You pause infront of the glass looking looking past,
You know that you shall not join them you know it is not your fate
You think about the footsteps you take, wondering which shall be your last,
You walk on again only thinking of their fate
Their faces emotionless the souls so cold,
You think of how you own skin feels, so warm,
You watch as the move like action figures made from a mold,
All the same, all waiting out the storm
The storm of life, the storm of death,
You walk along side them as they walk past everyone,
They watch ahead never turning, never looking above,
They turn to noone.
You walk along beside them as they take no notice to lifes dance,
They only walk past, walk through the mirrors of fate,
Kepping one great stance,
You watch people finding their fate.
Their faces so still, alone in the world, without hope
You watch them walk on, you watch them pass
You see their unmoving faces, as they walk up the endless slope
They walk along, behind the glass.
You turn to watch as their souls move on,
You reach out your hand to touch the glass,
Only to feel the glass is gone,
You watch as your hand passes through the glass.
As you hand melts through one by one the spirits turn,
One takes your hand and pulls your arm through,
More spirits feel your presence and more turn,
They watch as you melt through.
You watch your world leave as you leave it,
You have found you fate and not you are here along with them,
They walk on as you pull your body through, leaving behind the sweater of life you knit,
You have come and joined them.
You look back at the mirror to look at your face,
And you see your eyes becoming lost,
As you enter their race,
The race that shall never end, the race through eternity, for now you are lost
You skin feels so cold you face feels so hard,
You walk with them, as one
As you emotions turn hard,
In true time you are done.
You walk with them, walk alone
They walk so close to you, yet so far away
As everything becomes an endless drone,
For now you are here to stay.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hands Of Time
If I could turn back the hands of time,
I know now that I really would,
I would then go to that special time,
The time that I could of known you.
As I have prayed, that I only could.
I would go when the roses where in bloom,
And their fragrant scent was in the air,
Never for me would the time be to soon,
As then would I compare your beauty to theirs.
Roses would be jealous, at you I would stare.
If I could turn back the sands of time,
I would do it in the wink of an eye,
I would gladly give all, only to be with you,
Then never again would we have to cry.
And from our woes, we could forever hide.
I close my eyes and I paint me a picture,
As if I could turn back the hands of time,
Together we would be, just you and me,
And then watch of time I would never rewind.
We would then be one in our own special time.
If I could turn back the movements of time,
I would gladly, but sadly that can never be,
As time marches on, through the dusk and dawn,
Till the day our souls and bodies are free.
For time doesn't stop, for any one mans plead.
I stare at the calendar upon my wall,
I memorize the watch that's rests on my wrist,
I think now how time has already passed me by,
So then to myself and time, I make a special wish.
I close my eyes, I freeze time, then I blow you a kiss.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Outside My Window (not finished yet)
The sun sets on another day
I watch it as it goes beyond the horizon
From my claustrophobic hotel room
I admire the colors in the sky
My eyes stray from the sun
To my darkening surroundings
From my third floor view
I see the tops of the trees ahead
For the winter they are dead
Lonely and uncovered
Naked, they seem to tremble
With the cool gust of wind
With the wind, though,
The trees come alive
Seemingly moving by theirselves
Swaying back and forth
Through the broken branches
And further towards the sun
I watch the traffic
Of a busy interstate
With the night fall ensuing
The traffic has quieted
Sparsely, the cars past my view
Mostly tractor trailers now
I can hear one of their low toned,
Yet noisy horns
The sounds of civilization
The interstate seperates me from the airport
Always busy
The planes take off and land
Every couple of minutes it seems
I catch a glimpse
Of a big passenger jet
The howling of it's engines
Deafen me
As the plane takes flight
It turns towards the sun
I watch as different shades of red,
Orange, and yellow reflect off it's wings
Within a few minutes
The plane is gone from sight
And my attention is focused
Onto the sun once again
Now it's barely visible
As the last of it disappears
Behind the airport
Behind the interstate
Behind the trees
Outside my window
poem by Matthew Jenkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The farmer and his wife (Sestina)
A girl was lying down flat on her back
with a straw hat at eye height over hair,
she was sun-struck, curling and fair
with a rain cloud ominous and black
drifting in a blue sky and a small track
meandering past and it needed some repair.
Some of your makeup is in need of repair,
there’s a guitar bag slung over your back
where you walk pass the girl at the dirt track
with the strong wind frizzling through your hair
and the sky is already turning black
but the evening up to now is fair.
Slowly you walk past the local fair
with some of the stalls needing repair,
the guitar you are carrying is black
and you walk straight on, do not look back
at the whistles of some men with long hair
while home you take a narrow long track.
Watching our horses on the racetrack
you are really sexy and very fair,
our horses do parade with shining hair
you notice that the stands need some repair
and I am standing somewhat at your back
while you are dressed prettily in black.
The highway is like a ribbon that is black
where it meets the old overgrown farm track,
there are huge blue-gum trees some way back
and you agree that the price of the Lucerne is fair
where some cows graze at the pen, needing repair,
swishing with tails to drive flies from their hair.
I pull my fingers slowly through my hair
and there are streaks of grey in the black,
but the cattle are only doing fair
while my love is coming with the field’s track
that must constantly be kept in repair
and I hear her singing over my back.
There were torn out hair a long time back,
when I met my darling and she was fair,
at a fight at a track, I was in need of repair.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Turning Back From The Abyss
Watch the contents of the bottle go down the sink.
Oh, how I want a drink.
I must resist, I must resist.
The smell of alcohol in the air.
I can almost taste it there.
Temptation is rife.
I must resist the urge, I must resist.
I open the window,
breath deeply in air
This is the first hour,
of the first day.
Time is my enemy
I have to ignore.
If I watch it go slowly,
I’ll only want a drink more.
Must go for a walk,
so its outs of sight
Oh, day turn to night,
night turn to day.
The streets are too busy
for anyone to notice me.
The road back is harder,
than the one I slipped down
The way is steeper.
Take a little step at a time.
With each new passing day,
Must keep the demons
and nightmares at bay.
I might stumble,
but I dare not slip again.
First rid your life of bottles,
shave everyday,
try to look presentable,
clean your clothes.
Theses are my daily vows.
Step out into the sunlight
Hold your head up high
Your going to make it,
through this day.
Tomorrow is somewhere else,
just think of today.
The minutes stretch like hours
You look at bottles on display
The demon inside you tells you
“Go in and buy one.”
No, you can’t go back
now that you’ve started.
Walk by, ignore what you see.
Take no second glance.
Just keep walking away
Temptation may be rife.
You’ve got to fight the urge.
No one said it would be easy
There was no magic cure.
You’ve got to think future,
make it your goal.
With every step you take,
think of smiling faces, cheering you on.
Family and friends, you thought were all gone.
Remember their faces.
See what they see.
They want you back,
the way you used to be.
Happy and loving and care free.
You owe it to yourself,
to see the whole thing through.
If you want that life again
Walk by the temptations,
every step along the way.
Dispel the demon,
everything he has to say.
You can do it if you want to.
Hand will outstretch
to help you through.
The way back is never easy
Take each day as it comes.
Oh, sure there will be bad ones.
You’ll cry for the bottle,
to ease all the pain.
Don’t reach for it
and drag yourself down again.
Remember if you fall this time.
you may never get another chance.
Take it while you’ve got it.
Go one make your stance.
The choice is yours.
The bottle or a new life.
The bottle, loneliness and empty again.
A new life, job, family and friends.
The choice is yours.
Think carefully my friend.
Make all the nightmares end.
I’m strong now, I’ll walk by.
I want what I lost,
all those years ago.
Straight ahead I look,
no second glance take.
I must climb this road,
no matter how long it takes.
29 Jan 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fade to Black
Do you think of me
or am I just a forgotten memory
like the others before
when you look back
do I cross your mind
this love you made so blind
or does it just fade to black
Should I still feel this way
like it was only yesterday
I watched you walk away
As I travel down
this empty highway
I fade to black
Tell me was he hard to find
or did it just come so easy
the first time he made you smile
Do you look at him
to see me standing there
do you just not care anymore
as you watch another day
fade to black
As I drive another lonely mile
farther from you on this dusty road
do you ever miss me at all
baby, just for a little while
while you watch the night fall
in that big open sky
do you ever cry
or just fade to black
So many nights pass us by
still my arms are empty
while he's holding you tight
loving you til the morning light
my love rolls down a one way track
yeah, I look back
you're nowhere to be found
I try to turn around
I fade to black
Do you think of me
girl, how you lost your best friend
or do you try to pretend
I was just a beginning to an end
as you fade to black
(spiritwind-2006)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If Heaven Could Wait
If Heaven Could Wait by Kenny Davis
If heaven could wait
If only for a year
If only, but a slight moment longer
One chance more to hold her near
If heaven could only wait
If only just for a night
That my eyes may have a chance at one last glance
At her beauty once more in the moonlight
If heaven could only wait
If only for one last sunrise
A moment to gaze upon the majestic horizon
As the sun glistens from her eyes
If heaven could only wait
If only for an hour
Time to hold her tight
Before a time spent without her
Lord, why would you bless me with a love like this
Only to have it taken away
Can I please just have this one moment longer?
Oh, if heaven could only wait
If heaven could only wait
All I simply ask for is time
For the man who is blessed to have her heart
And for the woman proudly holding mine
Is it possible for heaven to wait?
If only for, but a season
One last chance to cherish moments with her
Please allow me this minute more within reason
Lord, please understand
Leaving her so soon, is very hard
To call up my soul from hers
Would cause me to shed heartbroken tears from the stars
Can Heaven have a time to wait?
To avoid this momentary hurt
Although I would love nothing more than to be with you Lord
She is, but my only tie here to this Earth.
After all of this pain, all of this time
I have finally found the one you have made for me
You have divinely favored me to find true love here on Earth
Only to tell me now I must leave?
If heaven could only wait
Long enough to have one last cry
As I look into her eyes, as we say our last goodbyes
Before you call me in the sky
It’s hard to say such things as this
When being with her and God means so much
I would die to be with both of them
From them, I would die for one last touch
© August 2011 k.davis
poem by Kenneth Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sand In My Shoes
Two weeks away feels like the whole world should've changed
But I'm home now
And things still look the same
I think I'll leave it till tomorrow to unpack
Try to forget for one more night
That I'm back in my flat on the road
Where the cars never stop going through the night
To real life where I can't watch the sun set
I don't have time
I don't have time
Chorus:
I've still got sand in my shoes
And I can't shake the thought of you
I should get on, forget you
but why would I want to
I know we said goodbye
Anything else would have been confused but I want to see you again
Tomorrow's back to wwork and down to sanity
should run a bath and then clear up the mess I made before I left here
Try to remind myself that i was happy here
Before I knew that I could get on the plane and fly away
From the road where the cars never stop going through the night
To a life where I can watch the sun set
And take my time
Take all our time
Chorus
Two weeks away, all it takes to change and turn me around I've fallen
I walked away and never said that I wanted to see you again
Chorus x 2
I wanna see you again
I wanna see you again
song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watch Me Fade
Watch me fade.
You wont change.
You play a game.
Leave a stain.
That just wont go away.
And this will be a price you pay.
watch me fade.
Always the same.
A forgotten name.
A picture on post card.
That says i cared.
Preparing for a long trip.
Digging the trench I'm gonna hide in.
Selling your soul to keep a friend. Watch me fade.
The bar has been raised.
No longer afraid.
I lost and will lose nothing.
Its for the best.
Its hell of a mess.
But this time their is a rewind.
Its pact that cant be taken back.
Watch me fade.
Going right into the clouds.
Covered by a shroud of darkness.
Lift that veil.
Protection from sight.
Watch me fade.
Dawn, changes to dusk.
I will do what I must.
Where is the trust.
Ashes turn to dust.
A speckle on a painting.
Millions of them.
Watch me fade.
Forget my face.
Forget my name.
Memories will wain.
Traveling through the plains of endless time.
Lost in my mind.
Digging deep for the soul I keep.
I have found it again.
Watch me fade.
Assumptions made out jade.
Its so perfect that it can't be.
Don't you see.
Your disease has crawled inside me.
It slowly eats at my skin.
So i was there to defend.
So you were just pretending.
Well watch me fade.
Gone with the wind.
This time i wont be back again.
You have what you want.
So don't.
Because i won't.
It went way to far.
This time it has left scar.
I'm not a martyr for your cause.
I will not miss one bit of it.
I no longer give in to a reason that does not exist.
To care has only brought me despair.
I was choking on the air.
But now i can breath.
Now i know why i must leave.
So just watch me fade, just fade.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saddle Up The Palomino
Oh, oh, carmelina,
The daughter of the wealthy banker.
Since she came to town all my friends are gone,
And Im stuck out here with melody.
Saddle up the palomino, the sun is going down.
The way I feel, this must be real.
If you cant cut it, dont pick up the knife.
Theres no reward in your conscience stored
When youre sleepin with another mans wife.
Saddle up the palomino, the sun is going down.
The way I feel, this must be real.
I wanna lick the platter, the gravy doesnt matter.
Its a cold bowl of chili when love lets you down,
But its the neighbors wife Im after.
Saddle up the palomino, the sun is going down.
The way I feel, this must be real.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tuesday In Amsterdam (Adam Solo)
A picture of Amsterdam
Bare trees under glass
Framed in the grey and white afternoon light
Of a winter long passed
When I was a riser
To Dublin I'd roam
She was a bareback rider
Some miles from home
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Shes a carnival diver
Hung in the sky
Cutting through time like a memory
Strung on a wire
Now the color of anything
Fades in the air
She is the film of a book
Of the story of the smell of her hair
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
When everythings over
And everythings clear
When everyones older
And no one is here
I try to remember
A girl on a wire
Tumbling and diving above Stevens Green
Like a kite in the air
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Oh come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me yeah
Come back to me
Come back to me
Come back to me
song performed by by Counting Crows
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sand In My Shoes (Above And Beyond Mix)
two weeks away feels like the whole world should have changed
but i'm home now, and things still look the same
i think i'll leave it till tomorrow to unpack, try to forget for one more night
that i'm back in my flat
on the road where the cars never stop going through the night
to a life where i can't watch the sun set, i don't have time, i don't have time
i've still got sand in my shoes and i can't shake the thought of you
i should get on, forget you but why would i want to
i know we said goodbye, anything else would have been confused
but i want to see you again
tomorrow's back to work and down to sanity
should run a bath and then clear up the mess i made before i left here
try to remind myself that i was happy before i knew that i could get
on a plane and fly away
from the road where the cars never stop going through the night
to a life where i can watch the sun set and take my time, take all our time
two weeks away, all it takes, to change and turn me around i've fallen
i walked away, and never said, that i wanted to see you again
i've still got sand in my shoes and i can't shake the thought of you
i should get on, forget you but why would i want to
i know we said goodbye, anything else would have been confused
but i want to see you again
song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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La Booga Rooga
Writers: andy fairweather low
Dont look back, thatll get you nowhere
A wall to wall suit and space circus hair
One step forward, one step back
Thats what happens and thats a fact
To tell the truth, you raise up your hand
Dont write me no invitations in the sand
And when you talk, say what you mean
Just keep it dry, lord, and keep it clean
Watch out for la booga rooga
Some you win and some you loosa
Watch out for la booga rooga
Some you win and some you loosa
I dont know why and I cant explain
Why Im lost on a street with no name
But thats alright, thats okay
I just feel like Im slipping away
Satellite mama, if you are near
Hey, the partys over, now just get me outa here
Silent night, watch over me
See that nobody writes me into the dream
Watch out for la booga rooga
Some you win and some you loosa
Watch out for la booga rooga
Some you win and some you loosa
Im on fire, inside my head
Someone put out the light
And they sent the world to bed
Its not too late, but I just cant stop
I think this time Im going over the top
Hey, mr. dogface, please let me in
Say, dont you think that Im worth rememberin
Watch your step, watch what you do
cause you need me much more than I need you
Watch out for la booga rooga
Some you win and some you loosa
Watch out for la booga rooga
Some you win and some you loosa
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back In Black (live 1981)
Back in black
I hit the sack
I've been too long I'm glad to be back [I bet you know I'm...]
Yes, I'm let loose
From the noose
That's kept me hanging about
I've been looking at the sky
'Cause it's gettin' me high
Forget the hearse 'cause I never die
I got nine lives
Cat's eyes
Abusin' every one of them and running wild
CHORUS:
'Cause I'm back
Yes, I'm back
Well, I'm back
Yes, I'm back
Well, I'm back, back
(Well) I'm back in black
Yes, I'm back in black
Back in the back
Of a Cadillac
Number one with a bullet, I'm a power pack
Yes, I'm in a bang
With a gang
They've got to catch me if they want me to hang
Cause I'm back on the track
And I'm beatin' the flack
Nobody's gonna get me on another rap
So look at me now
I'm just makin' my play
Don't try to push your luck, just get out of my way
CHORUS
Well, I'm back, Yes I'm back
Well, I'm back, Yes I'm back
Well, I'm back, back
Well I'm back in black
Yes I'm back in black
hooo yeah
Ohh yeah
Yes I am
Oooh yeah, yeah Oh yeah
Back in now
Well I'm back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back
Back in black
Yes I'm back in black
Out of the sight
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The highwayman
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
PART TWO
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
...
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Bare-Back Rider (A Lucid Dream)
He was a stallion
A big black horse, I was
Astride his back, muscular, bare
Hanging on to mere tufts
of his shiny black hair
I don’t know how I got there
It seemed like a dream
Me on this big horse galloping
through a dark forest thick with trees
with gnarly branches reaching for me
Terrified I crouch as low as I can
Try to grip the horse’s flesh
but I couldn't so I hold on
to his mane for dear life
and with a prayer I close my eyes
Don’t throw me off
Don’t let this forest take me
Don't leave me here
This nightmare will devour me
Please go slow dear horse
Don't stumble and fall
Be careful of the rocks
And branches hanging low
But he would not go slow, oh no!
He was on a mission
To where I didn’t know
I had no choice but to hold on
Clinging for my life
Praying the branches won’t
Hit him in the eyes
So I stay there like that, eyes shut
My body as close to to his as I could get
My face pressed to his neck
I cry, wracked with fear
Certain I would die right there
After a while, after what seemed like ages
And nothing happening
Only the sound of hoofs
and the wind whipping
I suddenly realize...
This horse is bigger than me
If the branches don’t hit him
How can they hit me
He is not afraid of the dark
If he's not afraid of dying
Why should I be
Slowly I sit upright
Slowly I open my eyes
The scenery had changed
The rider and the horse are now
One and the same
poem by Sonya Florentino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Crane
The biggest crane on earth, it lifts
Two hundred ton more easily
Than I can lift my heavy head:
And when it swings, the whole world shifts,
Or so, at least, it seems to me,
As, day and night, adream I lie
Upon my crippled back in bed,
And watch it against the sky.
My mother, hunching in her chair,
Day-long, and stitching trousers there--
At three-and-three the dozen pair . . .
She'd sit all night, and stitch for me,
Her son, if I could only wear . . .
She never lifts her eyes to see
The big crane swinging through the air.
But though she has no time to talk,
She always cleans the window-pane,
That I may see it clear and plain:
And as I watch it move, I walk
Who never walked in all my days . . .
And often, as I dream agaze,
I'm up and out, and it is I
Who swing the crane across the sky.
Right up above the wharf I stand,
And touch a lever with my hand,
To lift a bunch of girders high,
A truck of coal, a field of grain
In sacks, a bundle of big trees,
Or beasts, too frightened in my grip
To wonder at their skiey trip:
And then I let the long arm dip
Without a hitch, without a slip,
To set them safely in the ship
That waits to take them overseas.
My mother little dreams it's I,
Up there, tiny as a fly,
Who stand above the biggest crane,
And swing the ship-loads through the sky;
While she sits, hunching in her chair,
Day-long, and stitching trousers there--
At three-and-three the dozen pair.
And sometimes when it turns me dizzy,
I lie and watch her, ever busy;
And wonder at a lot of things
I never speak to her about:
I wonder why she never sings
Like other people on the stair . . .
And why, whenever she goes out
Upon a windy day, the air
Makes her sad eyes so strangely bright . . .
And if the colour of her hair
Was brown like mine, or always white . . .
And why, when through the noise of feet
Of people passing in the street,
She hears a dog yelp or sheep bleat,
She always starts up in her chair,
And looks before her with strange stare,
Yet seeing nothing anywhere:
Though right before her, through the sky,
The biggest crane goes swinging by.
But it's a lucky day and rare
When she's the time to talk with me . . .
Though, only yesterday, when night
Shut out, at last, the crane from sight . . .
She, in her bed, and thinking I
Was sleeping -- though I watch the sky,
At times, till it is morning light,
And ships are waiting to unload--
I heard her murmur drowsily:
"The pit-pattering of feet,
All night, along the moonlit road . . .
A yelp, a whistle, and a bleat . . .
The bracken's deep and soft and dry . . .
And safe and snug, and no one near . . .
The little burn sings low and sweet,
The little burn sings shrill and clear . . .
And loud all night the cock-grouse talks . . .
There's naught in heaven or earth to fear . . .
The pit-pat-pattering of feet . . .
A yelp, a whistle, and a bleat . . ."
And then she started up in bead:
I felt her staring, as she said:
"I wonder if he ever hears
The pit-pat-pattering of sheep,
Or smells the broken bracke stalks . . .
While she is lying sound asleep
Beside him . . . after all these years --
Just ninteen years, this very night --
Remembering? . . . and now, his son,
A man . . . and never stood upright!"
And then I heard a sound of tears;
But dared not speak, or let her know
I'd caught a single whisper, though
I wondered long what she had done
That she should hear the pattering feet:
And when those queer words in the night
Had fretted me half-dead with fright,
And set my throbbing head abeat . . .
Out of the darkness, suddenly,
The crane's long arm swung over me,
Among the stars, high overhead . . .
And then it dipped, and clutched my bed:
And I had not a breath to cry,
Before it swung me through the sky,
Above the sleeping city high,
Where blinding stars went blazing by . . .
My mother, hunching in her chair,
Day-long, and stitching trousers there,
At three-and-three the dozen pair,
With quiet eyes and smooth white hair . . .
You'd little think a yelp or bleat
Could start her; or that she was weeping
So sorely, when she thought me sleeping.
She never tells me why she fears
The pit-pat-pattering of feet
All night along the moonlight road . . .
Or what's the wrong that she has done . . .
I wonder if 't would bring her tears,
If she could know that I, her son--
A man, who never stood upright,
But all the livelong day must lie,
And watch, beyond the window-pane
The swaying of the biggest crane--
That I, within its clutch, last night,
Went whirling through the starry sky.
poem by Wilfred Wilson Gibson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anastasia & Sandman
The brow of a horse in that moment when
The horse is drinking water so deeply from a trough
It seems to inhale the water, is holy.
I refuse to explain.
When the horse had gone the water in the trough,
All through the empty summer,
Went on reflecting clouds & stars.
The horse cropping grass in a field,
And the fly buzzing around its eyes, are more real
Than the mist in one corner of the field.
Or the angel hidden in the mist, for that matter.
Members of the Committee on the Ineffable,
Let me illustrate this with a story, & ask you all
To rest your heads on the table, cushioned,
If you wish, in your hands, &, if you want,
Comforted by a small carton of milk
To drink from, as you once did, long ago,
When there was only a curriculum of beach grass,
When the University of Flies was only a distant humming.
In Romania, after the war, Stalin confiscated
The horses that had been used to work the fields.
"You won't need horses now," Stalin said, cupping
His hand to his ear, "Can't you hear the tractors
Coming in the distance? I hear them already."
The crowd in the Callea Victoria listened closely
But no one heard anything. In the distance
There was only the faint glow of a few clouds.
And the horses were led into boxcars & emerged
As the dimly remembered meals of flesh
That fed the starving Poles
During that famine, & part of the next one--
In which even words grew thin & transparent,
Like the pale wings of ants that flew
Out of the oldest houses, & slowly
What had been real in words began to be replaced
By what was not real, by the not exactly real.
"Well, not exactly, but. . ." became the preferred
Administrative phrasing so that the man
Standing with his hat in his hands would not guess
That the phrasing of a few words had already swept
The earth from beneath his feet. "That horse I had,
He was more real than any angel,
The housefly, when I had a house, was real too,"
Is what the man thought.
Yet it wasn't more than a few months
Before the man began to wonder, talking
To himself out loud before the others,
"Was the horse real? Was the house real?"
An angel flew in and out of the high window
In the factory where the man worked, his hands
Numb with cold. He hated the window & the light
Entering the window & he hated the angel.
Because the angel could not be carved into meat
Or dumped into the ossuary & become part
Of the landfill at the edge of town,
It therefore could not acquire a soul,
And resembled in significance nothing more
Than a light summer dress when the body has gone.
The man survived because, after a while,
He shut up about it.
Stalin had a deep understanding of the kulaks,
Their sense of marginalization & belief in the land;
That is why he killed them all.
Members of the Committee on Solitude, consider
Our own impoverishment & the progress of that famine,
In which, now, it is becoming impossible
To feel anything when we contemplate the burial,
Alive, in a two-hour period, of hundreds of people.
Who were not clichés, who did not know they would be
The illegible blank of the past that lives in each
Of us, even in some guy watering his lawn
On a summer night. Consider
The death of Stalin & the slow, uninterrupted
Evolution of the horse, a species no one,
Not even Stalin, could extinguish, almost as if
What could not be altered was something
Noble in the look of its face, something
Incapable of treachery.
Then imagine, in your planning proposals,
The exact moment in the future when an angel
Might alight & crawl like a fly into the ear of a horse,
And then, eventually, into the brain of a horse,
And imagine further that the angel in the brain
Of this horse is, for the horse cropping grass
In the field, largely irrelevant, a mist in the corner
Of the field, something that disappears,
The horse thinks, when weight is passed through it,
Something that will not even carry the weight
Of its own father
On its back, the horse decides, & so demonstrates
This by swishing at a fly with its tail, by continuing
To graze as the dusk comes on & almost until it is night.
Old contrivers, daydreamers, walking chemistry sets,
Exhausted chimneysweeps of the spaces
Between words, where the Holy Ghost tastes just
Like the dust it is made of,
Let's tear up our lecture notes & throw them out
The window.
Let's do it right now before wisdom descends upon us
Like a spiderweb over a burned-out theater marquee,
Because what's the use?
I keep going to meetings where no one's there,
And contributing to the discussion;
And besides, behind the angel hissing in its mist
Is a gate that leads only into another field,
Another outcropping of stones & withered grass, where
A horse named Sandman & a horse named Anastasia
Used to stand at the fence & watch the traffic pass.
Where there were outdoor concerts once, in summer,
Under the missing & innumerable stars.
poem by Larry Levis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Last Time
Like an old abandoned ferriswheel
Time for me is standin' still
And it's you and me in mid July
Underneath the midway lights
And all our friends are standing there
So I was actin' like I didn't care
When you put your arms around my neck
And I barely even kissed you back
But if I'da have known it was the last time
I'da held on a little longer
And let that moment linger
And never let your fingers slip away from mine
If I'da known there'd never be another day
I'da watched you as you walked away
And kept you in my eyes till you were out of sight
If I, If I'da known it was the last time
Now the midway lights have all shut down
And grass has grown up all around
It's an empty field across the track
But I can't keep from coming back
It was another summer night
Carousel and rollercoaster ride
And that silly fight that we got in
Didn't seem so important then
But if I'da known it was the last time
I'da held on a little longer
And let that moment linger
And never let your fingers slip away from mine
If I'da known there'd never be another day
I'da watched you as you walked away
And kept you in my eyes till you were out of sight
If I, If I'da known it was the last time
And if I'da known then, what I know now
I'd never let you disappear into the crowd
Or turn away the way I did
With so much left unsaid
If I, If I'da known it was the last time
song performed by by Lee Ann Womack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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