Visiting A Taoist On Tiatien Mountain
Amongst bubbling streams
a dog barks; peach blossom
is heavy with dew; here
and there a deer can
be seen in forest glades!
No sound of the mid-day
bell enters this fastness
where blue mist rises
from bamboo groves;
down from a high peak
hangs a waterfall;
non knows where he has gone, so sadly I rest,
with my back leaning
against a pine.
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Visiting The Taoist Priest Dai Tianshan But Not Finding Him
A dog's bark amid the water's sound,
Peach blossom that's made thicker by the rain.
Deep in the trees, I sometimes see a deer,
And at the stream I hear no noonday bell.
Wild bamboo divides the green mist,
A flying spring hangs from the jasper peak.
No-one knows the place to which he's gone,
Sadly, I lean on two or three pines.
Gumdropp Glades
Somewhere far away from the city streets
A meadow of green cotton candy blades
Rolls upon a mound of chocolatey dirt
And the warm cinnamon winds gently flirt
While geysers of cocoa playfully spurt
In a place kids all know, simply, as Gumdropp Glades
Ask Lil' Lew Lemondropp who knows the way
Where the candy's free for the bill's been paid
And the children can eat the sweets all day
Without their teeth ever showing decay
And there are no adults to scowl and say
'Don't spoil your appetite down in Gumdropp Glades'
Someday you should go adventure to see
What lies just past the tall forest blockades
Where the brook that babbles past forest trees
In the glade, turns into sweetest sweet tea
And candy cane bluffs... Quite a sight to see
That rise up high on three sides down in Gumdropp Glades
I hear when we see it we'll lose control
And drink the waterfall of lemonade
While small gumdrops dropp from trees as they sway
We'll wish there would be no end to that day
As we play playfully as children play
When our hopeful eyes finally spy Gumdropp Glades
We'll wish there would be no end to that day
As we play playfully as children play
And we'll hope that we can, forever, stay
Within a gingerbread house, down in Gumdropp Glades
((October 4th,2009))
poem by Danny Speicher
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In Springtime
My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach,
And the koil sings above it, in the siris by the well,
From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel's chattering speech,
And the blue jay screams and flutters where the cheery sat-bhai dwell.
But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the koil's note is strange;
I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom-burdened bough.
Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds of Springtime range --
Give me back one day in England, for it's Spring in England now!
Through the pines the gusts are booming, o'er the brown fields blowing chill,
From the furrow of the ploughshare streams the fragrance of the loam,
And the hawk nests on the cliffside and the jackdaw in the hill,
And my heart is back in England 'mid the sights and sounds of Home.
But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of rose and peach is,
Ah! koil, little koil, singing on the siris bough,
In my ears the knell of exile your ceaseless bell like speech is --
Can you tell me aught of England or of Spring in England now?
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Two Children
Heavy hangs the rain-drop
From the burdened spray;
Heavy broods the damp mist
On uplands far away.
Heavy looms the dull sky,
Heavy rolls the sea;
And heavy throbs the young heart
Beneath that lonely tree.
Never has a blue streak
Cleft the clouds since morn;
Never has his grim fate
Smiled since he was born.
Frowning on the infant,
Shadowing childhood's joy
Guardian-angel knows not
That melancholy boy.
Day is passing swiftly
Its sad and sombre prime;
Boyhood sad is merging
In sadder manhood's time:
All the flowers are praying
For sun, before they close,
And he prays too—unconscious—
That sunless human rose.
Blossom—that the west-wind
Has never wooed to blow,
Scentless are thy petals,
Thy dew is cold as snow!
Soul—where kindred kindness,
No early promise woke,
Barren is thy beauty,
As weed upon a rock.
Wither—soul and blossom!
You both were vainly given;
Earth reserves no blessing
For the unblest of heaven!
poem by Emily Brontë from Selections from the literary remains of Emily and Anne Brontë (1850)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lines For A Taoist Adept
My friend lives high on East Mountain.
His nature is to love the hills and gorges.
In green spring he sleeps in empty woodland,
Still there when the noon sun brightens.
Pine-tree winds to dust his hair.
Rock-filled streams to cleanse his senses.
Free of all sound and stress,
Resting on a wedge of cloud and mist.
Escapee
Train is full and hardly I embarked
on the way a girl jumped to the train
and somebody in the compartment who pulled the chain
it stopped at once.
We delayed to reach the station called Eternity
Oh! someone has pick pocketed my wallet hastily.
All my hard earned money is there.
Heavy rains and it took sometimes to seized.
I heard a sound of a tolling bell in a distant temple
and I see a gloomy mountain through the mist.
Beloved! still, I am at the beneath of the mountain
and there is no way marker to the peak.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Images
I
Like a gondola of green scented fruits
Drifting along the dark canals of Venice,
You, O exquisite one,
Have entered into my desolate city.
II
The blue smoke leaps
Like swirling clouds of birds vanishing.
So my love leaps forth toward you,
Vanishes and is renewed.
III
A rose-yellow moon in a pale sky
When the sunset is faint vermilion
In the mist among the tree-boughs
Art thou to me, my beloved.
IV
A young beech tree on the edge of the forest
Stands still in the evening,
Yet shudders through all its leaves in the light air
And seems to fear the stars -
So are you still and so tremble.
V
The red deer are high on the mountain,
They are beyond the last pine trees.
And my desires have run with them.
VI
The flower which the wind has shaken
Is soon filled again with rain;
So does my heart fill slowly with tears,
Until you return.
poem by Richard Aldington
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The City Of London
Introduction:
I wrote this in the middle of the night, many years ago.
My mind went back to when I was a little girl
and my brother and I went to visit my Grandfather.
We stopped that day to walk through the City, there was a mist that morning and a fine rain, the sort that makes your hair frizz.
The tranquillity of the early morning streets was rudely broken
by people coming into the City to work and so here is my memory:
----
Early morning after a thunderous night
I can breathe easy.
If I'm quiet I may hear the sound of birdsong.
Sometimes there is a mist.
It hangs over London like a veil.
Soon dawn's empty streets
will heave with massing crowds.
but until then all London is at peace.
The gentle tinkling of milk bottles
breaks the quiet
and the smell of bacon and fried bread
waft through the chill morning air.
Sounds of sirens fill my head and
concrete rises heavenward, filling my eyes,
crushing their foundations through my soul.
A sickness seeps through me,
everything beautiful is gone.
'Morning paper, read all about it! '
Girls hurry buy in tight blue jeans,
men in suits, some in Mac's,
high-heeled ladies, clicky, click, clack.
Poor old tramp, fingernails black,
stirs on the floor beside a closed door,
‘Got the price of a cuppa luv', he calls.
The girl quickens her pace.
A couple kiss in tender bliss
A young man sighs, a baby cries,
an old lady dies on the streets of London.
Early morning after a thunderous night
you can breathe easy.
You may hear the sound of birdsong
Sometimes there is a mist.
It hangs over London like a veil
poem by Ruth Walters
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What The Doctor Said
He said it doesn't look good
he said it looks bad in fact real bad
he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before
I quit counting them
I said I'm glad I wouldn't want to know
about any more being there than that
he said are you a religious man do you kneel down
in forest groves and let yourself ask for help
when you come to a waterfall
mist blowing against your face and arms
do you stop and ask for understanding at those moments
I said not yet but I intend to start today
he said I'm real sorry he said
I wish I had some other kind of news to give you
I said Amen and he said something else
I didn't catch and not knowing what else to do
and not wanting him to have to repeat it
and me to have to fully digest it
I just looked at him
for a minute and he looked back it was then
I jumped up and shook hands with this man who'd just given me
something no one else on earth had ever given me
I may have even thanked him habit being so strong
Anonymous submission.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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The Blue Bell
The blue bell is the sweetest flower
That waves in summer air;
Its blossoms have the mightiest power
To soothe my spirit's care.
There is a spell in purple heath
Too wildly, sadly dear;
The violet has a fragrant breath
But fragrance will not cheer.
The trees are bare, the sun is cold;
And seldom, seldom seen;
The heavens have lost their zone of gold
The earth its robe of green;
And ice upon the glancing stream
Has cast its sombre shade
And distant hills and valleys seem
In frozen mist arrayed -
The blue bell cannot charm me now
The heath has lost its bloom,
The violets in the glen below
They yield no sweet perfume.
But though I mourn the heather-bell
'Tis better far, away;
I know how fast my tears would swell
To see it smile today;
And that wood flower that hides so shy
Beneath the mossy stone
Its balmy scent and dewy eye:
'Tis not for them I moan.
It is the slight and stately stem,
The blossom's silvery blue,
The buds hid like a sapphire gem
In sheaths of emerald hue.
'Tis these that breathe upon my heart
A calm and softening spell
That if it makes the tear-drop start
Has power to soothe as well.
For these I weep, so long divided
Through winter's dreary day,
In longing weep--but most when guided
On withered banks to stray.
If chilly then the light should fall
Adown the dreary sky
And gild the dank and darkened wall
With transient brilliancy,
How do I yearn, how do I pine
For the time of flowers to come,
And turn me from that fading shine
To mourn the fields of home -
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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Waterfall
(carly simon)
Somethings going down like a waterfall
Some strong feelings some old love
I saw you and it made no sense at all
Now I feel like theres too much caffeine in my blood
Like a waterfall goin down
Like a waterfall washing me down
Spinnin me around
Lord, and Im drownin
Like a waterfall going down
Just like a waterfall washing me down
Like a waterfall going down and down and down
Youre an old lover making new contact
Making those cold defenses melt
And though lying in your arms is after the fact
Once again Im feeling like Ive never felt
Its like a waterfall going down
Like a waterfall washing me down
Spinninme round
Lord, and Im drowning
Like a waterfall going down
Just like a waterfall washing me down
Like a waterfall going down and down and down
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Isabel
Now o'er the landscape crowd the deepening shades,
And the shut lily cradles not the bee;
The red deer couches in the forest glades,
And faint the echoes of the slumberous sea:
And ere I rest, one prayer I'll breathe for thee,
The sweet Egeria of my lonely dreams:
Lady, forgive, that ever upon me
Thoughts of thee linger, as the soft starbeams
Linger on Merlin's rock, or dark Sabrina's streams.
On gray Pilatus once we loved to stray,
And watch far off the glimmering roselight break
O'er the dim mountain-peaks, ere yet one ray
Pierced the deep bosom of the mist-clad lake.
Oh! who felt not new life within him wake,
And his pulse quicken, and his spirit burn -
(Save one we wot of, whom the cold DID make
Feel 'shooting pains in every joint in turn,')
When first he saw the sun gild thy green shores, Lucerne?
And years have past, and I have gazed once more
On blue lakes glistening beneath mountains blue;
And all seemed sadder, lovelier than before -
For all awakened memories of you.
Oh! had I had you by my side, in lieu
Of that red matron, whom the flies would worry,
(Flies in those parts unfortunately do,)
Who walked so slowly, talked in such a hurry,
And with such wild contempt for stops and Lindley Murray!
O Isabel, the brightest, heavenliest theme
That ere drew dreamer on to poesy,
Since 'Peggy's locks' made Burns neglect his team,
And Stella's smile lured Johnson from his tea -
I may not tell thee what thou art to me!
But ever dwells the soft voice in my ear,
Whispering of what Time is, what Man might be,
Would he but 'do the duty that lies near,'
And cut clubs, cards, champagne, balls, billiard-rooms, and beer.
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
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I eager for You
today, O My Beloved,
I eager for you…
there was no such word
until today; today, there is..
to say, I’m eager for you
would be to say,
less than, I am…
when it’s I am, and
which you are, O My Beloved,
that eagers…
nor do I recognise eagerness..
how can I, if it’s not me?
no, today, it's an active word...
what else might I say?
to say I long, makes it sound
that I may never find you…
to say, I languish, makes me sound
so weak and hopeless…
to say, I yearn, makes it sound
as if I never knew You…
even the Hebrew word the psalmist used –
the deer that yearns for the waterbrook,
the hart that pants for cooling streams –
even that word’s uncertain; some say
it’s the way that a deer, feet slightly splayed
upon the sloping bank, stretches out its graceful neck
to the clear, pure, healing water…
some say, it’s that slight sound the deer makes,
as it gently laps that lovely water…
the sound that quenching makes...
today I am that deer, tasting what’s just out of reach…;
that feeling beyond all words possesses me –
the feeling that You who ever are inside me, Lord,
wish to proclaim You outside me –
today, O My Beloved,
I eager for to be myself; for You…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Copperline
Even the old folks never knew
Why they call it like they do
I was wondering since the age of two
Down on copperline
Copper head, copper beech
Copper kettles sitting side by each
Copper coil, cup ogeorgia peach
Down on copperline
Half a mile down to morgan creek
Leaning heavy on the end of the week
Hercules and a hog-nosed snake
Down on copperline
We were down on copperline
One summer night on the copperline
Slip away past supper time
Wood smoke and moonshine
Down on copperline
One time I saw my daddy dance
Watched him moving like a man in a trance
He brought it back from the war in france
Down onto copperline
Branch water and tomato wine
Creosote and turpentine
Sour mash and new moon shine
Down on copperline
Down on copperline
First kiss ever I took
Like a page from a romance book
The sky opened and the earth shook
Down on copperline
Down on copperline
Took a fall from a windy height
I only knew how to hold on tight
And pray for love enough to last all night
Down on copperline
Day breaks and the boys wakes up
And the dog barks and the birds sings
And the sap rises and the angels sigh, yeah
I tried to go back, as if I could
All spec house and plywood
Tore up and tore up good
Down on copperline
It doesnt come as a surprise to me
It doesnt touch my memory
Man Im lifting up and rising free
Down on over copperline
Half a mile down to morgan creek
Im only living for the end of the week
Hercules and a hog-nosed snake
Down on copperline, yeah
Take me down on copperline
Oh, down on copperline
Take me down on copperline
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Answer To A Sonnet By J.H.Reynolds
"Dark eyes are dearer far
Than those that mock the hyacinthine bell."
Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven,—the domain
Of Cynthia,—the wide palace of the sun,—
The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,—
The bosomer of clouds, gold, gray, and dun.
Blue! 'Tis the life of waters:—Ocean
And all its vassal streams, pools numberless,
May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can
Subside, if not to dark-blue nativeness.
Blue! gentle cousin of the forest-green,
Married to green in all the sweetest flowers—
Forget-me-not,—the blue-bell,—and, that queen
Of secrecy, the violet: what strange powers
Hast thou, as a mere shadow! But how great,
When in an Eye thou art alive with fate!
poem by John Keats
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Volcano
Deep beneath the world, it's mantle,
Covering a metallic core,
Hides what could become the shrapnel
Streams of molten, volcanic gore.
Underneath a salty, sea floor,
The wounded crust erupts from cuts
That have begun to seep somewhat
Into the blue above. There, it bleeds
A brazen rouge—bubbling and freed
From an abyss that's fissured shut.
The water boils as heat rises
To nurture nature's sunken seed.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Home
How brightly glistening in the sun
The woodland ivy plays!
While yonder beeches from their barks
Reflect his silver rays.
That sun surveys a lovely scene
From softly smiling skies;
And wildly through unnumbered trees
The wind of winter sighs:
Now loud, it thunders o'er my head,
And now in distance dies.
But give me back my barren hills
Where colder breezes rise;
Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees
Can yield an answering swell,
But where a wilderness of heath
Returns the sound as well.
For yonder garden, fair and wide,
With groves of evergreen,
Long winding walks, and borders trim,
And velvet lawns between;
Restore to me that little spot,
With grey walls compassed round,
Where knotted grass neglected lies,
And weeds usurp the ground.
Though all around this mansion high
Invites the foot to roam,
And though its halls are fair within -
Oh, give me back my Home!
poem by anne br from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Home
How brightly glistening in the sun
The woodland ivy plays!
While yonder beeches from their barks
Reflect his silver rays.
That sun surveys a lovely scene
From softly smiling skies;
And wildly through unnumbered trees
The wind of winter sighs:
Now loud, it thunders o'er my head,
And now in distance dies.
But give me back my barren hills
Where colder breezes rise;
Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees
Can yield an answering swell,
But where a wilderness of heath
Returns the sound as well.
For yonder garden, fair and wide,
With groves of evergreen,
Long winding walks, and borders trim,
And velvet lawns between;
Restore to me that little spot,
With grey walls compassed round,
Where knotted grass neglected lies,
And weeds usurp the ground.
Though all around this mansion high
Invites the foot to roam,
And though its halls are fair within -
Oh, give me back my Home!
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Journey
The dream hangs heavy in the air,
Heavier still is the burden on his back,
The child trudges along the dusty road
His mother in tow –
The sun rises and sets on him
A child, a boy, a man
The burden shifting between the back and the heart!
They try desperately to reach out to light,
Before the darkness wears them out.
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Going Shopping
En route to go shopping at our local grocery store,
I came across something which I hadn’t seen before.
A rustling sound within the trees, by me, was heard;
I just imagined it was either a cat or some kind of bird.
But what emerged in front of me, gave me a surprise;
A surprise which made me question my very own eyes!
Out of the trees, there very suddenly appeared,
An extremely lively, little brown deer.
I know that large herds of deer do reside
In the big forest, in the nearby countryside.
But never before in my life had I ever found
Any deer this close to the centre of our town.
As soon as he saw me, away he sprang,
But in my mind, alarm bells loudly rang.
For the deer, I began to feel a little scared,
As I wondered how, in a town, he would fair.
He was quite far from where he had grown,
And now, here he was, having to cope alone.
The countryside compared to the town are different places;
Here, he was faced with houses, cars and people’s faces.
I imagined the sheer panic which he felt inside,
And for that poor little deer, I almost cried.
To help him, there was nothing I could do.
He was so far away from all that he knew.
I thought about him for the rest of the day,
And couldn’t believe how far he had strayed.
A deer in the town was a strange thing to have sighted.
I just hope that, with his herd, he was safely reunited.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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