Cactus Seed
Radiant notes piercing my narrow-chested room, beating down through my ceiling— smeared with unshapen belly-prints of dreams drifted out of old smokes— trillions of icily peltering notes out of just one canary, all grown to song as a plant to its stalk, from too long craning at a sky-light and a square of second-hand blue.
Silvery-strident throat—
so assiduously serenading my brain,
flinching under
the glittering hail of your notes—
were you not safe behind… rats know what thickness of… plastered wall…
I might fathom
your golden delirium
with throttle of finger and thumb
shutting valve of bright song.
II
But if… away off… on a fork of grassed earth
socketing an inlet reach of blue water…
if canaries (do they sing out of cages?)
flung such luminous notes,
they would sink in the spirit…
lie germinal…
housed in the soul as a seed in the earth…
to break forth at spring with the crocuses into young smiles
on the mouth.
Or glancing off buoyantly,
radiate notes in one key
with the sparkle of rain-drops
on the petal of a cactus flower
focusing the just-out sun.
Cactus… why cactus? God… God… somewhere… away off… cactus flowers, star-yellow ray out of spiked green, and empties of sky roll you over and over like a mother her baby in long grass. And only the wind scandal-mongers with gum trees, pricking multiple leaves at his amazing story.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Les Cactus
Le monde entier est un cactus
Il est impossible de s'asseoir
Dans la vie il n'y a que des cactus
Moi j'm'pique de le savoir
Aie! aie! ouille! aie!
Dans leur coeur il y a des cactus
Dans leur portefeuille y a des cactus
Sous leurs pieds il y a des cactus
Dans l'heure qu'il est il y a des cactus
Aie! aie! ouille! aie!
Pour me defendre de leur cactus
A mon tour j'ai pris des cactus
Dans mon lit j'ai mis des cactus
Dans mon silp j'ai mis des cactus
Aie! aie! ouille! aie!
Dans leur sourir' il y a des cactus
Dans leur ventr' il y a des cactus
Dans leur bonjour il y a des cactus
Dans leur cactus il y a des cactus
Aie! aie! aie! ouille! ouille!
Le monde entier est un cactus
il est impossible de s'asseoir
Dans la vie y a que des cactus
Moi je me pique de le savoir
Aie! aie! aie!
song performed by by Vanessa Paradis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unforgettable In Your Ear
There are notes in music
that take you high.
And notes that take you low.
When you listen to the notes of music
you never know where you'll go.
Within one song the notes you hear
affect how you will feel.
A plaintive melody might make you sad
or remind you of your pain.
But all of that can change in a minute
as you feel your emotions drain.
Uplifting notes can bring to you
a few moments of ecstatic peace.
Each inspiring strain can take you where
you are able to release
whatever it was that was troubling you,
erase it for a minute or two.
These notes are magic and so is life.
They're there and then they're not.
They're a gift to you from composers
that plant a forget-me-not.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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No one is useless
Cactus is full of thorns.
Rose is a real charm.
Cactus guards in fence.
Rose has in it a defense.
Rose must not scorn
The cactus for its thorn.
15.04.2001, Vijv
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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For The Moment
Life is simple and gay
The bright sun rings with a quiet sound
The sound of the bells has quieted
down
This morning the light hits it all
The footlights of my head are lit again
And the room I live in is finally bright
Just one beam is enough
Just one burst of laughter
My joy that shakes the house
Restrains those wanting to die
By the notes of its song
I sing off-key
Ah it's funny
My mouth open to every breeze
Spews mad notes everywhere
That emerge I don't know how
To fly toward other ears
Listen I'm not crazy
I laugh at the bottom of the stairs
Before the wide-open door
In the sunlight scattered
On the wall among green vines
And my arms are held out toward you
It's today I love you
Anonymous submission.
poem by Pierre Reverdy
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Sing Me A Swing Song
Give me a song that's robust
Feeling the way I am
Any old band'll go bust
If it ain't got that jam
When a body needs a body
On the ballroom floor
Then a body asks a body
"What's a swing band for?"
Oh baby, I don't want you
To croon soft and mellow
Let me warn you in advance,
Sing me a swing song and let me dance
Oh baby, I don't want
Any moon, bright and yellow
You can have your sweet romance
Sing me a swing song and let me dance
Mr. Trombone, play some corn
I ain't carin' what notes
Mr. Trumpet, grab a horn
Brother, give me hot notes
Oh baby, I don't want
Any tune, on a cello
Give the rhythm men a chance
Sing me a swing song and let me dance
instrumental interlude
Let me warn you in advance,
Sing me a swing song and let me dance
You can have your sweet romance, just
Sing me a swing song and let me dance
Mr. Trombone, play some corn
I ain't carin' what notes
Mr. Trumpet, grab a horn
Brother, give me hot notes
Oh baby, I don't want
Any tune, on a cello
Give the rhythm men a chance
Sing me a swing song and let me dance
Ol' Chick Webb is beatin' it out
Makes me feel like I want to shout
All the boys are ready to prance, so
Sing me a swing song and let me dance
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How spiny the cactus raised itself
how spiny the cactus raised itself
into the desert
how red the sand
burnt under the mid-day sun
how scorched the scorpion moved
across the red sand
and in that silence
a sudden whirlwind blows
a red, red cloud of sand
from the dunes rises
how spiny the cactus raised itself
into the tempest:
and yet
and yet
the tempest was subdued and fell
as happened long ago and now
and still
and spiny the cactus raises itself
into the desert
and the red sand
burns under the mid-day sun
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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I have learned the difference between a cactus and a caucus. On a cactus, the pricks are on the outside.
Cactus Hostess, Her Dialogue
you may sit
as we welcome you
mr. honored guest
but all we have
is a cactus chair
you may sleep
but all we have is a cactus bed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Spring's Sonnet
The golden dust of the sad moon,
Sifts musical notes all around,
I listen to this simple tune,
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
White angels play the violin,
The yellow birds sing a new song,
The party's on, the fun begins,
Red flowers smiling, come along.
Blue butterflies dancing with me,
Old stars come down to kiss the earth,
New silver bells ring... Victory!
Snowdrops announce the new Spring birth.
Cherry blossom rise in splendor,
As the winter slow surrender!
poem by Marius Alexandru (March 2020)
Submitted by anonym
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Spring's Sonnet
The golden dust of the sad moon,
Sifts musical notes all around,
I listen to this simple tune,
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
White angels play the violin,
The yellow birds sing a new song,
The party’s on, the fun begins,
Red flowers smiling, come along.
Blue butterflies dancing with me,
Old stars come down to kiss the earth,
New silver bells ring… Victory!
Snowdrops announce the new Spring birth.
Cherry blossom rise in splendor,
As the winter slow surrender!
poem by Marius Alexandru (2 February 2020)
Submitted by anonym
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Music
The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute.
From my bed I can hear him,
And the round notes flutter and tap about the room,
And hit against each other,
Blurring to unexpected chords.
It is very beautiful,
With the little flute-notes all about me,
In the darkness.
In the daytime,
The neighbour eats bread and onions with one hand
And copies music with the other.
He is fat and has a bald head,
So I do not look at him,
But run quickly past his window.
There is always the sky to look at,
Or the water in the well!
But when night comes and he plays his flute,
I think of him as a young man,
With gold seals hanging from his watch,
And a blue coat with silver buttons.
As I lie in my bed
The flute-notes push against my ears and lips,
And I go to sleep, dreaming.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Mozart Overture
this is quite different from
a trance
the music that curled in my sleep
on that soft blue sofa
foam, cotton, kapok softness
on my head some notes of
a lullaby
some notes getting into
my ears and my nostrils
a deep sleep
inhaling
this overture is quite different
it is the rising from this deep sleep of
kapok,
foamy softness
i rise and
stretch my hands to the ceiling
i wake up and
i hear
the notes come again like
dripping morning rain
from the nipa roof
falling on
some white pebbles
on my pavement
like my tears
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lines
Sing me that song again,
That wild, impassioned lay;
The tumult of my throbbing brain
Thy voice shall charm away.
Pour that harmonious flood
Upon my thirsting ear;
'Twill cool the fever of my blood
Those silvery notes to hear.
Sing me that mournful song,
That song of love and woe,
That these full fountains, closed so long,
Once more may overflow.
And while those gentle strings
Thy fairy hand sweeps o'er,
Upon thy music's trembling wings
My fainting soul shall soar.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Minor Bird
i tune up my brain
each morn
in the chirps of birds
filling out blanks
as to what they are saying
a prayer?
reliving
yesterday's adventures?
the spot where they had hit gold
with worms?
from (or to) my slumberland
come poems
haikus, senryus
as i count syllables
each bird
tries out in its song
far and near
in so many ways
they chirp
plain notes,
broken notes
syncopated notes
improvised gems
some so skillful
i think
they are trumpeting
their way
up the evolution chain
to become finer
creatures than homo sapiens
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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118
mozart overture
this is quite different from
a trance
the music that curled in my sleep
on that soft blue sofa
foam, cotton, kapok softness
on my head some notes of
a lullaby
some notes getting into
my ears and my nostrils
a deep sleep
inhaling
this overture is quite different
it is the rising from this deep sleep of
kapok,
foamy softness
i rise and
stretch my hands to the ceiling
i wake up and
i hear
the notes come again like
dripping morning rain
from the nipa roof
falling on
some white pebbles
on my pavement
like my tears
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The song I sing
The song I sing
I sing ta u the song I sing is joy
If you were gone then part of me would die
I would go on and leave part of me behind
for you and I are one in twined
I sing ta u the song I sing is faith
But the thought of you would never fade
the thought of blue sky's would turn to haze
I would prefer to help you through this maze
I sing ta u the song I sing is love
your very footsteps are notes to a song
and many loved ones sing a long
and of that chorus I belong
poem by Paul Cutting
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The Veery
THE MOONBEAMS over Arno’s vale in silver flood were pouring,
When first I heard the nightingale a long-lost love deploring.
So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie;
I longed to hear a simpler strain,—the wood-notes of the veery.
The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather;
It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together;
He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie;
I only know one song more sweet,—the vespers of the veery.
In English gardens, green and bright and full of fruity treasure,
I heard the blackbird with delight repeat his merry measure:
The ballad was a pleasant one, the tune was loud and cheery,
And yet, with every setting sun, I listened for the veery.
But far away, and far away, the tawny thrush is singing;
New England woods, at close of day, with that clear chant are ringing:
And when my light of life is low, and heart and flesh are weary,
I fain would hear, before I go, the wood-notes of the veery.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Divine Bird
i would skp the best musical concert
to listen one more time to this morning bird
it makes me regret for not having been
a bird watcher and getting to know the name
of every bird and how every bird makes sure
they shine their best in voice rather than feathers
for feathers are just for a show of form but the
voice how well they have cultivated themselves
with the bountiful freedoms strewn below their wings
it was only two mornings ago, i first heard him
sing in among the many trees lining the boulevard
outside my condominium, the Crescent Court
the enchanting haunting notes of his song shocked
me into wondering whether it was really a bird that
sang those pristine notes, notes that seemed to have
streamed out of the sacred sanctum of God, so many
diverse notes, so well handled, they sounded
like a song written by the Divine for one special bird
one most holy entree to the dawn of a new day
i prayed to the Divine to allow me hear that bird
again, a bird that has sung his way into my my poem,
a bird probably from another realm where birds could
understand the workings of the heavens better than men
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Flower of Cactus
You could not ask for,
And I dared not offer you,
the small inglorious flower of cactus.
Instead I brought you tulips and roses,
to fill our lives with transient happiness.
In the darkness we hid our face.
Thus passed years,
Times we shed silent tears,
For having not dared the most precious -
A small inglorious flower of cactus!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Ode to my dying Cactus (Rough Draft)
Oh my most enduring cactus!
With more thorns than my years!
I shall water you for the last time
It shall be with my tears!
I recall the joy you gave us!
A representation of love’s endurance…
(And the ferocity it may bring)
I vividly remember, when my senile
Grandmother placed you by the
Light switch, and mother, In a fit
Of anger over some lost remote,
Or sheer grumpiness, smacked
What she thought was the switch!
She screamed so loud, you would
Think the claws of hell had impaled her heart!
And I remember the hours put into
Removing your teeth from her
Palm, consoling her, soothing her agony-
Yet we never blamed you, dear cactus!
Only ourselves.
You did not ask for much
(In fact, it didn’t look like you wanted much either)
Just a place to stand, a pot to grow in,
And a once and a while accidental high five- how do ya do?
You lived in front of numerous light switches
Slept often by the handle of the microwave
Even made your way into our bathroom once!
(I’d rather not speak of that one)
But ode to you, my dying cactus,
Ode to each and every thorn!
Ode to the memories you left us
For you depart at morn.
poem by Lazarus Knix
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